The Spark (Carolina Connections Book 2)

by Sylvie Stewart

  He finally gave me the up and down appraisal I had been waiting for and seemed to make the mental connection that a full suitcase ensured a variety of visual distractions for his man brain. At that point, I got a shrug and a small smirk. “Suit yourself.”

  Aha! I had him now.

  He approached and got right up into my space. I refused to back up, assuming this was a test of some kind. Based on his casual departure from my condo yesterday, he was obviously up to something. He just raised an eyebrow, along with one side of his mouth, and then reached down for my suitcase, never breaking eye contact. He lifted the case as if it weighed no more than a handbag and placed it in the bed of his truck. I started to object, worried what would happen if we ran into rain, but then I stopped myself. I’d have several battles to fight on this journey and this one was definitely not worth it.

  I took his hand when it was offered to help me into the cab of the truck. I’m pretty sure my head only came up to the door handle, but there was the running board thingy for me to step on so he didn’t have to completely lift me up into the seat. I settled in while he rounded the front and I pulled out my phone before securing my seatbelt. Mark hopped effortlessly into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “So,” I said, “I’ve got three playlists all lined up. Are you by any chance a Justin Bieber fan?”

  His hand froze on the key and I could practically hear his jaw crack.

  Oh goodie—this was going to be fun.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shaken and Stirred

  MARK

  This was going to be a nightmare.

  Fiona sat in her cute-as-fuck little outfit and fiddled with her phone, no doubt trying to figure out how to connect wirelessly to my truck’s sound system. That should take her awhile, considering my truck had nothing but a good old-fashioned radio and a CD player. In the meantime, I pulled from the curb and started toward the interstate.

  She was apparently ready to move on to a new topic. “Can we stop for coffee?”

  I was beginning to comprehend just how long this trip was going to take. “Sure, once we get out of town we can get coffee from a drive-thru, but if it’s going to make you have to take a leak every ten minutes, then you have to get the smallest one they have.”

  “Whatever you say, big man.”

  I was surprised she didn’t fight back.

  “Speaking of big,” she said and I choked on my own saliva.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, smacking me on the back.

  I did my best to recover. “I’m fine. What were you saying?”

  “Well, ever since I saw those cute pictures of you as a kid I’ve been meaning to ask you about the whole working-out thing. What exactly do you do to get all of that?” She gestured vaguely up and down in my direction.

  “Why?” What was she up to?

  “Just making conversation. Geez, you don’t have to be so sensitive.” She went back to her phone, huffing a bit in frustration.

  “I go to the gym,” I responded.

  “Well, duh,” she said and I could just hear the eye-roll in her voice. “What I mean is, what do you do at the gym?”

  “Lots of stuff—cardio, some machines, and mostly free weights. You planning on starting a training regimen, Shortcake?”

  “Um, no. I don’t exercise,” she said as though I’d suggested she join a BDSM club or buy the generic brand of…anything.

  “How can you not exercise? That’s so unhealthy!”

  “I don’t like it.” She brushed some invisible lint from her thighs. “I find the whole thing sort of ridiculous.”

  “Excuse me?” I was taken aback and a little offended, to be honest.

  She proceeded to enlighten me. “Take weight lifting, for instance—it’s just a lot of picking stuff up only to set it right back down. What’s the point?”

  I literally had no response to that. Talk about ridiculous—I was beginning to wonder if this girl was actually of this Earth or was, in fact, some strange alien sent to test my patience and sanity.

  She continued, “And besides, it makes me all sweaty and stuff.” She did a full-body shiver.

  “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

  “No thanks. I’m generally a pretty healthy eater so I think I’m all set.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said as I checked my blind spot and pulled onto I-40, “but don’t come crying to me when you hit thirty and your metabolism shuts down. You’re cute now, but you short chicks need to watch out when the pounds start piling on.” I couldn’t help myself—I loved getting a rise out of her. And she kind of deserved it after completely dismissing what I considered to be an essential part of my lifestyle.

  She gasped in indignation as I’d known she would. “I cannot believe you just said that!” She slapped my arm.

  “Hey! No assaulting the driver.” I turned the radio up just to annoy her some more. An old Rascal Flatts tune filled the cab.

  She reached over and snapped the power button off. “Did you just call me short and fat?”

  “No, Shortcake. You need to listen better. I said you’re going to be fat.” I tried and failed to keep the smirk off my face. This was fun.

  “I cannot believe you ever get laid with the way you speak to women.”

  “There’s not much speaking involved, sweetheart.” I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head toward her. She looked at me as if I’d just asked her to smell my finger. God, I was doing an awesome job at being an asshole.

  Why was I doing this again?

  Oh right, we had a long trip ahead of us and I couldn’t afford to have her being all sweet and adorable like she’d been in her apartment this weekend or I’d do something stupid like tell her about my feelings. She already thought she had the upper hand on me anyway and that couldn’t stand.

  Although, she’s incredibly hot when she’s mad so it was entirely possible we wouldn’t make it to Jersey without me having to pull over and feel her up in my truck anyway.

  Don’t act surprised—you should understand me by now.

