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“Just a question, Princess. No need to get your tiara in a tangle.”
Her look is hot, dark, and irritated as she throws it at me before stomping to the kitchen window.
It’s getting darker, earlier than usual, and the sky is alive with noise and light that makes her jump.
She rubs her arms even though it’s not at all cold. “You’re sticking your nose in.”
“Wasn’t aware there was something to stick my nose into.”
“Just mind your own business.”
“Well, now.” I take another swallow. Isaac was the last up here, I’m guessing, as this good Irish is definitely his. “We don’t exactly have anything to entertain ourselves with, so I thought maybe we’d engage in some conversation.”
She nods but stares out into the dark as another fierce, short patter of rain hits the roof and stops. “We could go.”
“We could, but right now, there are fires burning and when the storm really hits it’s gonna be a pour its ass off which will douse the flames but make roads slick and dangerous to drive on at night with the smoke.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Not in my truck, you won’t,” I say. “Not that I’m letting you drive it. Look what you did to your pretty car. It ain’t even drivable right now.”
Her shoulders stiffen.
“But . . .” I take another swallow then set the bottle down, screwing the lid back in place. We’re safe here, but I’m not about to get anywhere near tipsy. “I know there’s a story.”
Sidney sniffs, then instinctively ducks as thunder crashes and rolls.
I know one thing.
Master spy, she ain’t.
“You know nothing, Mack.”
I clap my hands together. “She knows my name. And me, a lowly commoner.”
“You’re a high-class pain in my ass.” She spins to face me, a small frown marring her lovely oval face. Sidney folds her arms over her chest, which draws the innocent eye to a set of perfect and pert tits beneath the once white T-shirt.
They’re not too big or small. Perfect in fact, for my fucking hands.
I may have deserved the snap in her tone, but I’m bored and curious and ladies like her don’t often drive through areas like ours like she’s on a road trip. At least, not in cars like hers. They fly. Or have a destination or reason for being here.
Usually, like they’re from somewhere close, even one of the cities. They don’t usually have an Audi, not like hers. And they sure as shit don’t choose Hawthorn Way as a place to go.
“Making small talk,” I say. “And I’m curious. You don’t have a destination, you’re in a fuckin’ brand new Audi with New York plates and you don’t seem dressed for some road trip.”
“Maybe I’m spontaneous.”
I look her over and shake my head. “I don’t think so. You were way off the beaten path in a car not made for these roads. And you were driving into a fuckin’ fire. So, I’m curious, what’re you running from?”
“Not your business.”
She doesn’t say anything at all. She doesn’t laugh. Just that not your business, which is answer enough in itself and tells me fuck yeah, she’s running.
But it could be something or nothing. She’s rich. Maybe she’s running from some gala she doesn’t want to go to. I don’t know.
I decide it’s best to drop it for now and sigh as she jumps again. “I’ll be back. Need some things before the rain starts to come down harder than it already is.”
The thunder growls again. “Y-you’re leaving?”
