AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Yes.
I shake my head.
"Liar." He chuckles, then kisses me again. When he straightens, I realize the seatbelt has been drawn over my chest. He slams my door, walks around the car, and slides into the driver’s seat. Before I can think of trying to undo my belt, he locks the doors, fastens his own seatbelt, and maneuvers the car onto the road.
"So, you’re kidnapping me?" I burst out.
"Want me to stop the car and let you out?"
I open my mouth to agree, then hesitate.
"That’s what I thought," he murmurs.
He steps on the accelerator, and the car speeds up. I should say something, should protest and rage and cry. And try to escape. Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and gaze through the windshield. My chest feels lighter. A load seems to have rolled off of my shoulders. He was right. Now that the decision has been taken out of my hands, I feel relieved. Is that what’s been holding me back? That I’ve been fighting with my conscience and berating myself for what I feel for him? Am I so weak, I need a man to make the decision for me and put me in a situation where I have to fall in with his plan because there’s no other way out?
"Stop thinking so hard. You’re beginning to give me a headache," he drawls.
I shoot him a sideways glance and take in that gorgeous profile of his.
"You have to realize this is not normal for me. I’ve never allowed anyone to coerce me into a situation where I’m not in control, and now I’ve done it not once, but twice."
"Will it help if I tell you that I’m very persuasive?"
"Not really."
"What if I tell you you need to trust me?"
"Can I trust you?" I shoot back.
"Trust me to give you what you need." His lips kick up.
"Are you twisting around the words to suit your needs?"
"Maybe," he confesses, "but I also think you’ll be much happier if you allow me to lead right now."
"I’m not sure I like the sound of that." We take a turn onto a road that curves away from the highway. "Where are we going?"
"You did say that you’d prefer to elope and get married."
"Umm, yeah?"
"In Italian, we have a word for it. It’s calledfu’itina, which meanslittle escape."
"Why does it sound so much better in Italian?" I muse.
"Everything’s better in Italy, and in spoken Italian, and with Italian men." He smirks.
"Good to know. Clearly, being humble is not one of the known attributes of Italian men."
"Humble? What’s that?" His grin widens. "I’d have loved to take you to Vegas but—"
"Vegas," I screech. "I can’t go to Vegas. I need to show up for rehearsal tomorrow, or I’ll lose my role as understudy."
"Relax." The jerkface grins. "We’re not going to Vegas; not exactly."
"What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?" I cry.
"I’m taking you to the Vegas of Europe."
