Joy Ride

“As soon as I saw it, I knew what would get him fired up. I told him his Bugatti was already fast enough to get out of a horde of brain-eaters in less than three seconds, but had his Veyron been outfitted to withstand the walking dead in the apocalypse? Hook. Line. Sinker,” she says, then mimes reeling him in.

For a moment, I wait for the goblin on my shoulder to reappear in a new form. To rage with work jealousy over her winning a potential deal that I not only didn’t get—I didn’t know how to win. But the green-eyed monster never rears his head. And that’s not only because I didn’t want to work with the guy. It’s because she deserves this deal. She spotted the way in that I didn’t see.

I’ve got to give her credit for sealing the deal. “Good for you, Henley. I’m impressed. And I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you. I’m proud of me, too,” she says, and there’s a lovely happiness in her tone that warms my heart. She looks at me, and her eyes go wide.

“What’s wrong?” I say, flicking my gaze back to the concrete ribbon in front of us as we head onto I-95. On the horizon, the sky darkens.

“We just discussed business, and you didn’t flip out and I didn’t flip out.”

“Does that mean we’re not enemies anymore?”

When she kicks off one heel and sets her foot on the dashboard, she says, “You weren’t my enemy last night.”

“On the dance floor?”

She shakes her head. “When I got home,” she says, and her voice takes on a softer edge. “That’s why I’m sorry I had to leave early.”

And color me even more intrigued. “What did you do when you were back at your place?”





37





She doesn’t say a word. Instead, as we cruise along the highway, she tugs at the hem of her dress. My fingers grip the wheel tighter as I watch both the road and her.

Her right hand dances along her calf, gently stroking her skin. I breathe harder. That hand. Those legs. She travels up to her knees, revealing more of her flesh. A noise echoes from my throat. The purple fabric rises higher, over her knees, up her thighs, each second making the temperature in me tick up. The heat shoots one thousand degrees as her skirt reaches her waist.

She wears pink panties. So simple. So sexy. “Once I was in my apartment, I did . . . this,” she says as she drags her finger across the panel between her legs.

I groan as she tugs the skirt back down. I will my focus to the critical task at hand—driving. “So those busy little fingers kept you entertained?”

“Very entertained.”

“Bed, couch, or shower?”

“Bed. I have a flowered bedspread, in case you were wondering what my place looks like. It’s a deep rose with vines and petals along the edges, and I have more pillows than the sky has stars,” she says, as she fills in the missing paint by numbers. I can see her place so clearly now.

“I bet you look like a goddess on it. A dirty goddess with your fingers in your panties.”

“My hand was between my legs in seconds. I thought of what I was missing last night.”

“What were you missing?”

“Your mouth on me. Everywhere on me,” she says, her voice breathy. “All over my body.”

“That can be arranged.”

She drags her fingers along her neck. “My neck.” Then over her chest. “My breasts.” She slows at her belly. “My stomach.”

I grip the wheel so damn hard I’m surprised I don’t rip it out of the dashboard. “We can conduct a reenactment of this anytime you want. Just say the word.”

She slides her hand down her thigh, over her skirt. “Between my legs.”

“I can pull over right now.”

She seems lost in the memory. “That’s where I wanted to be last night. That’s where I wished I was. I wanted my fantasy to be real so badly.”

And if I had any questions, she’s answered most of them.

“It can be real,” I say, and my voice is hoarse, rough with need.

As we cruise along the highway, I want nothing more than to watch the woman come. I want to hear her breath hitch, and I want to watch her fingers fly faster along the wet panel of her panties. I’m dying to see her get herself off, right here in my car. Legs spread. Feet on the dash. Head thrown back. I want to witness her orgasm wracking her body, see how she shudders, then I want to stop the car, climb over her, and fuck her through her afterglow to another, and another. I want to do everything with her and to her.

The first drop of rain splatters against the windshield, breaking my filthy fantasies.

I signal, slow, and pull onto the shoulder to raise the top. Once it’s up, I turn to her. Her eyes are a pure chocolate brown. Vulnerable.

“Hey,” I say. “You forgot one place where my mouth would be.”

“I did?”

I grab her face in one hand and crush her lips, kissing her like I would have if we’d stumbled out of the bar together last night, drunk on each other, high on the flirting, ready to go to her place or mine. To tear off clothes, map each other’s skin, drive each other wild.

I kiss her like I would have if I’d undressed her, worshipped her body with my tongue and lips, then moved her beneath me and lowered the full weight of my body onto hers. I haven’t had her like that. Under me on a bed. I want her on her back, her hair fanned out on a pillow, her beautiful body revealed to me. She trembles as I kiss her, and the uncertainty I felt this morning melts away. She ropes her arms around my neck and pulls me closer.

Goddamn, I want her now. I want her deeper and closer. But as the rain lashes the windshield, I’m acutely aware we have a deadline to meet. The supplier closes shop soon.

Not to mention the other little issue. As I separate, I flash her a lopsided grin. “I’m all for car sex, but side of the road on I-95 feels like the textbook definition of a bad idea.”

She laughs warmly. “I’m with you on that one.” She runs the back of her fingers along my cheek. Softly, she says, “Max.”

“Yeah?”

“The same.”

I furrow a brow. “What’s the same?”

“Everything you said last night. It’s the same for me. I’ve been attracted to you since I met you. I feel it everywhere.”

The world shifts on its axis. It’s like my entire body is plugged in. I’m crackling and electric and so turned on. But there’s more to it than that. Something stirs inside me again—something that feels foreign and strange but is completely welcome, too. “Is that so?”

She nods. “When I said I’ve tried hard not to get involved with anyone in the business, and the only time I’ve been involved is now,” she says, reminding me of her words from the night on my couch, “I also meant the only time was with you before. Even though we weren’t a thing. But I was so into you, it pretty much felt like we were involved.”

“Same here.” I press a final kiss to her lips, partly so I won’t ask the next thing on my mind—how involved are we now?

I don’t want to ruin the moment, and I don’t want to miss our deadline. And I’m glad I’m saying sayonara to the goblin and the insidious thoughts he planted in my head of her and John Smith.

When I merge back onto the highway, I ask her if she wants to listen to music. She tells me she has a playlist, and I say I do, too.