“Are you sure?” Roxy hesitates.
We cleaned up in silence, and I thought we would just leave, but as I was about to lock the car, I opened the door instead.
“Do you want to sit behind the wheel or not?” I make a gesture to beckon her forward.
The smile she gives me is everything. I want to put it on her face for the rest of my life.
“Okay.” She climbs inside carefully.
She wiggles her ass a bit to get herself comfortable in the seat. Then, slowly, with care I appreciate, she puts her hands on the wheel. “She’s a beauty.”
“That she is.” With my hands on the hood, I lean down into the opening and smirk when Roxy gets distracted, roaming her eyes around my torso.
She realizes I caught her ogling, and turns away quickly. “Aren’t you worried someone will steal her here?” She runs her fingers along the dashboard.
“I bought the entire block, and I have security around here.”
“You bought the entire block so you can have a garage here?” She tilts her head as if she doesn’t believe me.
“This is a precious possession,” I scoff.
“Unlike the worst one?” She looks up at me, grinning.
But she won’t fool me; there is a need behind her tease. She’s still upset about that statement.
“Worst might still be precious, I came to understand that lately.”
She licks her lips and swallows visibly, but she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t shy away from the loaded emotions behind my words. Progress.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe, just as I make sure the Bentley is,” I add.
We hold each other’s gaze for a beat longer. Never have I realized how much could be said with eyes only.
Or how much could be misinterpreted.
The moment grows awkward again, because I want more, and she is still holding onto her walls.
“Besides,” I navigate us away. “It’s a sketchy neighborhood. I don’t want to get jumped and robbed when I’m here.”
“Fair enough. But buying an entire block?” She laughs.
“Anything for my girl,” I tease, tapping the hood.
“I’m starting to realize that.” She gets out of the car. “Thank you for showing me your safe harbor.”
She gets it. She didn’t look at this as some eccentric, expensive hobby. She understands. “Who taught you to appreciate vintage cars?”
She startles. “How did you know?”
“It’s obvious you understand more than the average person.”
“Or the average woman you bring here?”
“I have never shown my garage to any woman before.”
Her eyes widen. “But you took them for a ride in the finished car.”
“No. Nobody except my siblings knows about this.”
