Imogen’s pov

I leaned back into the leather seat, my fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of my dress.

He hadn’t spoken a word since the incident outside the restaurant. Not one.

His hand rested on his thigh, the other rested lazily across the seat between us, but the silence wrapped tighter than chains.

I was used to silent drive home but not from the one person I had craved the most and the silence was killing me.

I stole a glance at him, his jaw was sharp, clenched, the faint scar at his lip deepening as his mouth pressed flat. Something brewed beneath the surface… something he wasn’t saying and...