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I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Well, there are sheep everywhere here. So if you get distracted that easily, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I’ve never hit another car in my life. I’m so sorry.”
“How lucky am I to have been the target of your first sheep-watching calamity.”
God, the accent. So gosh-darn sexy.The wind blew a waft of his masculine scent toward me. We were in a rural area, yet this guy looked plucked straight from the city. VeryLondon, if you asked me, wearing a fitted, ribbed black turtleneck that complemented his shiny, black hair and a chunky, expensive watch. And he was so wonderfully tall.
I caught myself staring and cleared my throat. “I have insurance. But I’m from the US. I don’t know how this works if I’m driving a rental in another country. I—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He held his palm out.
Baaaa… I heard in the distance. “Are you sure?” I rummaged through my purse. “I have to give you something.”
“What are you going to give me? Nail polish to touch up the damage?” he cracked. “Just keep your eyes off the sheep and on the bloody road before you kill someone.”
Before I could say anything further, the man returned to his car and got in. If this was how the rest of the trip was going to go, I was in trouble. At least he’d let me go, and I wouldn’t have to tell anyone I’d be meeting about this.
I pulled onto the road again, noticing that the guy had waited for me to take off first. As I drove away, I could see his car behind me through the rearview mirror. He’d probably let me go first because he was paranoid to drive in front of me again. Couldn’t say I blamed him.
When the GPS alerted me that I’d arrived at my destination, The Bainbridge Inn, I was surprised to see the man I’d hit also pull into the driveway.
We both exited our cars, and a sense of dread filled me. “Did you follow me here?” I asked.
He didn’t immediately answer, and his expression was hard to read. He looked a little disoriented. “I didnotfollow you here, no.”
“Then why did you pull in after me? You changed your mind about taking down my information?”
“This is my destination,” he said, stone-faced.
“You’re staying here?” I shook my head. “Oh.” I laughed nervously. “I’m sorry. What are the chances? That’s…unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate why?”
“That I hit you while you’re on holiday.”
“I’m not on holiday. Ilivehere.”
Just then the front door opened, and a sweet little old lady emerged. “You must be Abby.”
I straightened. “I am, yes.”
“I see you’ve already met Sigmund.”
My jaw dropped.
Sigmund?
Ugh!
This is Britney’s husband.
Crap.
Great.
Just great.
