I hear his low chuckle, then feel the press of his lips at the nape of my neck. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that you knew it was me.”
When I am no longer a limp noodle and can actually compel my limbs to function, I get off the table and back into my robe. Damien and I leave at the same time, and Jamie’s door opens as we’re passing. She looks between me and Damien, then glances sideways at her masseuse, a tall blond man with large, capable-looking hands.
“You know,” Jamie says dryly, “nothing personal, but I don’t think I got the same level of service that she did.”
To his credit, the masseuse smiles. “Come,” he says, gesturing for her to follow.
“That’s the problem,” she mutters to me as she passes, “I didn’t.”
Back in the bungalow, I start to change into the linen outfit, but Damien has brought a peasant style skirt and matching blouse for me. I put it on, enjoying the way the loose cut of the material feels over my newly polished and primped skin.
He taps on Jamie’s door and tells her that he’ll be seeing me back to Los Angeles. She’s welcome to stay another night. Edward will be back to fetch her at nine in the morning. Jamie’s thank-you is so enthusiastic it borders on embarrassing, but Damien just tells her she’s very, very welcome.
“What are we doing?” I ask as we walk the path toward the front parking area.
“Celebrating,” he says, and I can tell from his enigmatic smile that I’m not going to get more of an answer than that.
I expect to see his uber-expensive car with the odd name, but apparently Damien wasn’t kidding about having three Ferraris. A glossy black one is parked right in front of the reception area.
“I thought you might like to take her for a spin,” he says.
I gape at him. “Seriously?”
He nods.
“Seriously?” I repeat, and this time he laughs. He opens the driver’s door for me and motions for me to slide in. “Just start slow.” His grin turns wicked. “But it’s no fun if you keep it slow.”
The bucket seat hugs me and I sigh as I wait for Damien to get in on his side. “Is she new?”
“No, why?”
“New-car smell. Um, she’s not like some rare classic car that’s irreplaceable, is she?”
He reaches over and slides the key into the ignition. “Drive, Nikki.”
“Drive. Right.” I take a deep breath, punch in the clutch, and fire up the engine.
The motor purrs, and it’s a sweet, sweet sound. Slowly and carefully, I move the car into first gear and ease out of the driveway and onto the caliche road leading up to the resort. “Go left when you hit the street,” Damien says. “There are no other homes or businesses past the resort. I doubt there will be any traffic at all.”
I nod and ease slowly over the caliche. I’m crawling, actually, and I think Damien may be a little frustrated with my snail’s pace, but there is no way I’m risking little rocks flying up and chipping the paint on this baby.
And, yeah, I’m freaking nervous.
When I arrive at the intersection, I pause. “You’re sure about this?”
“Hell yes,” he says.
“What if I strip the gears?”
“I hope you do. I think a striptease would be an appropriate apology for something like that, don’t you?”
I squirm, half-wishing he didn’t have such an intense and immediate effect on me. “Don’t talk like that,” I say. “I need to concentrate.”
He laughs, then takes my hand and puts it on the stick. “All that power in the palm of your hand,” he says, and now I know he’s just trying to make me wet.