by Jules Wake
He took in a deep staggered breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to blot out another interminable day.
And now some bugger was revving an engine right outside his bloody window at nine fifteen in the morning. Coming slowly to consciousness, the sound bored into his head. Hold on. The familiar tick over. The distinctive growl.
He threw himself out of bed and crossed to his window. Laurie’s silver Ferrari sat beneath it. Pulling on jeans and the nearest T-shirt and hopping as he tried to yank on deck shoes, he got to the front door just as a manila envelope popped through the letterbox. Stepping over it, he threw open the door.
Laurie glanced back, guilt written all over her face, caught in the act of opening the garden gate.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’
In two strides he caught up with her and grabbed her. There was no way he was letting her get away this time.
Her mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ of surprise and taking complete advantage he swooped to kiss naked, pink lips. Her waist felt tiny as he pulled her towards him, definitely a few pounds lighter than he’d last seen her. The seeming fragility gentled his kiss as he teased her mouth open, touching the delicate skin inside with his tongue, needing to coax her in. The stiffness in her back began to recede bit by bit as her arms crept around his neck, her mouth moving beneath his.
Pushing one hand into her hair, the back of her neck felt silky and precious as he sank into the softness of her pliant body.
She took a shaky breath as he pulled back. Wide eyes, the pupils enormous, stared back at him and a dazed smile touched her lips.
‘Hi,’ he said, sliding his thumb across her cheekbone.
In the morning sunlight, almost ready to flee, she reminded him of a shy fawn. Not Laurie at all and he hated that he’d made her uncertain with him. ‘I messed up. I’m a bloke. We do dumb things.’
Tears shimmered in her eyes. ‘You did a wonderful thing. You went back to Monstein.’
He tried to look nonchalant as if it had been no big deal. ‘Yeah.’
‘You posted the card.’
‘Yeah.’
She reached out and touched his face. ‘Rescuing me?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiled and caught her hand kissing her palm. ‘Thought it was time someone took care of you.’
He looked over at the car, pulling a quizzical face. ‘Want to tell me what this is all about?’
Her feet suddenly seemed awfully interesting.
‘I got it wrong. If all you cared about was the car, you wouldn’t have gone back to post the card. I’m sorry.’
‘I love it when women say they’re wrong,’ grinned Cam. ‘Apology accepted. You can say sorry all over again over breakfast.’
‘Oy, are you coming or what?’ An indignant man stepped out of a beaten up Mondeo just behind the Ferrari. ‘I’ve got a pick up at 10 at the station. If you don’t get a move on I’ll be late.’
‘Gosh, sorry. I completely forgot.’ Laurie fumbled in her handbag and produced her purse. ‘How much do I owe you? I’m going to stay a while. Here.’ She thrust a twenty at him.
He took it, grumbling about time-wasters, got back in his car and made a noisy and showy U-turn to mark his exit.
Cam stood stock still and looked from Laurie to the Ferrari and back again.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked quietly.
She sighed as if she’d just been busted, which he had a feeling she had.
‘Let’s go inside. We can talk—’
‘Uh nuh. Tell me now.’
‘Don’t make a big deal now. You wanted the Ferrari. I’m giving it to you. I don’t want the money. I want you to have it. You love it. You deserve it. I’ll never appreciate it quite the way you will. Besides if it breaks down I’d only have to come to you to get it fixed. You just have to promise to let me drive it every now and then.’
He opened his mouth but the enormity of what she was suggesting floored him. ‘Laurie, I … can’t.’
She put a finger up to his lips, the soft touch igniting a spark low in his belly. ‘You can.’
Eyes glinting with mischief, she flashed him a self-confident cocky smile. It suited her, she looked like a woman at peace with herself. For the first time she glowed with happiness, as if she’d been released and set free.
He put a firm hand over hers. ‘I can’t accept it.’
‘Too late. Ron’s done all the paperwork and transferred ownership. Done deal.’
She grabbed his hand. Come on, I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast.
She sat on his lap as they shared slices of toast. He didn’t want to let her go in a hurry. He was still laughing at her blasé comment that she could afford to let one piffling little Ferrari go now that she owned four other Ferraris, a Lamborghini, an Aston Martin and a sex on wheels, E-type jag that might just be her new favourite.
‘And if you think that, you definitely don’t deserve the Ferrari,’ he told her. ‘So what are you going to do with all these cars, the wine cellar and the house?’
