She curled her fingers around his, and he lifted their joined hands to his lips. Why hadn’t he ever had a racing partner, he wondered fleetingly. This was way more fun with a beautiful woman at his side.
But his passion for racing had developed in the last few years, so he’d never shared it with Julia. Or any woman…until today.
Why would he want to start now? Because he met someone who wasn’t just a distraction…but a real attraction? That was a first. That was…
Not supposed to happen. He’d never wanted to share life or time or anything meaningful with someone who wasn’t Julia.
But today, he felt differently.
Brushing off an unexpected twinge of guilt, he drove into Naples traffic, already seeking traffic breaks and the chance to change lanes to warm this puppy up for some real driving.
The Carrera drove like a dream, screaming to get wide open, and he found a few straightaway roads that gave him a chance to test the speed, but mostly they cruised up and down the tony store-lined avenues, enjoying the salt air whipping through the car and testing its handling.
Emma asked a lot of questions and, without even thinking about it, he talked a lot about the car, the racing club, and his love of the sport.
Until he realized she was just trying to make him forget the real mission today.
“Hey, I’m on to you,” he teased, easing through traffic to a side street. “Don’t think I’m not.”
“What?” She feigned innocence.
“All these questions. Like you really care about torque peak and active suspension management.”
She laughed, busted. “I do. That’s how I write ad copy, you know. I pick someone’s brain who’s extremely knowledgeable, and then I turn that into words that make other people want to buy whatever product is being sold.”
“So what would you say about this car?”
She thought about that for a second. “Well, a picture of you driving it might sell it to anybody who can afford it.”
“I thought you were all about words, not pictures.”
She studied him as he pulled off the main road onto a side street. “A simple headline, I think. Your hand…” She reached down and brushed a light fingertip over his knuckles, the whisper of a touch kicking him in the gut. Lower. “Just like that on the gearshift.”
“This is an automatic and that’s just for show.” He tapped the stick that rose up from the console, its purpose little more than to put the car in park and drive and have a place to rest your hand…so a beautiful woman would touch it.
“My ad would definitely be for a manual transmission, then,” she said. “Your hand, a close-up, the Porsche logo. Headline…” She spread her hands through the air to highlight her next words. “Sex on a Stick.”
He wanted to laugh at the innuendo, and marvel at her quick thinking, but all he could do was react to the blast of heat that had very little to do with the engine or handling.
He cleared his throat. “And the rest of the ad?”
“The copy? Not much. Just something that would tap into the fact that men want to take the ride behind the wheel. And women want to take a different kind of ride.”
He slid the Porsche into a parking spot in front of a café. “A different kind of ride?”
“With the driver. It’s probably not news to you, but sex sells. The sooner you bring it into the copy, the better.”
He turned to meet her gaze, captured by the teasing spark and that little bit of seriousness he saw there. “How about you?”
She swallowed visibly. “Me?”
She was only a few inches away, her eyes bright, her lips parted…the word sex hanging in the air like it was part of the breeze.
She put her hand on his arm. “I’m ready.”
Really? “Emma…”
“Can we do it with the light first?”
With the lights on? Is that what she meant?
“At least that way I can get the feel of the car before I attempt a left turn without a light.”
Oh, of course. Left turns. “Sure.” He reached for the clasp of his seat belt. “Time to make left turns,” he said, his voice surprisingly gruff as he climbed out.
And cool the hell down.
* * *
What just happened? Emma sat in the car for a few seconds, her cheeks warm. There was an awful lot of dancing around kisses and sex talk and things that…she couldn’t stop thinking about. Had no business thinking about.
Her door opened, and she turned to see the lower half of Mark Solomon standing there, khaki pants on a half that was every bit as divine as the upper half. Narrow hips and waist, strong thighs, and…if she didn’t know better, a little rise in the crotch.
Her mouth actually watered.
Great. She’d turned him on with ad copy about a gearshift. Which Kyle would have…
Kyle? What was she thinking about Kyle for while staring at a much nicer lower half?
Mark dipped down. “You scared?”
Not of left turns.
“Of course not.” She automatically took the hand he offered and slid out of the seat. She let him pull her to a stand right in front of him, suddenly aware of the late afternoon sun pressing down and the light in the blue eyes that looked deep into hers. “I mean, I won’t be after I make three left turns, right?” she said, trying for a lightness she didn’t actually feel.
“That’s the plan.” He let go of her hand and stepped to the side to let her pass. “Fears are conquered.”
She didn’t answer, but rounded the front of the car to get into the driver’s seat. It was still warm from his body, and that…didn’t help things.
Holy hell, the man turned her on top to bottom. How was she supposed to get through a week of this? The more time they spent together, the more they talked, the more she stared at him and touched him and sneaked in a few kisses…the more she wanted more.
“You look awfully serious,” he said, pulling his seat belt on.
“I thought we were just, you know, having a little fake engagement here, and the week has turned into some kind of active fear management therapy.”
