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“You don’t have a wife, right? Or a husband?”
I blurt my question, and his brows lift. “You’re asking me this now?”
He has a point, and I shift uncomfortably. “Well? Do you?”
“No,” he bites out. Conversation closed. It’s abrupt enough that I almost ask what the story is there, but I remind myself that he’s a stranger to me. A stranger who had his fingers in my mouth last night, sure, but a stranger.
“Same question, Elizabeth.”
He hits my given name hard, and I barely hide my flinch.
“It’s Birdy. And no.”
His eyes cut over to me before he turns his attention back to the road. “Well that’s one thing we didn’t fuck up, anyway.”
“Yay us.” But some perverse part of me needs the last word. “Are we planning to drive through the night then?”
“Maybe,” he snaps, not acknowledging that the drive to Chicago would be fourteen more hours on a good day. And with the storm picking up, today is not a good day.
The thought of that much more time in this car has me shivering. Plus it’s freezing in here. The sun hasn’t peeked through the clouds even once today, and with the temperature barely in single digits, I haven’t truly felt warm since we left the airport. I lean forward and nudge the heat up a couple of degrees. The only good thing about today so far is that this car has a working heater.
Once I’ve adjusted it so I have a fighting chance of de-icicling my fingers, I swallow hard and do the thing I know I need to do next.
“Thanks for getting me out of that rental place.” And now comes the tougher part. “Also, I’m sorry.”
He immediately figures out what I’m referring to, and his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “You don’t have to –”
“No, I do.” I take a deep breath and speak to his handsome, frowning profile. “I’m sorry I wasted time on Stilson Grove, and I’m”—okay, here goes—“I’m also sorry about last night. None of that was because of you.”
The only movement following my rush of words is a twitch of his eyebrows. “I think at least part of last night was because of me.”
I huff out a startled laugh as my cheeks heat at the memory of the good parts he was responsible for.
“Yes, thank you, you were involved in the good parts,” I say, resisting the urge to drop my eyes to my lap in embarrassment. “The rest of it…” I shift in my seat, not sure how much I wanted to share. “I was in town to handle some business with the bar, and it all caught up with me last night. The really great orgasm yanked the cork out of my emotions bottle, and I let it spill all over you, which wasn’t fair. I’m really sorry about that.”
“The cork on your…?”
“Emotions bottle, yeah.” I shrug. “Don’t you keep all your feelings bottled up so you don’t end up overwhelmed and flat on your back?”
He gives a soft sigh. “Actually, I usually don’t hold back. I’m not sure that’s any better though.”
It’s as vulnerable as he’s been since I first laid eyes on him, and it almost makes me wish things were different. That I was somebody interested in a boyfriend-type guy instead of someone getting rid of anything in her life that could possibly tie her down.
“Look at us and our healthy coping mechanisms,” I murmur.
“Yeah, look at us.” After a long moment, he slides me a cocky grin. “So it was a really great orgasm, huh?”
Of course that’s what he took from our exchange. “Shut it,” I say with an eye roll, although my core clenches at the memory of it. This conversation should make things even more awkward in this small, enclosed space, but things actually feel a little less tense than when we set out on this godforsaken journey.
Maybe it’s just me feeling that way, though, because Sebastian suddenly mutters a curse.
“Grab the wheel for a sec.”
I blink over in surprise, so he clarifies, “If you insist on keeping it 80 degrees in here, you’re going to have to keep us on the road while I strip.”
“While you… what?”
My hand moves faster than my brain, and I curl my fingers around the wheel as Sebastian tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it until it slides out from under his collar. He leans toward me to shrug out of his coat, and I get a lungful of clean hair and pine trees. Then he tosses the jacket into the backseat as I fight the wind gusts to keep the car between the lines. That task gets harder when he starts on the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the tight T-shirt underneath. Once all the buttons are undone, he leans over again to slide it off, and this time his shoulder brushes my arm. I jolt from the contact, and now my shivers definitely aren’t from the cold.
