SIR

by R. J. Lewis

  “You know them?”

  “A few, but…if you take a look around, you’ll notice there are more than just race cars parked here.”

  I take a closer look at the cars. Teslas and Ferraris and other glamorous makes are parked here.

  “So the wealthy party like the rest of us,” I comment. “Who cares?”

  He chuckles. “The difference is most people here care about their image. They’re all hailing from big families, and they don’t want to sully their family name by getting caught out in a scandalous tabloid. Finding a house like this, a place they can escape to and act a fool, it’s best to keep such a place quiet.”

  I get what he means.

  They don’t want to misbehave in public. They just want to get away from the limelight and drink without having to worry about their image. Hence why there has not been a serious altercation. Everyone comes, parties and leaves.

  This place is the perfect getaway.

  I still want everyone gone.

  The estate is large, and the yard feels endless as we make our way to the garage. It’s such a mild word for it, though. It’s more like a small warehouse. I imagine Aidan could fit ten cars here comfortably if he wanted to.

  It’s totally quiet here and dark. I try the door and, like Alex predicted, it’s locked. I peer into a small window beside the door, but the lights inside are out. Aidan isn’t here.

  “It’s probably a good thing,” Alex assures me. “Means he didn’t take a car out.”

  “You’re right.” I’m still disappointed.

  “You want to head back?”

  I shake my head, feeling glum. “You can. I’m just going to bum around here for a bit.”

  Alex hesitates, glancing around. There isn’t a soul nearby. “Kind of spooky in the night.”

  I smile. “You scared of the dark, Alex?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you be the damsel in distress if something jumped out at us?” I lightly touch his arm as I solemnly say, “Don’t worry. I will protect you.”

  “You’ve eased me,” he jokes.

  “I’m glad we had this conversation.”

  His smile turns devilish as he quietly adds, “Strange things happen in the dark, don’t they, Ivy?”

  “What sort of things?”

  He draws near, growing closer, and I think he’s playing around, so I push his chest back, laughing. “Someone’s had too much to drink.”

  He chuckles, stepping away. “Drinking and swimming? Not my thing.”

  “Then you have no excuse for not keeping your distance.”

  He’s grinning. “I’m just being a shit. I promise. You’re resistant to my charms—”

  “I’m resistant to bullshit.”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t always.” He seems curious. “You can’t tell me you’ve never done anything wild at a party before.”

  “A woman never reveals her trysts.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh, now I really need to know—”

  A twig breaks nearby. I glance over Alex’s shoulder. A figure stands nearby, watching us. A bolt of fear travels down my spine—I’m not the savior I thought I was. I clutch Alex’s arm real tight, and he follows my line of sight.

  He stiffens, but not out of fright. His shoulders drop and he lets out an annoyed breath. I immediately understand why. The figure approaches us slowly, and the moonlight dances along a familiar face.

  “Aidan,” Alex says, voice tight.

  Aidan watches us for a beat longer, and it feels longer than it really is. Then he looks at my hand clutching Alex’s arm. I immediately let go.

  “Following us?” Alex asks, his voice accusatory.

  West gives him a cool look. “When I see figures hanging around my very expensive garage of cars, I tend to give a fuck, Alex.”

  “That’s my fault,” I step in, desperate to diffuse the tension. I give him a bright smile. “I am a curious cat, Mr West.”

  He drags his eyes to me. “You were curious about my cars, Miss Montcalm?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes rake me over. I’m a sopping wet mess. My hair is stuck to parts of my face, my make-up is for sure gone, my Tigger shorts are glued to my ass cheeks, and don’t get me started on my boobs. Once again, they’re running wild and carefree behind this tent of a shirt—yes, his shirt.

  But I smile regardless. Just…smiling through the pain of looking like a train wreck. Because, you know, you just have to fake it to make it sometimes.