He laughed softly. “Active fear management therapy? Never heard of that.”
“I just made it up.”
“Of course you did, word girl.” He gave her a nudge. “Come on. Just a single touch, right there, and the engines will scream.”
She slid him a look. “Does everything have to be so sexual?”
“Says the woman whose winning headline is ‘Sex on a Stick.’”
“I meant…” She took a breath and slowly exhaled. “With us.”
He met her gaze with one that was direct and unwavering. “Does that scare you, too?”
“To death.”
She waited for him to scoff at her. To give her some kind of assurance. To tease about their fake engagement or offer a three-point fear-conquering technique. But his expression remained perfectly serious. “Me, too,” he admitted softly.
“Oh.” She barely whispered the word. “Well, there’s always active fear management therapy.”
He gave a slow smile. “Or we could just give in and see what happens.”
She knew what would happen. She was already imagining the feel of his hands, the weight of his body, the thrill of his—
“But for now, let’s make left turns, Em.”
She forced herself to settle down and focused on the driving.
Within minutes, she forgot the chemistry and electricity arcing and sparking between them. She forgot that rise in his khakis and that look in his eyes. She forgot the ache to get closer and the confusion that brought.
Because, for the first time in her life, Emma was one with a machine. And pretty much anything she’d ever done prior to that was forgotten.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed as she found a stretch of road with no traffic for a few blocks. “Can I open it up a little?”
“Not too much unless you want the Naples police bearing down on you,” he warned he
r. “You like this, don’t you?”
She stole a glance to her side. “Like is the wrong word. It’s more like…a driving orgasm.”
He barked a laugh. “Ten minutes ago you were complaining about the sex talk.”
“I’m serious!” She broke when approaching a light, feeling the rumble of, what had he said, four-twenty horsepower? She had no real clue what that meant, but it felt…solid and thrilling and hot. Like a little too much power under her hands and way too much need to exercise it.
“Is this why guys like driving so much?” she asked.
“This is why guys like driving ninety-thousand-dollar Porsches so much.”
She gave a whistle.
“Slide into the left lane, Em. It’s time.”
She let out a little exhale but followed his order. There was a light and not a lot of other cars on this section of the boulevard. She didn’t enjoy making left turns with oncoming traffic, but with a light, this would be a breeze.
“I got this,” she assured him, making the turn easily.
“I thought you were scared.”
She shrugged. “That wasn’t very tough, and this car? Oh my God, I’m in love with this car.”
He laughed heartily. “The same thing happened to me the first time I was in a 911. It’s really a religious experience, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t argue that. “Should I turn here and then make a left back onto Gulf Shore?”
“Not yet. A few more roads, then you’ll have to make that left with no light.”
Damn. But the car made her feel totally in control, so she followed orders and made the turn. And another. And another.
“Had enough? The turn to the causeway is about half a mile from here.”
She shook her head and changed lanes with confidence. “Enough? I can’t get enough. I hope you don’t expect to get behind the wheel of this car again all week.”
“Damn, woman, you drive a hard bargain. I love to drive the car, but I kind of enjoy watching you do it more.”
She threw her head back with a satisfied laugh. “This is so awesome!”
“So are you,” he whispered, but she heard him even though the words were whipped by the wind. She gave the steering wheel a squeeze in response and hit the accelerator, cruising onto the long bridge that connected Mimosa Key to the mainland.
“I thought you hated bridges,” he said when they were almost at the halfway point.
“There’s a bridge?” she joked. “I thought we were just flying.”
She concentrated on the view that spilled out in front of the silver sloping car. The sun was dipping low, casting a gorgeous orange glow on the wide body of water dotted with white pleasure craft. Salt air filled the car, and the engine revved loud as they reached the top of the bridge and the commanding view of the tropical island of Mimosa Key in the Gulf of Mexico.
“Let’s cruise all over the island,” she suggested as they passed the harbor and reached the small town center.
“You sound like my high school buddies.”
“Yes,” she said, excitement growing. “Let’s go to Mimosa High. I want to see this place everyone is talking about.”
Instantly, she felt him tense. “And take the chance of running over a texting teenager? Better go back to the resort.”
She kept her eyes on the road, silent for a few more beats. “We’re alone now.”
“I’m aware.”
“You have to be honest.”
“I am.”
She threw a quick look at him, but he was staring out the window at the water below.
“Running over teenagers is not the reason you don’t want to go to Mimosa High.”
“You know the reason.”
“So, why am I the only one forced to face fears this week?” she asked. “I think it would help you to—”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said sharply, making her suck in a quick breath. “I mean, obviously I asked for your company and am enjoying the hell out of it, but I had no agenda to…to…let go of the past.”
“And I had no agenda of conquering fears,” she replied. “I thought I was getting a vacation in paradise and maybe some advice about getting over my ex, since you’re a professional relationship adviser or something.”
