"She doesn't have that much control over you," Adrian muttered under his breath. If he did what he was aching to do—go after her, yank open the door, pull her out, demand she wipe that sad look off her face, and then give her a warning in the form of a nip on her unmarked neck—he wouldn't just be losing to her and his desires. He'd be letting his disorder control him for the first time, and crossing a line an underboss aspiring to be the future Don who commanded loyalty, should never cross.
So he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and walked around to his side of the car. He settled into his seat, tossed the bag into the back, and turned the key in the ignition at the same time.
As the car pulled out of its spot, he cast a quick glance sideways and saw that Genevieve had already buried herself back in her military book. And though the look on her face wasn't as it had been when they'd first left home for the hospital, it was clearly heading in that direction.
