Chapter 3

The heavy door sealed with a solid thud. The howling blizzard vanished instantly, replaced by absolute, insulated silence.

The Bentley's climate control was set to seventy-two degrees. Warm air brushed against Ellie's freezing cheeks. She sat stiffly in the buttery leather seat, keeping her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

Cosmo walked around the hood, shaking the snow from his coat before sliding behind the steering wheel. The driver remained outside, pulling out a phone to coordinate the towing logistics for both vehicles.

Cosmo didn't start the engine right away. He turned his torso toward her. The faint blue glow of the digital dashboard illuminated the sharp contours of his profile.

"Address," he commanded softly.

"Fifty-fourth Street," Ellie said, looking straight ahead through the windshield. "Near the St. Regis."

Cosmo's dark brows pulled together slightly. He knew the Oliver townhouse was on East 74th. A pre-war building near the St. Regis meant only one thing: her personal, pre-marital studio.

He shifted into drive without asking a single question. The heavy sedan glided smoothly away from the curb, its winter tires cutting through the thick slush.

The cabin was spacious, yet Cosmo's presence filled every inch of it. Ellie stared at the wipers' rhythmic sweep, her right hand drifting to her nose, touching the bridge in an unconscious gesture of tension.

Cosmo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. A brief flicker of softness broke across his cold expression before disappearing back into granite.

"Does your head hurt?" he asked as they stopped at a red light on Fifth Avenue.

"No," Ellie replied, her voice clipped. "I'm a surgeon, Cosmo. I know what a mild contusion looks like. I don't need a neurological workup."

"A surgeon who ran an intersection on black ice," he noted, his tone entirely level.

"The light was yellow."

The light turned green. Cosmo accelerated into a gentle turn, but the rear wheels hit a patch of streetcar rails beneath the snow, causing the chassis to jerk slightly to the left.

Ellie lost her balance, her left shoulder brushing firmly against Cosmo's right arm.

Through the heavy wool of their coats, she felt the solid muscle beneath. The sudden proximity brought that sharp, intoxicating cedarwood scent rushing into her lungs.

She straightened up immediately, pulling herself flush against the passenger door.

"Sorry. The road is bad."

Cosmo's jaw tightened. His right hand left the steering wheel and hovered inches from her knee, his thumb brushing the outer edge of her wool coat as he checked the center console.

"Keep your seatbelt snug, Ellie," he said, his voice dropping an octave lower.

Her heart skipped a single, erratic beat. There was no mockery in his voice, only an undercurrent of absolute possession that made the air between them feel dense and heavy.

For the rest of the drive down Fifth Avenue, neither of them spoke.

Twenty minutes later, the Bentley purred to a stop in front of the pre-war brownstone on 54th Street. The street was quiet, blanketed in pristine white snow.

"Thank you for the ride," Ellie said, unclipping her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. "Send the repair estimate to my email. I'll wire the funds directly."

"I don't deal with insurance adjusters," Cosmo said, cutting her off.

He shifted his body toward her, leaning across the center console. The space between them shrank to less than a foot. His ice-blue eyes pinned her to the headrest.

"Give me your phone."

Ellie pressed her back into the seat leather. "What?"

"I don't discuss property damage through third parties," Cosmo said. He extended his right palm, face up. A faint scar ran along the base of his thumb. "Give me the phone, Ellie."

His gaze lingered on her lips for a fraction of a second—heavy, deliberate, and intense—before rising back to meet her eyes. He didn't touch her skin, but the heat radiating from his hand was impossible to ignore.

Ellie pulled her iPhone from her purse, unlocked the screen, and placed it in his hand.

Cosmo took it, his long fingers moving across the glass with practiced speed. He typed in a number and dialed.

On the dashboard mount, his private phone lit up with an incoming call. He ended the call, saved the contact, and handed her device back.

"That's my private line," he said, pulling back to his side of the car, restoring the cold distance between them. "Message me when you're inside."

Ellie took her phone, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped out onto the snowy sidewalk.

The freezing wind rushed over her face, cooling the sudden heat burning beneath her collar. She didn't look back as the heavy oak lobby door swung shut behind her.