“You live minutes from downtown.” He grips the driver’s side door, bending over it to glare down at me. “You’re going to get robbed.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I don’t have anything to steal.” I slide the key into the ignition. “I don’t even own a TV.”
Unless I count the one Cole left behind, which is locked in the basement.
“You have an expensive motorcycle in your dining room,” he says. “And what’s stopping a thief from waiting inside to take you when you return?”
He sounds just like Cole.
I slip on a pair of cat eye sunglasses and drop my head back on the seat. “I need to get to the bank before it closes.”
He straightens, studying me for a moment with frustration written across his elegant features. Then he removes an envelope from his suit jacket and offers it to me.
“What’s this?” I clasp it, but he doesn’t let go.
“An advance on your pay.” He still hasn’t released it.
“Afraid I’m going to back out?”
“You didn’t sign the contract.” He relinquishes his grip.
“I told you I’d be there, and I will.” I open the envelope and peek at the check.
Oh sweet baby Jesus, that’s a lot of zeroes. An entire month’s pay. My heart slams against my ribs, and my hands tremble.
“I’ll drive you.” He opens the door.
In the rear-view mirror, I spot a sleek black sedan sitting on the curb. “You mean your driver will take me?”
“Yes.”
“No, thanks.” I pull on the door handle, attempting to shut it.
He pulls back, stopping me. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s a beautiful day. I want the wind on my face.”
Most guys would give in. You want to be a pain in the ass? Fine. It’s not worth arguing over. But not Trace. He’s stubborn, confrontational. A man who gets his way.
“Get out.” He opens the door wider. “I’m driving.”
My head jerks up. “You’re driving…this?”
He stares at the tiny spartan interior like he can’t believe he suggested the idea.
I burst into laughter. “What about your perfect hair?”
He blows out a breath and swipes a hand over those sexy textured locks.
“Will you even fit in here?” I’m still laughing, recalling the first time Cole crammed his massive body behind the wheel.
Trace is leaner than Cole, but leg room will be tight. Really tight.
“We’re about to find out.” He plucks me from the seat like I weigh nothing and drops me on the other side of the gear shift.
As I tumble against the passenger door, he reaches beneath the driver’s seat and slides it back with a rusty screech. Then he shrugs out of his suit jacket and looks at the non-existent space behind the seats, as if trying to figure out where to store his designer threads.
“Try the trunk.” I peer at him over the top of my sunglasses, grinning.
One long-legged stride takes him to the rear of the Midget. The trunk groans open.
“You got to be kidding me.” He slams it shut and returns empty-handed.
I slide the envelope into the center console and meet his eyes. “Sometimes I fill the trunk with ice and use it as a cooler for beer.”
“That explains the rust.” He lowers his six-foot-five frame behind the wheel. After a little wriggling and a lot of huffing, he works his knees around the wheel and shuts the door. “This thing is a death trap.”
“If you’re going to complain—”
“Where are we going?” He reaches for the key in the ignition.
I give him the directions to the bank. “You know how to drive a stick?”
He casts me an aggravated look, but beneath the heavy scowl lurks a glimmer of mirth. His disguised smile.
“Be careful, Trace. I might get the impression that you’re having fun.”
“Right.” He latches his seatbelt, waits for me to do mine, then we’re off.
As he backs onto the street and pulls away, the sedan follows behind us.
“Is he going to tail us the whole time?” I kick off the flip-flops and prop my feet on the dash.
“Yes. My driver knows CPR, so he’ll be able to resuscitate us when we get run-over by a Mini Cooper.”
I snort and glance at his face. The almost-smile at the corner of his mouth turns my snort into laughter, and holy shit, he chuckles. It’s a gravelly sound, with a full grin and everything.
What a breathtaking sight. His hair ruffles in the wind, his complexion glowing beneath the sunlight. I might not like him, but my God, I wouldn’t mind scratching all my itches with him. This thing we’re doing, this pushing, pulling, flirty dance is the best foreplay I can remember having in a long time.
When we arrive at the bank, he stays in the car to make a phone call. I originally wanted to come here to withdraw some money to live on for the next week, but as I deposit the massive check, I add another purpose to my visit.
After the bank teller cuts me a certified check made out to Gateway Shelter, I head back to the car with the taste of happy tears in the back of my throat.
“A few more stops.” I spot the black sedan a few parking spaces away. “Schnucks Pharmacy on Gravois is next.”
He merges the Midget into traffic, shifting through the gears like a pro. “What do you need there?”
The nosy bastard doesn’t need to know I buy prescriptions for my neighbors.
“I’m out of condoms.” I flash him a smile.
It’s hard to tell what emotion those aristocratic features are conveying, but I’m certain it’s not enthusiasm.
“We’re stopping by the casino on the way back,” he growls.
At the pharmacy, he goes inside with me, glowering like an ill-mannered barbarian when I add a package of Trojan Magnum XL condoms to Virginia’s arthritis prescription.
“Quit scowling.” I pull some cash from my pocket. “They’re not for you.”
The young man behind the register watches us through his hipster glasses.
Trace grabs the bag from the man’s hand and storms out of the store in all his temperamental glory.
I pay the cashier and take my time wandering through the aisles. When I step outside, he’s not in the car or anywhere in sight. My throat tightens. Did he leave?
As I scan the parking lot for his driver, an arm hooks around my waist from behind. I glimpse the blue sleeve of Trace’s shirt before he crashes my back against the building, wraps a hand around my throat, and covers my mouth in a searing kiss.
Chapter Nine
PRESENT
Perfect lips slide over mine. Perfect biceps flex beneath my hands. Perfect insanity spirals through me and spins the world off its axis.
Trace sinks his tongue into my mouth, punishing me with beautiful, brutal, intoxicating strokes. His hand slips around my neck, joined by the other at the back of my head, holding me to him as he deepens the kiss.
All thought is gone, decimated completely beneath the fury of his assault. I taste his low-simmering anger, but there’s also possession, acceptance, and desire reverberating through every curling caress.
The hum of sexual energy pulses between us as he lifts me, presses my back against the brick wall of the pharmacy, and licks deeper, faster, inside my mouth.