  “Did you have to train hard to become such an asshole or is it in your genetic code?” she asked and then gave a little gasp as she realized what she’d just said.

  I guess fun time was over. I couldn’t blame her—I had done a good job of riling her up. That didn’t mean it felt great being compared to my dad, maliciously or not.

  “Mark, I’m sorry,” Fiona said quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I…”

  “It’s okay, Shortcake. I deserved it. I was acting like an ass—it’s just so easy to piss you off I couldn’t help it.”

  “No—” she began but I cut her off.

  “Really, it’s fine. And I mean that in the way a guy says it’s fine, not a girl.” I gave her a grin so she’d know everything was okay.

  “Fine,” she said and crossed her arms, sinking down in her seat. I didn’t miss the little smile she tried to keep to herself.

  We stopped to get gas about halfway into the trip and Fiona practically sprinted to the restroom. I knew she’d been bluffing when she promised the large coffee she’d ordered wouldn’t slow us down.

  After I filled up, I decided to go inside and pick up a drink and a snack. I found Fiona perusing the snack selections as well, with a bag of Cheetos in one hand and a bright red slushy in the other.

  I came up behind her and whispered in her ear, “I see you’re making those super healthy choices you were telling me about.”

  She jumped in surprise and nearly dumped her slushy. “Don’t scare me like that!”

  I just chuckled and grabbed a bag of peanuts for myself.

  “I don’t know what it is about road trips, but my body somehow sends a signal to my brain telling it to do very bad things,” she said as she reached for a Snickers bar.

  I almost choked. “Do tell,” I managed to say.

  “Huh?” She just shook her head and sashayed her way to the check-out counter. I took my time selecting a d
rink before following her.

  This trip was going to be even longer than I thought.

  When we stepped back out into the sunshine, she pulled her sunglasses on and said, “You know, I was only teasing about Justin Bieber. I actually have excellent taste in music. I even have some country on my playlists just so you know.” She gave me a smug smile.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter what you have because unless you’re planning on listening to it on headphones there isn’t any way to play it in my truck.”

  “What do you mean? You just plug it in or you do the whole Bluetooth thing.”

  “Shortcake, what year do you think my truck was made?”

  She looked from me to the truck and back again. “Oh,” was all she said before sauntering over to the passenger door.

  I followed to help her in, kicking myself for forgetting that we come from totally different worlds. She was all upper crust and I was all “Eat your crust cuz there ain’t no more food in this house.” What in the hell had made me think any kind of relationship—my first relationship—would work between us?

  I helped her up into the cab and stalked back to the driver’s side, my mood suddenly cloudy. It wasn’t until a few minutes down the road that I noticed Fiona had unearthed a bunch of shit from her bag and was setting it up on the bench seat between us.

  “What are you doing over there?” I asked.

  “I’m exercising one of my many skills—resourcefulness.”

  And then, from a tiny black box on the seat, came the crystal-clear sounds of Parachute’s “Kiss Me Slowly.”

  I looked at the box and then at Fiona. She gave me a killer smile that made me want to pull over, and then she just closed her eyes and leaned her head back in her seat with a sigh.

  Well, color me impressed. My little Shortcake was full of surprises.

  This was what I got for letting Fiona handle the directions. And, for once, I was not being a dick about gender roles. She and her GPS had gotten us perfectly to our destination—or rather, her destination.

  “Yes we are,” she said for the third time as she wrapped her sweater around herself and grabbed the door handle. The temperature here was a definite drop from North Carolina.

  I held her arm to stop her.

  “We are not staying at a fucking five-star hotel, Fiona! The valet parking charge is probably more than a night at the Days Inn, which is where I told you to direct us!”

  “First of all, this is a four-star hotel, and second of all, I’m using points so it won’t cost anything anyway. Just cancel your reservation.”

  “You knew I was going to be pissed off so you purposely didn’t tell me,” I hissed at her.

  “Precisely.” She gave me a breezy smile and hopped out of the truck. “I’ll go check us in while you take care of parking. Oh, and don’t forget to tip the valet.” She winked and sauntered off to the entrance, her cute little ass swaying.

  Shit.

  Well, there was no way I was letting the valet park my truck. Once we checked in, we’d have to pull it right back out of parking again so we could go to my old man’s place. That meant two tips—not gonna happen. I reluctantly let the bellhop take Fiona’s suitcase and tipped him a couple bucks. I then waved off the valet and went in search of street parking. This would never have been an issue at the Days Inn.

  A half-hour later I made my way through the entrance of the ridiculously over-the-top hotel and pulled out my phone. Turns out the valet parking is a racket—there is exactly zero street parking within a mile of this place. Good thing I was in shape—another thing I could add to the list of reasons Fiona should work out.

  Or not.

  Honestly, I’d hate to see her any other way than she already is.

  I thought about going up to the desk and asking about my room, but I figured a call to Fiona was needed since it was surely in her name. She picked up and spoke before I could say a word.

  “Where in the hell have you been? Never mind, don’t answer that—just come up. We’re in room 1244.” She hung up before I could utter a syllable.

  One room? This just got more interesting.