  He pulls something out of his pocket and walks past us. I spin around, watching as he gets to the door and sticks a key in. He opens the door and flicks on a light. His face is completely visible now as he stands there.

  “You can see them,” he says quietly, and I know he’s talking to me.

  My eyes widen. “Really?”

  Alex lets out a hard sigh. I glance at him as he runs a hand through his still wet hair. “I’m going to head back, Ivy,” he tells me, a sour look on his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I mutter, confused by the anger rolling off his shoulders as he storms away.

  They’re still fighting. I remind myself.

  “Or you can go back,” Aidan says tightly, catching my gaze following Alex’s.

  When I look back at him, he’s frowning, brows pulled tight as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit pants.

  “No,” I say quickly. “I’d rather not.”

  He watches me tentatively as I approach. I’m feeling shy, reserved, not sure how to behave after what he said to me today.

  He wants to bend my pert little ass over the desk…

  God, I’m blushing so hard, I’m burning. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it.

  He waits patiently as I step into his giant garage. It smells like concrete and gasoline and…I pause in my step, immediately recognizing the cars.

  I swallow hard. He’s got the old-fashioned cars he built—the very ones I saw in his parking space in Ottawa, and the familiar blue race car we drove around in.

  Wow.

  Seeing the cars—it’s a tether to the past, proof that it even existed.

  I approach the polished yellow Lambo, smiling wistfully as memories flood me. Not a Gallardo like I stupidly presumed. “An Aventador.”

  I hear him approach and glance up at him. He looks back at me, a faint amused look in his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Very nice, Mr West.”

  He nods, saying nothing for a while as I continue to admire them. I move to the blue car next, forcing down the ball of emotion clogging my throat. My fingers twist around the bangle on my wrist as I remember our drive, the cupcake in the car, the belated birthday present.

  Keep me close, Ivy, and every year I’ll add another bangle.

  I shut my eyes, remembering our kiss, the way he clutched me to his chest. His hands roamed my body, his heart raced in his chest, echoing my heartbeats, as he devoured my mouth.

  “You want to go for a ride?”

  My eyes whip open. I look over my shoulder at West. He’s not looking back at me this time. He almost looks…edgy, nervous.

  “Yes,” I respond straightaway.

  I don’t miss the spark in his eyes. “Okay, I’ll be right back to grab a fob. What car?”

  “Surprise me.”

  He looks down at his feet briefly and nods. Then he’s pacing out of the garage. It’s only when he’s been away for a few minutes that I realize I’m still a wet mess. I grab chunks of my shirt and try wringing the water out, and now I’m standing in a puddle. Great. I finger comb my hair next and unplaster the shorts from my ass. I cup my boobs through my shirt, wondering if I should cross my arms across my chest or let them hang when a deep voice sounds out.

  “All set?”

  I quickly let go, face burning because I’m pretty sure he just watched me cup my boobs for a few seconds. I don’t meet his eye as I nod. “Yeah, it’s just—I’m really wet.”

  The sensible thing to do would be to run i
nside the house and change, but I’m afraid he’ll change his mind if I’m gone.

  The Aventador roars to life. I can hear the smile in Aidan’s voice when he replies, “It’s a good thing I have leather seats, Miss Montcalm.”

  This time I can’t help looking at him. He’s definitely amused. The doors unlock and we slip in. I don’t know how nervous I am until I’m sitting next to Aidan and his cologne wafts to me. I’m trembling, struggling to process I’m in this car again when his arm comes over me. I tense, bug-eyed as he buckles me.

  “Are you uncomfortable, Ivy?” he whispers, brown eyes focused on mine.

  I can hardly look into them. “No.”

  “Sit tight, beauty.”

  I go rigid at the familiar nickname. He pulls away, buckling himself, not realizing what he just called me—or he’s not paying it any mind. Meanwhile, I just stare at his profile as the garage door rolls up.

  My breaths slow. I’m itching to ask, Aidan, are you in there?