She worried her lip. ‘You might think I’m mad … but when we were staying with the Comte it got me thinking about furthering my knowledge of wine. Maybe trying to work in the industry. Miles’ cellar is quite something. Then there’s the cars and he owns the track. I thought … well maybe a bed and breakfast for wine and car enthusiasts. They come and stay, taste wines and the next day drive the cars on the track.’
He stared at her, stunned.
‘That’s a brilliant idea.’
She sat up straighter. ‘I thought so too.’
‘Of course if you had the GT250 California Spyder that would be the crown jewel in your collection.’ He leaned back and looked up at her.
‘I was hoping that you might let me have it now and then on loan.’
He shook his head. ‘Not a chance.’
Her face fell.
‘I’d want to make it a bit more of a permanent arrangement than that.’
Her throat convulsed as if she’d swallowed hard and she raised her eyes to his, a question in them.
‘I thought you didn’t do permanency? Or commitment? Or needy women?’
He tightened his hold on her. ‘You.’ He kissed her lips. ‘Are.’ Another kiss. ‘The least needy woman I’ve ever met. When you drove off, I was so convinced you’d be back.’
She smirked.
‘When I flew over the Stel—’
‘—Flew?’
He ducked his head, trying to hide the expression on his face. ‘Hired a helicopter to make sure you hadn’t gone over the edge.’ The moment felt right and his eyes held hers, his heart softening. ‘Must be love.’
Her whole face softened.
‘I love you Laurie. I’ve missed you.’
She sighed. ‘Any man that hires a helicopter … must be love.’
She nestled into him and he held her, savouring the moment until he felt her shaking beneath him. God, was she crying? He eased her away to look at her face to find she was sniggering.
‘What?’ He asked trying to be indignant.
‘I hope that helicopter cost you a small fortune.’
He pulled a face. ‘It cost more in pride. I was so relieved when I spotted the car in Bormio, safe and sound. I planned to read the riot act to you about leaving me high and dry and then I was going to apologise for over-reacting.
‘But you buggered off, without a word. Left me stewing for days before sauntering into the hotel without a care in the bloody world and hire yourself the Presidential, bloody, suite.’
‘Nope, needy does not come into it.’
As Cam disappeared to shower she sat at the table, her fingers dotting the crumbs on the surface, ignoring the temptation to pinch herself. Cam’s sheepish expression when he’d confessed about the helicopter had been so adorable. She didn’t need any promises from him about the future or permanence. She was happy enough with the now. Truly happy. Thanks to Miles she’d shifted up a gear and learnt enough abou
t herself to let herself be happy. Now that she was in the driving seat, life looked pretty wonderful.
Acknowledgements
Biggest thanks go to the inestimable Catherine Jones of the Romantic Novelists’ Association for steering me in the right direction – thank you so much for telling me straight! I’m indebted to my in-house car experts, Nicola and Ian Walker, who kindly read my first draft – any technical errors are purely because I ignored Ian’s advice and for sheer romance. No one in their right minds would take a car this valuable across Europe!
Special thanks go to The Prosecco club, particularly Miss Tucker, for all their wonderful support.
I couldn’t do without my best writing buddy, Donna Ashcroft, for so many reasons – but this time she kicked my backside into gear.
I am so grateful to special agent Broo, for being the fairy godmother, sprinkling wit and wicked humour when I need it and to Charlotte Ledger at HarperImpulse for being so wonderfully enthusiastic about this book.
Of course, my family put up with shoddy housework and absent-mindedness when I’m writing, so I have to thank Nick, Ellie and Matt. (Don’t expect things to get better any time soon.)
But most of all, thanks to you the reader for choosing to read this … I really do hope you enjoy it.
Jules Wake
Despite early ambitions, my path to being a published novelist took a diversion when after reading English at the University of East Anglia, I ended up in the glamorous and deeply shallow world of PR, and I spent a number of years honing my fictional writing skills on press releases.
In my head I’m a winning contestant on Strictly Come Dancing, a competitive skydiver and a domestic goddess. Unfortunately in reality I can’t dance, or sky dive and dust bunnies gather in every corner of my house but in my fun, romantic comedy, my heroines can be anything they want.
www.facebook.com/JulesWakeWriter
@juleswake
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an exciting new range of romance fiction brought to you from the women’s fiction team at HarperCollins. Our aim is to break new talent from debut authors and import the hottest trends from the US, bringing you the very best in romance. Whether that is through short reads for your mobile phone or epic sagas that span the generations we want to proudly publish romance fiction that gets everybody talking.
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