Read A French Whipping for Free Online Page A

sink and the leftover snacks in a refrigerator in the far corner of the room, while Nick put away the knots and gathered up the drawings the kids had done.
    “How are you getting these to the shelter?” he asked, his voice a little gruff.
    He’d gathered all the drawings into a pile and put them neatly into a manila file folder. Where had he found a file folder?
    “I was just going to take photos of them with my phone and email them at first, then ask to borrow your car to drive over to the shelter tomorrow morning.”
    He grunted, which made her smile to herself. He didn’t like it when she “borrowed” his Subaru—mostly because she did it without asking. Boosting vehicles was a skill she’d retained from her days with Keenan—and generally only used to aggravate Nick.
    “How are you getting home now?”
    Her shift at the Hairy Lemon started at six. It was nearly three. She had plenty of time to catch the bus back toward Faneuil Hall and get to work on time, but she didn’t want to ride the bus . . . and he wanted to talk to her.
    When she took too long to answer, he muttered, “Ride with me. Like I said, we need to talk.”
    You’d think he was being forced to jump in the icy river from his tone, but Blake wasn’t offended. He could be as prickly as he wanted, as long as she got what she wanted in the end.
    “All right,” she agreed, managing to sound as if she were doing him a favor. His mouth tightened and she snickered to herself. He was so fun to tease.
    She gathered up the last of the supplies into a purple backpack, which he immediately took from her, and followed him out to the parking lot, where he’d parked his Subaru Outback. He was a billionaire and he drove a Subaru. She didn’t know why she found that attractive, exactly, but she did.
    The chill March breeze cut through her coat and denim jacket despite the sunshine, and she wished she’d worn her gloves and a thicker jacket. When was this stupid winter going to end? It felt like it had gone on forever.
    Nick started the car and opened the back to put the supplies inside. Blake hurried to the passenger door and hopped inside onto the tan leather, immediately pressing the button to turn on the heated seats. Hallelujah. Heated seats were, no shit, one of the best inventions ever.
    Nick joined her a few minutes later, showing no signs of the cold even though he was only wearing one of his fisherman’s sweaters, the dark gray making his eyes seem an even deeper blue.
    He shut the door and met her gaze.
    Blake felt her lips part. God, he was handsome—and her heart, which was already jumpy, began thumping madly in her chest. Why hadn’t she ever noticed how good he smelled? His cologne was familiar, something really expensive that they’d never sold at the perfume counter at Macy’s.
    His mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but he stopped, and his chest started rising and falling even more rapidly.
    “Why me?”
    Blake had the feeling that he hadn’t meant to ask that question. As it was, she wished he’d asked something else, anything else. The reason why had seemed straightforward to her at first. He was her friend, she was attracted to him, and he would never hurt her. But now there was something in his expression that made her hesitate, a hunger that she hadn’t expected.
    “You’re my friend.” She swallowed, seeing how quickly his chest was rising and falling.
    “Milton is your friend. Roland is your friend.”
    Blake didn’t know how to explain. They were her friends, but she couldn’t sleep with them. Nick was different.
    She looked away from the perceptive gleam in his eyes. “I’m not attracted to them.”
    He went still next to her, as if he’d stopped breathing. She dragged her gaze back to his and raised her chin. “And they aren’t attracted to me.”
    It was a risk, calling him on the desire that tightened his body—she hadn’t recognized it until recently, when she’d look over and see a