  His eyes drift to mine, but my Aidan doesn’t stare back at me. “You okay?”

  I avert my gaze. “I’m good, Mr West.”

  A minute later we’re driving down the long driveway and onto the main roads.

  Fifteen

  Ivy

  I’ve forgotten how powerful this car is—how sexy Aidan looks behind a steering wheel. The roads are empty and dark as we blaze through them. I can understand the addictive rush Aidan gets when he’s behind the wheel. Every time I feel a rev in the engine, it sends my pulse into overdrive. Even hearing it perform makes my toes curl and my mouth part.

  West sees my reaction and he laughs. Fucking laughs. I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of such a thing before now.

  I grin back at him, my hair whipping in all directions because the windows are down. At this rate, I’ll be dry before we get back to the house.

  For a while, he impresses me with the sounds of the engine roaring all around us. I play around with the radio, unable to stop myself from blasting music. I’m trying to reclaim that part of us—the part that loved the dark roads and late nights. Then I sit in my seat, utterly at peace with the familiarity.

  Aidan notices my expression. He smiles softly, sensing my ease. “The car suits you, Ivy,” he remarks, eyeing me. “You look good inside it…”

  I look back at him as another dreamy song plays. I say nothing. There is nothing to say. There’s just this…the music, the road, him sitting beside me, looking pleased. He’s in his element, his strong hand lazily gripping the steering wheel. His free hand comes up, tracing along his lips in thought and I…I just want to reach out and touch him. I want to trace his lips for him, maybe press my tongue against them instead.

  Taste them.

  I want to ravage them.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him eventually, ignoring the ache in my core. We’re not just going for a drive. Aidan’s taking purposeful turns.

  “There’s a town nearby,” he answers. “And a really good diner.”

  My heart swells. “You’ve been?”

  He nods once. “Yeah, it’s open all night.”

  I study him. “You crash there in the middle of the night often, Mr West?”

  He just smirks at me in response, saying nothing.

  I relax in my seat. This feels so good, and I’m perhaps allowing that familiarity to let down my guards. It’s hard to fight against when Aidan looks like my Aidan behind that wheel, the carefree look in his eye still the same.

  “Should you be driving?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Should I not be?” he replies quickly, brows up.

  I look at him drily. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m doing the limit, Ivy. Relax. I wouldn’t endanger a passenger in my car, especially my favorite one.”

  “This is your favorite car?” I prod lightly. “Or do you mean I’m your favorite passenger?”

  The smile that curls along his lips next leaves me breathless. He is so fucking sexy, it’s dangerous.

  “Ivy Montcalm,” he says almost like he’s talking to himself. “You’re a different girl outside the office.”

  “Who would have guessed we’re different outside of work?”

  “You’re not pissy, either.”

  “Well, you’re not inspecting my suite at two in the morning.”

  He chuckles deep in his chest, the sound like music to my ears. “That first time could have ended differently.”

  He means him showing up in his briefs, asking me to remove my shirt for him. Yes, yes, it could have ended differently.

  I glance out the window, smiling wistfully. “No, no, it ended just right.”

  I feel his heavy gaze on me. “My intentions may be the same tonight.”

  My body reacts immediately—heat courses through my blood as desire pools at the pit of my stomach.

  “So long as you’re sober, Mr West.”

  He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I’m very sober, Miss Montcalm.”

  Goosebumps run down my arms. The shift in the air is immediate. Warmth lingers between us, simmering slowly.

  The diner we pull into is so freaking cute, I want to die. It’s the most textbook diner you have ever seen, and through the entrance window, I see the most adorable old lady serving a sketchy looking serial killer coffee. West parks at the far end of the parking lot, under a shaded tree. I think he’s trying to go all incognito because the car is worth a freaking fortune and he doesn’t want to catch the attention of anyone—even though there are more tumbleweeds than people this late at night.

