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“Side trip? Where?” Maybe he’ll answer if I say fewer words.
“You’ll see.”
Ugh! I look out my side window and focus on breathing.In, out, in, out... Damn!
“I don’t want to miss our flight,” I say.
“McKenzie, I own the jet. It leaves when I’m ready.”
“Your brothers might need it,” I point out.
“We have two. And if suddenly BlakeandTyler both need to go somewhere, it’s only a one-hour flight back from here.”
I don’t have any further arguments, so I suffer in silence while he drives on for another half hour. We’re driving farther and farther from Boise, and I have a feeling we won’t be flying home tonight.
When we still don’t stop, I have to say something or explode. “I’m not staying overnight with you, Byron.”
“Would you mind being more specific?” he asks.
“We arenothaving sex.” There. It doesn’t get much more specific than that. After a long moment of absolutely nothing, he turns and looks at me for several heartbeats.
“Are you trying to convincemeof this... or convinceyourself?” he quietly asks, turning to look at me.
“Look at the road!” I gasp, and he turns back. He’s quiet for several moments then gives me a predatory smile.
“I’ll promise you this — we won’t do asinglething you don’t want to do.”
This doesn’t reassure me in the least. I become even hotter as we continue driving to who in the heck knows where. And I have a feeling my convictions aren’t going to last...
Chapter Seventeen
McKenzie
The silence in the car stretches out long and thick, and I finally have no choice but to remove my jacket. I’m going to pass out if I don’t. Even with the air blowing full blast on my face, I’m heavily sweating, uncomfortable and downright hot as sin.
“What’s the temperature outside?” I pant, grabbing my purse, pulling out a magazine I brought for the plane ride, and fanning my face.
“Sixty-two degrees,” Byron says with a knowing chuckle that has me grinding my teeth.
“It must be the sun pouring in through the windows. It’s magnifying the heat or something,” I say.How lame can I get?
“Sure...” He draws the word out, but I refuse to take the bait.
When I feel his fingers drift over my thigh and grip my hand, I jump as far as my seat belt will allow, and jerk my head toward him. I can’t take his touch right now.
When he outlines the edges of my knuckles with his thumb before turning my hand over and tracing the inside of my wrist, I feel his touch all of the way to my core, which is now pulsing and, like the rest of me, overheated. I squeeze my thighs together and try desperately to remember why I need to stop this cute little seduction scene right this minute.
With as much effort as I can muster, I yank my hand away and tuck it between my thighs, waiting for a supernova to come and obliterate this vile car. It’s so damn hot now that some crazy conjunction of the stars can offer the only explanation. It certainly isn’tmyhormones. After another ten minutes, I again jump when Byron squeezes my thigh.
“Are you going to remain silent this entire ride?” he asks.
I stare at him in outrage. “Haven’t you been listening? I’ve hardly been silent.” When he throws me a derisive look, I take another tact. “How much longer is this ride going to be?”
“About thirty more minutes.”
“Where are we going?”
“To one of my favorite places.”