“Are you thinking about him?” he asked.
Not for one freaking second. “Not really,” she admitted. “Which is nice. You should try it.”
She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her attention on the road ahead, navigating her way through town.
“What precisely does that mean?” he finally asked.
Taking a slow inhale, she smoothed out her thoughts so they’d make sense. “It means that you will benefit from the same kind of happiness if you let go of the memories that are weighing you down.”
“They don’t weigh me down. I treasure them.”
“As you should,” she agreed. “But if you treasured them instead of dreading them, you wouldn’t avoid places like the church or your high school.”
He didn’t answer for a long time, long enough for her to reach the empty beach road that headed to Barefoot Bay.
“Now you can open it up a little,” Mark said. “This is a safe road.”
She pressed the accelerator and watched the speed increase, along with the zing in her blood. It didn’t last long, but it made her whole body vibrate and ache for more. She slowed down and pulled into the entrance to the resort, breathless from the speed, but still waiting for his response.
“Park anywhere?” she asked.
“Right along here should be good.”
She drove down a lane and found a spot on the end, pulling in and reluctantly putting the car in park.
“I don’t want this to end,” she admitted on a sigh.
That made Mark laugh again. “I’ve created a monster.”
“I don’t mean the car.” She turned to him, still clinging to the wheel, wishing she hadn’t pushed him so hard. It wasn’t her place at all, despite the easy friendship they were developing. “I mean, I don’t want to end the fun we’re having. I didn’t mean to force you to think about things that make you unhappy.”
He didn’t answer, and she vowed to keep this light and fun.
“And I think you promised me some wine…” Her voice drifted as her gaze caught movement over Mark’s shoulder. A man, walking toward them, slowing to look at the car. He was so…familiar.
He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, staring at them, right into Mark’s open window. Right into the car.
Mark glanced back, following her gaze. “It does get attention.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but the words were caught in her throat, so impossible to speak that she completely lost her voice.
The man kept coming. Closer. Intent. Staring at the car…or inside it. Ten more feet and he’d see her.
“That’s…” She croaked the word.
Mark turned again, just as the man stopped a few feet from the car, staring. “It’s like a beautiful woman,” Mark said. “Men can’t resist—”
She grabbed his head and pulled him into a kiss, angling her face not to intensify the kiss, but to hide. She just had to hide until he passed.
Through her thrumming pulse, she heard, “Nice wheels,” and a low whistle, but Emma pressed so hard into Mark’s face that neither one of them could breathe. Or be seen.
Finally, she broke the kiss, and a very surprised Mark stared at her. “Like I said,” he whispered, “the car’s magic.”
She closed her eyes and slowly turned to see the man retreating from view, walking into the resort. “My ex is here.”
Chapter Twelve
Mark poured her wine and let her talk. And for forty-five minutes, Emma spewed her disbelief, concern, and fury at the man who killed her driving buzz.
“It has to be something with the Casa Blanca ad account,” she said, taking a healthy sip of the sauvignon. “Why else would he be here?”
�
�Maybe he’s looking for you,” Mark suggested, the idea so obvious he couldn’t believe she hadn’t assumed that first.
But she shook her head. “He doesn’t have anything else to say to me. It’s all been said.”
“Maybe he changed his mind and wants to give it another shot?”
She closed her eyes as if the thought pained her. “No,” she said simply. “I’m not interested.”
“Then why couldn’t he be here for the same reason as you? To take advantage of the resort.”
“He was the one who canceled the reservation. I suppose he could have business about the account, but I really need to be sure I can avoid him.”
“Why avoid him?” Mark asked. “You have every right to be here.”
“With my fiancé?” She blew out a long exhale.
“Unless he’s going to the reunion events, he doesn’t have to know.”
She pushed her hand through her hair, moaning a little. “I really don’t want a confrontation.”
“Why should there be one? He broke off the relationship, not you.”
“I know.” She ran her finger over the rim of the glass, staring at the water, distant. “I just want to know why he’s here.”
Mark could understand that, and her concerns. And clear reasoning wasn’t doing a thing to make her feel better. Still, he kept trying. “Unless they had another sudden cancellation, he’s not staying here,” he said. “So you don’t have to hide for a week.”
She gave him a pleading look. “I don’t want to see him.”
Mark couldn’t make the guy go away, and he couldn’t seem to make Emma feel better.
But he had to try. His mind flashed back to her stalwart defense of him, her determined fight to get that song changed because she wanted to help him, and he knew he had to try to get her what she wanted. Information? Surely he could do that.
“Listen,” he said, pushing up. “You take a swim, a shower, maybe drink some more wine. Let me do a little recon.”
“You’d do that?” She looked up at him, her eyes bright and her color high. Just like it had been in the car, but this didn’t get the same physical reaction in him. Instead of wanting to jump her bones, he wanted to help her. The need to do something for her, to fix the situation and see her smile—not wry and rueful, but real and happy—burned in him.
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