  Unfortunately, this hotel was huge and it was like navigating through some rich person’s idea of a corn maze. It was almost as if they didn’t want you to find the elevators so you would just spend all your time on the main level blowing your money. Oh wait, I’m sure that was exactly the point. By the time I finally found the elevators and made my way to the twelfth floor, my patience was waning.

  I knocked on the door to room 1244 and it was immediately opened by Fiona who had, in the time it had taken me to park the car and find the room, transformed into an exact replica of a ski bunny from a James Bond movie. She was wearing fur-lined boots, skin-tight pants, and a fluffy cream sweater with a big drapey neckline. The lights in the room were dimmed and a fire roared in the fireplace behind her—yes, this room had a fireplace. I felt as if I’d been transported to an alternate universe. I half expected a butler to appear out of thin air and ask me how I liked my martini.

  “Exactly how long have you been here without me?” I asked, still in shock.

  She stepped back to let me in and then closed the door behind her. “Yeah, about that, what the hell took you so long? Did you get into a wrestling match with the valet over your truck keys?”

  I continued to look around and noticed that, in addition to the sitting room with the previously noted fireplace, there was a full kitchen, a dining area, and several doors leading to other rooms. I answered absently, “No, I didn't let him park my truck.”

  “What?” She had her hands on her hips and her hair was floating around her face as always. God, she was stunning. I felt that punch to the gut again.

  I shook my head to recover my wits. “We're leaving in like five minutes to go to the old man’s place. Why would I pay to have my car parked for five minutes?”

  She took a deep breath and then bit her bottom lip and closed one eye.

  Shit. This could not mean good things.

  “Mark, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Yeah, those are perhaps the most dreaded words in the English language for a guy—and for good reason. They are usually followed by phrases such as “I'm pregnant” or maybe “I have crabs” or “Sorry, man, I didn’t know she was your mom.” I was suddenly having flashbacks to the hospital when I’d welcomed the idea of a prostate exam to escape my reality. What the fuck was wrong with my life that all these horrible alternatives were beating out my actual circumstances? I braced myself and forced my eyes to meet hers.

  She took another deep breath and then said quickly, “I know where the money is.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Pros and Cons of White Knights and Baked Potatoes

  FIONA

  I still had one eye closed, hoping it might shield me from some of the blowback I knew was coming.

  Part of me—okay, it was mostly Inner Fashion Maven and Vagina—had thought that if I dressed cute and set the right mood he’d take the news a little better. I’d been fooling myself that it would have any effect. Nevertheless, I’d had the bellhop light a fire and I’d changed into my best sexy/cozy New England outfit, even if it was just New Jersey. I'd also booked us a lovely little two-bedroom suite on an upper floor with a balcony and some great views, even though it was freaking freezing out. Hey, they were my points—I may as well use them.

  “Excuse me?” His jaw was tight and his eyes narrowed. Yup, no appreciation for ambiance.

  “I know where the loan shark’s money is.” At this point, I switched things up and decided confidence was the right tone to strike, so I raised my chin and looked him right in the eye with both of mine this time.

  “Are you shitting me right now?” He advanced on me.

  “No. I am not shitting you. Your dad never spent it. He hid it to use on a bigger deal and we need to go get it—that is, if the bad dudes haven’t figured out where it is already. But, honestly, if they had I doubt they’
d still be after your parents.”

  He looked around as if searching for an explanation somewhere in the room before bringing his eyes and tense-as-hell face back to me. “Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” He tried to keep his tone measured, but it was like attempting to contain a raccoon in a paper bag—or his chest in one of his ridiculously form-fitting t-shirts. Didn’t these shirts come in a bigger size? I swear it seemed as if most of his shirts would be snug on a baby for God’s sake. Did he do this on purpose to distract me?

  Oh right, back to the topic at hand. I gave him the short version of his mom’s exploits and tried my best to put a positive spin on the whole thing by reassuring him that I’d had her six with my stake-out—I thought the macho phrasing might make me sound more credible. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. I knew he was upset about his mom possibly being in danger, but then he turned the whole thing on me.

  I did not think so!

  “Since when are you heading this operation?” he snapped at me.

  “I’m not! If anyone is, it’s your mom. She finally grabbed her lady balls and took charge!” I threw right back at him.

  “Her what? Don't talk about my mom like that. This was all your idea, wasn't it? Before you came along my mom never would have done a thing like this.”

  I huffed and stomped my cute booted foot. “And why is that, Mark? Is she too weak and vulnerable to take care of business like a man would?” I let the sarcasm drip from my tongue.

  “You don't know anything about her—or my family!” He turned around and stomped toward the kitchen. Then, realizing he had nowhere to go from there, he turned around and stomped toward the door.

  Like I was letting him walk out!

  I lowered my voice and tried to let the anger and tension ease. “I know more about it than you think I do, and I know your mom doesn't need to be coddled nearly as much as you assume she does. You need to open your eyes and see that even though she’s had struggles, she is not weak. She's a strong person who hasn't had the chance to show it. You're too busy taking care of her to notice that she needs to find her own way on her own terms, Mark.” I was suddenly pleading with him and I was so afraid he’d walk out.