  We step out of the car and I follow him inside. I slide my shorts down behind his back because they’re riding up my ass again. We slide into a red booth and I feel a little more at eases as I survey the diner. Aside from the Anton Chigurh lookalike, we are the only customers in here.

  “If he flips a coin, we’re out of here,” I whisper to West as the dude glances at us with crazed eyes.

  West has a faint smile. “On this, we agree.”

  “People shouldn’t be out this late in lonely towns, in random diners at”—I glance at the clock on the wall— “two in the morning.”

  Now he’s raising a brow. “What sort of people do these places attract?”

  “Weirdos.”

  He just stares at me.

  I nod at him. “We are weirdos, and we should do this again. We’ll take a booth closer to the doors so we have a better view of the entire diner. We’ll drink a kettle worth of coffee and just watch the serials killers stream in.”

  “What are we looking for exactly?”

  “Men in green raincoats, women with scarves around their faces—”

  “It’s summer.”

  “That doesn’t stop them from wearing raincoats and scarves.” Now I shake my head. “Come on, tap into your hood self, Mr West. We know what to look for.”

  He tilts his head, amused. “You know about my hood life, Miss Montcalm?”

  I smile brightly, my textbook move every time I’m shitting bricks. “Steven was very informative.”

  “So it seems.”

  I look about the diner once more, wondering. “What made you want to take me here?”

  I glance at him, waiting for an answer, and he shakes his head slightly, mouth parted like he might tell me.

  But before he can, the old lady—oh, my God, her name is Mary-Beth, I want to die from cuteness overload—stops by, interrupting us. She passes us menus and asks us what we’d like to drink.

  “Do you do milkshakes?” I ask, my inner child roaring. “Like with the raspberry on top?”

  Mary-Beth nods. “Yes, we do. Is that what you’d like, dear?”

  Oh, my fucking God. “Yes, please.”

  She turns to Aidan. “And you, honey?”

  Aidan’s eyes haven’t left mine. “Coffee. Black.”

  She leaves and I look over the menu. This place couldn’t be anymore spectacular. An imaginary tear forms at the corner of my eye. “There are waffl
es,” I say, hand to my wet shirt where my heart is. “Waffles, Mr West. Can we do this again? Like, I’ll stalk your garage more often if it means we can do this again.”

  Aidan sits back in his chair, his mouth spreading into a soft smile. “That can we arranged, Miss Montcalm.”

  “We can even come here for work.”

  “No,” he returns, shaking his head. “No, work remains inside the office.”

  I pout. “But you’re such an asshole in there.”

  He looks over my face, brows pulled together thoughtfully. “Well, Ivy, I am your boss, am I not?”

  “You are.”

  “And you’re pretty helpless in that office, are you not?”

  I nod, biting my lip as I admit. “I am, sir.”

  His eyes heat as he looks at my mouth. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Say that word in that way.”

  I give him an innocent look. “I’m not saying any word in any way—”

  “Cut the bullshit,” he interrupts, but his voice is soft as he continues to study my mouth. “You say sir like you’re about to swallow my cock, Miss Montcalm. It sends a direct pulse to said cock every time.”

  I go quiet, stunned speechless.

  “You’re very direct,” I finally whisper.

  “I’m a very direct man,” he replies easily.

  How could I have forgotten that?

  He was never afraid to voice everything that was on his mind to me.

  I refocus my eyes on the menu, but I’m not reading.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks then, tilting his head to the side as he studies me.

  “I can’t think,” I admit, licking my lips. “You’ve sort of knocked me speechless.”

  “Am I being too forward?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should stop.”

  I look up at him, quickly saying, “No, don’t.”

  He gives me a searing look, one that makes every inch of my body hyperaware of him. Then he leans over, elbows resting on the table, voice low as he says, “I can’t tell what’s more maddening for me: those short skirts you wear to the office, or the wet shorts you strut around in at night.”

  I can’t help the grin that spreads on my face. “What look pleases you more?”