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“What if we had to catch a plane?”
He shoots me an inquiring look.
“I’m just saying,” I say in response to his lifted eyebrow. “You’re supposed to take me seriously.”
“I am taking you seriously,” he says calmly and seriously.
I have no idea if these words mean anything to him.
He pulls off his jacket and throws it in the back.
A scar mars his skin next to an intricate, black tattoo that wraps around his arm. His muscles flex, his biceps bulging as his chest tightens beneath his T-shirt.
My eyes drop to his flat abdomen, slowly drifting lower.
He catches me inspecting his body.
Stretching a knowing grin, he rakes his fingers through his hair, combing it all back. Smooth light slides over his features, and I realize how young he looks.
“You said no fucking. Why are you checking me out?” he tosses at me.
I shift my gaze away.
“Habit,” I say, looking out the window.
“Are you horny?”
“I’m not horny,” I say, flicking my eyes at him.
“I think you are,” he says, his gaze slanting to my hard nipples, visible through my T-shirt.
I get warm.
“Are we going or not?” I ask, exasperated.
“Buckle up, sweetheart,” he says as he veers into the traffic.
The first half an hour on the highway is the ride from hell.
He weaves in and out of lanes, pulling away fast, and I’m glad I skipped lunch.
“You know... This is not a motorcycle.”
He gives me a cheeky smile, and I think I got my wish granted. He’ll take my mind off a lot of things.
I can tell he’s a handful, if nothing else, for the emotions flitting through his eyes at a meteoric speed.
“Have you ever been on a long drive?” I ask.
“What do you think?”
“Do you even have a car? I’ve never seen you driving.”
“Of course I do. It’s not exactly mine, and I don’t use it much. I haven’t had a car in a long time.”
That explains a lot.
Admittedly, he’s a good driver. Spot-on reflexes, good judgment, well-calculated risk.
