“Why don’t we take one of my cars?” I suggested, walking backward with one hand in my pocket to press the button on my garage door opener.
Behind me, the mechanism whirred as the panels lifted to reveal the interior of the four-car garage. Inside, my Aston Martin DB6 Volante gleamed in one bay. The other cars within were more practical or flashy, but nowhere near as beloved.
Linnea, mouth open to argue with me no doubt, stopped before saying a word at the sight of the Aston.
“That’s the car you had in Croyde Bay.”
I nodded, watching as she moved toward the Aston because I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her since she arrived twenty minutes ago in black leggings that clung intimately to her hips and arse and a tiny pink sports bra that cupped her breasts almost obscenely. Her shoes were the same bubble-gum pink and matched the stitching on her high athletic socks. Even in workout clothes, she was stunning with an eye for design that made sense given what Sebastian had relayed about her love for making clothes.
She ran her fingertips along the glossy hood the way someone might touch a lover.
“A much better option than your banana wagon,” I declared, moving toward her because I could not help myself.
I was used to being the center of gravity in any situation, both because of my career and because of the force of my personality. Linnea wasn’t forceful or persuasive, but I felt an elemental draw to her, the way a flower grows toward the light. She didn’t demand attention, but something about her was magnetic.
“My banana wagon is named Little Miss Sunshine,” she countered, bending over the driver’s side door to look at the dashboard. “But this is a lovely car.”
“You can drive if it means we leave behind your yellow death trap,” I offered, surprised by myself even as I said the words.
I did not let other people drive me.
Not since Sebastian.
It wasn’t just about control, though that was a large part of it. I simply couldn’t stand the idea of looking toward the driver’s seat and seeing anyone other than Seb behind the wheel.
I wanted to take back the offer, but Linnea was throwing her long, wavy hair over her shoulder to smile brightly back at me.
Bloody hell, I was fucked.
“Awesome,” she said happily, straightening and clapping her hands together before making a grabbing motion at me. “Gimme the keys.”
With a weary sigh, I went to the hooks by the door and pulled the key ring off before tossing it to her. She caught it easily, her bra riding up as she stretched overhead, revealing the soft underswell of one breast, starkly pale against the depth of her otherwise tanned skin.
My mouth went dry, and for the first time in ages, a rush of unmanufactured lust sparked through my blood.
Could I really spend the next three years with this gorgeous creature and resist my wicked nature enough not to touch her?
I curled my hands into fists and walked around to the passenger seat.
Linnea was already secured beneath her seat belt, adjusting the rear-view mirror and then smoothing her hands over the wheel. There was a little self-satisfied smile on her lips like a cat that got the cream.
I groaned. “You just played me, didn’t you?”
She laughed and I found that I liked when she did that. It almost made me want to smile, too.
I frowned instead, irritated with us both.
“Aw, don’t be grumpy that I manipulated you into letting me drive this beauty,” she sing-songed, before turning on the engine.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, ignoring the fact that we had spent a total of four hours together, and I was already letting her disrupt my routines.
No one had surprised me in years, and the sensation was not a comfortable one.
Linnea’s grin was wicked as she pulled her sunglasses from the collar of her tee and slid them over her eyes. They were enormous and white, almost retro. They shouldn’t have looked good on anyone, but she looked somehow right sitting in my vintage car with her golden hair streaming behind her and those glamorous shades hiding her eyes.
“I hope you aren’t afraid of heights,” she quipped as she turned the dial on the radio to a familiar pop song station.
“You do know we are meant to be seen out together in public,” I reminded her.
