“What about your merry band of work wives?”

A smile. “They can take care of their own travel. They can just call our car service. They’ll be safe.”

He had a car service? Couldn’t he have just called that for me, too?

He wants to take you home. He still wants to spend time with you.

It seemed so dumb that I hadn’t really figured that out before, that he wanted to be alone with me without his entourage around, but it was like it had just occurred to me and I didn’t know what to think.

“Ray needs your address,” Noah said. “Or if there’s somewhere else you want to go, we can take you there instead.”

Why was I getting the distinct impression that if I told him I was in the mood for Rio de Janeiro, we’d be heading for an airport? “Home is good.”

I recited it to the driver, and Ray nodded. “We’ll get you there quick as we can, but there’s traffic.”

It was LA. There was always traffic.

Then Ray pushed a button to raise the dividing barrier between the front and back of the car. The movement of that dark window sliding into place had this feeling of finality for me.

It made the space feel so small, and Noah was so big, sucking up all the room left in the back seat.

And I was back to being freaked out. Being at the party had felt less threatening. We’d been surrounded by people. Obviously he wasn’t going to make a move with so many people watching everything he did. So my mind hadn’t gone to the possibility that he might. The time we’d spent together had felt comfortable, and I’d allowed myself the luxury of not overreacting to every one of his movements and overthinking everything that was going on and just enjoying myself. Pretending to be normal, like every other woman out there.

That was all over now.

Because he might try to kiss me.

And then I would have a full-on panic attack.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Do you want something to drink?” Noah asked, leaning forward to open a compartment, from which he pulled out a bottle of champagne.

“No champagne for me,” I said. “I’m such a lightweight.” In my current living circumstances, I could afford neither alcohol nor the potential hangovers that might interfere with an early-morning appointment. “Plus, not being able to hold my liquor makes me very confessy.”

And why had I felt the need to tack that on? I resisted covering my face with both of my hands as he put the bottle back.

“Do you want us to stop and grab something else? Water?” he offered.

I let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to home in on what I’d said. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”