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Muffled noises and a few grunts later—yeah, that’s me again—because fuck that shit, as if Sienna needs to be kept safe fromme.I’m the only one she’ll ever be safe with.
“I can also send a car for you, with a driver. He’ll bring you home again whenever you want.”
What? No.“Why can’t she just come up with me?”
“And how do you propose dealing with a passenger and two bags on a Harley Davidson?”
Good question. Okay, so change of plans. “The Chevy is parked in the garage at the condo. I’ll take that instead. Easy fix.”
“That could work.” Nick nods slowly, mulling things over. “Yeah, that could totally work. I’ve still got a set of keys to your apartment. I’ll go there tonight, pack a bag with some clothes for you, and a few personal items, and then I’ll have one of the roadies bring the Chevy here first thing tomorrow morning. He can park it around the back, leave the keys in the console, and you can get away before anyone even knows you’re there. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Nick grins, satisfied with himself. “Keep out of trouble, keep clean, and everything else goes away.” A small muscle in Nick’s jaw twitches. He looks back at Sienna. “Sounds simple enough, right?”
“That’s fine, yes. I’ll be here at seven o’clock. Security won’t be necessary, Mr. Dundas, neither will locks on the doors. I do insist on having your direct phone number, though, just in case anything gets out of hand.”
“Goes without saying.”
Sienna glances at me quickly. “I’ll meet you out back tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”
And then, with a quick fist bump from Nick, a huge sigh of disbelief from Dr. Copeland, and another derisive huff from Dee, Sienna spins on her sexy-ass heels and glides out of the room without another word, without once looking back at me.
I don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into here, but was it was worth it?
Hell, yes. It was totally worth it.
Sienna
Two hours into our trip up to the Catskills, and I’ve spent most of that time gazing out the window, the warm breeze blowing and swirling around the car, and while I don’t exactly know where we are, or whereexactlywe’re headed, I trust Kael enough to get us there safely because so far he’s proven himself to be a really good driver.
I peek across at him.He’s got one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other arm sitting on the open window frame, his fingers tapping out a beat to a song on the radio.
Never before have I seen him look so content, so at peace with himself.
It’s also the first time I’ve seen him wearing civilian clothes anddamn,he looks really good in them—ripped blue jeans, not super tight but they hug his ass nicely, and a faded gray T-shirt. Black boots, heavily laced. Sunglasses. Black wristbands. A silver skull necklace on thin leather straps that hangs to the middle of his chest.
Did I mention he looks good? Because he does.
He looksreallygood.
How does the man wear clothes so well?
Kael and I have yet to discuss “the kiss” we shared. The kiss. Oh god. The kiss was… it wasincredible. Should it have happened? No. I should have stopped him. Yes. Absolutely.
But, holy mother of all that’s holy! Kael Jenkins kisses like a man possessed. He kisses like a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain. He kisses like he’s claiming you, branding you with lips designed for one purpose and one purpose only and I haven’t been able to think about anything else since it happened.
Kael hasn’t brought it up, though, and a part of me worries that he might be regretting it. He’s acting like himself, so maybe I’m worried about nothing because overthinking things really is my forte, but the fact of the matter is, I’m entranced by him, consumed by him in ways I’ve never been consumed by any other man before. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so possessive, greedy, and tight-fisted.
And that’s why, when Titsy Galore—yeah, that’s what I’m calling her now, Dee that is, because I’m mature like that—offered to be his sobriety companion yesterday, the green-eyed monster inside me reared her ugly head and I actually thought about scratching the woman’s eyes out with my fingernails.
I didn’t. I’m not a lunatic.
But that’s how it came to be that I’m currently cruising along the highway, inside the sexiest car I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It’s an older muscle car, glistening black, polished chrome all over the place, smooth and sleek with a red leather interior that smells like it’s recently been polished.
The bench seat and old-school tape deck make me smile. It’s such a contradiction. The modern day rocker with all the bells and whistles, and it turns out he has an appreciation for the timeless, the classic, and the old-fashioned.
“Your car is gorgeous,” I tell him.
