Maxwell's POV
The ride to my mansion was quiet - which was a good thing. It gave me the perfect opportunity to do what I'd been dying to do since she got in the car - watch her without restraint.
I kept my body angled casually toward the window, my expression neutral, but my eyes? My eyes were drinking in every single detail of the woman sitting beside me like I was a man dying of thirst and she was water.
God, she's beautiful.
Even now, even hidden behind that ridiculous disguise, the baggy clothes, the binding that I knew must be torturing her exhausted body, she was absolutely stunning.
My little liar.
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, fingers intertwined, and I found myself imagining what those soft, feminine hands would feel like against my skin without the pretense between us. Would they tremble if I touched her? Would she finally drop the act of not being affected by me?
