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“Thank you, Kane.”
“For what?”
“Seeing me.”
“Believe me,” he said low, “it’s my pleasure.”
Amazingly enough, I believed him.
Duffy was back in no time with keys and paperwork. They obviously took the process seriously. I was surprised they didn’t ask for a virgin sacrifice before they let you take one of their cars on a test-drive. Maybe that’s why Kane brought me along. Except then he turned to me and said, “Sign here.”
“What?”
“You’re driving too.” He wagged his brows.
I faltered a bit. “Um . . .” I wanted to say, “You’ve seen me with my hand caught down my bra—do you really think I should be trusted with a car that costs as much as a condo? There’s a reason Auggie doesn’t let me drive his Mercedes and why I drive a nice, sensible Toyota.” However, with Duffy standing there, it didn’t seem like I should verbalize that thought. Instead, I saw myself signing and handing over my driver’s license, and before I knew it, I was in the driver’s seat.
I looked around in amazement at all the gadgets the car had, and I couldn’t help but stare at the red leather interior. It was kind of ridiculous if you asked me, but Kane was in awe of it, so I kept my opinion to myself. He was practically bobbing up and down in his seat, he was so excited as he went over every detail of the car as if he were the salesman.
“Start her,” he said in hushed tones, like we were at church.
With shaky hands, I did so.
Kane closed his eyes. “Do you hear that beautiful hum? It’s my favorite song.”
“Do you need a moment?” I teased.
Kane opened his eyes and smirked. “Are you making fun of me, Miss Armstrong?” he drawled. I loved when his accent came out. I wanted to bathe in his words.
“Maybe,” I giggled.
“Wait until we get this baby on the highway. You’ll be singing my tune.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive?” What I really meant was “Please, please drive.” I was so nervous.
“I will, but I want you to have the pleasure first.” He sounded so sincere, I wanted to enjoy it for his sake.
I took several deep breaths and pressed down the brake. I shifted into drive, thankful this model was an automatic. Kane preferred manual, as he said true sports cars only had manual transmissions; but since I’d driven a stick shift only once, and it wasn’t pretty, we went the safe route. He also believed sports cars should be red, as it was his heart’s desire, but we were stuck test-driving a silver one.
Slowly, I eased out of the dealership and toward the open road. Well, as open as roads in Atlanta get.
“Relax.” Kane rested his hand on my thigh.
That only made me grip the steering wheel tighter.
He popped his hand right off. “Do you not want me to touch you?”
“I want you to touch me,” I blurted too quickly and too loudly.
He chuckled and put his hand back.
Meanwhile, I sighed at my awkwardness, all while trying not to crash the ridiculously expensive car I was driving—that I could tell wanted to be driven faster. I swore I heard the car screaming at me to set it free.
Kane’s thumb brushed against the fabric covering my thigh, making my body zing. “Why do I still make you so nervous?”
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Well, I like you, so just be yourself and let loose.”
Letting loose for me was cranking up Enya and reading all night. “Exactly how do I do that?”
Kane didn’t laugh or make fun of me. He turned on the radio to a classic rock station, rolled down his window, and instructed me to do the same. My hair went crazy in the wind.
“Now relax your arms and lean back. Become one with the car.”
I settled back in the seat, which seemed to contour to my body perfectly.
“Take the next exit for the highway.”
“Okay,” my voice shook.
“You got this!” Kane assured me, yelling over the sound of the wind.
Hopefully. If not, Auggie had great insurance.
I turned on the blinker and checked my blind spot before moving into the turn lane. There was no turning back now. With trepidation, I eased onto the busy highway and carefully merged, staying with the flow of traffic, which was always insane. The car seemed happy for the additional speed, yet I could tell it craved more. I could relate to the car. There was something inside of me that was desperate to be let free, to test the limits of what I could really do.
For a small stretch there was a break in the traffic.
“Here’s your chance,” Kane yelled. “Speed up.”
For a second I hesitated, but I was tired of holding myself back for fear I would do something stupid. Or worse, that I would be seen. But somebody had seen me, and though that scared me, I wanted it more than anything. With that, I stepped on the gas, and the car said, “Finally.” A surge of excitement went through me as the speedometer ticked up.
