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I tilted my head to the side, trying to get a feel for whatever had happened between him and his mother during that meeting. Despite the mischievous smile I’d come to know and expect from him, I detected a subtle undercurrent of tension running through him that, shockingly, my first instinct was to soothe away.
Comfort had never been my go-to tendency before, at least not with the people I’d bedded. With friends, sure. I was the first one there with a joke and a tub of ice cream, but not with the people I was sleeping with.
Besides, I caught on to that last part of wanting to leave so we could spend time alone. I knew I wasn’t here to spend time alone with Spencer, or to go sightseeing like this, either. I was here to be doing exactly what I was doing, keeping up a good front as I faked being his wife. And now he was extending the idea of getting away from here so we could spend time alone, something I would expect of a good man to his real wife, needing to be alone and away from his family drama. Maybe I was reading into it way more than I needed to.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve been dying to look around Sirmione. Do I need to change?”
“You look amazing,” he said, grinning down at me.
That tension was undoubtedly there in his jaw, and I couldn’t help myself as I reached up to run my thumb along the strong line to smooth it away. I left my hand there as I turned to look at Sloane, who barely hid her smile as she held Bex to her front, her arms crossed over Becca’s chest in a warm hug.
“Do I need to change?” I asked Sloane, unsure if I looked presentable enough to visit the historic town and wanting a woman’s perspective.
She shrugged. “I would maybe wear different shoes and a different top, but the pants are perfect.”
I nodded before turning back to Spencer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll only be seven minutes.” At his frown, I rolled my eyes. “I need the time to find my way through this museum of a house.”
“Just seven minutes, eh?”
Was it just me, or was that a restless shadow moving through his eyes? Reaching up on my tiptoes, I kissed him again against my better judgment. “I’ll try to cut down the time, I promise.”
I walked as quickly as possible, hurrying up toward the room, feeling his eyes on me as I walked up the stairs. I knew that Spencer was likely watching me from where I’d left him down in the garden, but there was also the sense that there were eyes on me from somewhere up in the main house.
My skin broke out in goosebumps, and I knew the sooner I got back to the front gate, the better I’d feel.
* * *
My mouth dropped open when I saw the classic car, which was one of just under thirteen hundred ever made of its kind. I’d looked at Spencer in shock, and from his reaction, I knew my reaction was everything he hoped it would be.
“This isn’t a Dino GT Spyder,” I said in a hoarse voice, “is it?”
The wry half-smile, which still showed traces of cynicism from his meeting with his mother, turned into a full-blown grin of happiness as he quickly undid the switches on the top to fold it down. “You know your cars. I’m impressed.”
“Unfortunately, for your cocky ass, I’m not trying to impress you.”
He shook his head, looking sexier than ever. “Oh? Then tell me, how do you know cars so well, Ms. Hoover,” he said.
“Easy. You should see some of the specimens parked in the houses I’ve sold,” I said, looking around at the remarkable car in front of me, “not to mention some of the corporate properties I’ve sold. You have no idea what I’ve seen some clients drive, but I will admit, I’ve never seen one of these in person. So, you do have me there.”
“Well,” he said with a mischievous grin, “maybe if you ask very nicely, I’ll let you drive it.”
“In staying with my previous point of not trying to impress you, I’ll admit that I never learned how to drive a manual,” I said.
“You’re shitting me?”
“No,” I held my ground and wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest to admit this. “Why are you surprised that I can’t drive a stick shift? Big deal?”
He smirked and slipped his hands into his jean pockets, “Well, you seem to know your way around my stick pretty well.”
“Dear God,” I said, wishing I’d cut him off sooner. “Your dick is not a fucking car, so please refrain from lame attempts at being funny with dick jokes, which—”
“Got it,” he smoothly cut me off. “It was a childish joke, but it was the first thing that came to my mind when you admitted you’d never driven a stick before.”
I playfully arched an eyebrow at him, “I suppose I should be more surprised that you didn’t follow it up with a that’s what she said comment, so for that, I give you a sliver of credit.”
His eyes narrowed when he crossed his arms and seemed to stare through me, but I never imagined what he would say next. I was expecting more banter, but his playfulness left with a snap of his changed expression to a more intense one.
“I’m going to teach you how to drive this car,” he stated factually. Then, without a response from me, he turned and managed to maneuver his tall, enormous frame into the car. “For now, let’s get out of here. The longer I linger here, the more I think I’m starting to break out in hives.”
