I chance a glance at him as he turns onto the highway. “Thank you,” I tell him. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not agreed to come here.”
Caine turns and gives me a quick glance, his black hair plastered to his head, but he doesn’t say anything. I find his looks almost alarming. It causes my heart to pound harder.
Caine connects his phone to the car, and the song “Beautiful as You” by Thomas Rhett comes over the sound system on low.
I look over at this handsomely rugged man, who is a virtual stranger, yet for some reason I find my heart racing in his presence. I feel like I know him! Hell, I have been dreaming about him for months.
After several moments of us just listening to the music, Caine breaks the silence. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he says gruffly.
I don’t know what to say. I look at him, my mouth open in surprise.
“Ha, some thoughts are best kept in my head, I guess,” he adds, his laugh choked.
“I’m just surprised,” I say, unable to stop staring at him.
“Why’s that?” He gives me a quick glance as he drives, moving his eyes back to the slick road.
“You didn’t even say goodbye to me,” I say uneasily. “Or tell me your last name.”
His lips twitch. “Montgomery. I’m Franklin Caine Montgomery the third. But everyone just calls me Caine,” he says. “What’s your name?”
I smile. “I’m Mikayla Juliette Masterson.”
I extend my hand across my body. Caine releases the wheel, extends his arm, and shakes my hand.
It’s like a jolt of electricity when our skin touches, and I suck in a breath at his warmth.
“Good to meet you, Mikayla.” And although it’s dark, I can see his smile.
“My friends call me Micky.” My voice is low and shaky. I don’t know why I’m nervous.
His hand is still holding mine, and I find it hard to breathe. I feel flushed and am grateful for the cloud of darkness that shields my face from him.
What is happening to me?
Chapter Thirteen
Caine
Getting a phone call in the middle of the night has never made me happier in my life. I mean… three months… Fuck! For three months, all I’ve thought about is this woman. Three fucking months of being angry with myself for not getting her full name, or her number. I couldn’t even Google her.
I can’t believe Patrick gave her my number. And she actually called, thinking she was calling him. But who the fuck cares! She called. And here I am, towing her car and holding her hand.
Fuck! I’m stillholding her hand.
I force myself to let go.
Soft, small, perfect.
Shit!
I grab the wheel as “If I had a Lover” by Dylan Gossett comes on, and I’m slowly beginning to regret picking this mix on Amazon Music.
“When was the last time you had a tune-up on your car?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation rated G.
“June.”
I can hear a tremble in her voice. I look over at her and, fuck it—I take her hand again.
