Apparently, I’m transparent because she asks, “Not impressed?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m worried you won’t have a reason to be impressed with me.” Now I’m the one who can’t believe how honest I’m being.
“It’s a valid worry,” she says after a beat, and I can’t tell if she’s teasing or being blunt. Can’t tell if I should prepare for gut-wrenching disappointment or dive into another round of sexy banter.
I concentrate on my driving instead, speeding up before slipping expertly into a tight opening in the adjacent lane.
I’ll admit I’m showing off.
“Smashing,” she says with a tone that vibrates through my body like I’m a tuning fork.
Then, abruptly, she laughs, and I turn my head toward her, alarmed at the source of her amusement.
“I still can’t believe you drive a Bugatti in the city. I can’t decide if that makes you brilliant or as mad as a bag of ferrets.”
“Brilliant, of course.” Though, with her so close, I feel more like I’m going crazy. “What can I say? I like things that are fast.”
“Of course you do.”
“You don’t?” I raise a questioning brow. “Maybe you don’t understand how awesome fast can be.” I put my foot on the gas and race down the next block to prove my point.
The traffic light turns red as I approach the intersection, and I ease the brakes. “See? Fast is fun.”
“The problem with fast is it’s over too quickly.”
Is that innuendo? Her gaze pierces into me, and the air around us feels tight and charged, and I’m suddenly certain that I will die if I don’t get to taste her tonight.
Even if she didn’t mean anything more when she made her statement, I certainly do when I say, “Don’t worry. I know when to take my time.”
She exhales, slowly, and I swear I can feel it. As though she’s already in my arms and her breath is grazing every inch of my bare skin. No matter what happens after this, I know she at least feels this…this attraction. Or whatever it is.
Her voice is low and sultry when she replies. “You’re not talking about cars anymore. But do you really take your time? I’d guess you bolt the minute you’re finished.” She’s so blunt, so direct, and I don’t know if it’s a her thing or an English thing, but I like it.
I also like this conversation we’re having. Because we’re drawing the lines, and that means the potential for tonight is high. So I answer with a nod, making sure she understands that she’s correct in thinking I’ll bolt. Because I will.
“That’s what I thought.” She presses her lips together smugly.
My grip tightens on the gearshift. “Hey. No one cares about the car when it isn’t turned on. All that matters is how you handle it when you’re in the driver’s seat.”
I don’t add that I fall a little more in love with my Bugatti every time I get behind the wheel, but that’s exactly the reason I bolt from women.
Genevieve shakes her head, amused. “Earlier I felt sorry for calling you an American man. But…”
I finish the thought for her. “It’s hard to argue with a label I deserve.”
She nods as I pull into the driveway of the Park Hyatt and bring the car to a halt. Almost immediately, the hotel attendant opens her door.
She doesn’t move.
The tension in the air thickens. It’s so heavy, I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
Genevieve sweeps her head toward me, and electricity sparks between us when her eyes meet mine.
“No cuddling,” she says firmly, her voice husky. “No staying the night, and you better have a condom.”
I blink, startled by her candidness. “Are you inviting me up, then?”
“Don’t act so surprised. Your reputation precedes you. According to the rags, you’re quite popular with the ladies. I’m curious to see if your notoriety is deserved.” Without waiting for me to respond, she steps out of the car and heads inside.
I hurry after her, stopping briefly to get the claim ticket from the valet before trotting to catch up with her in the lobby.
“I have a reputation?” I ask softly, coming up behind her. “That’s no pressure.”
She hits the elevator button and glances at me over her shoulder. “Is it too much for you?”
“Not even a little bit.” My answer is eager because I’m eager.
“We’ll see about that.”
When the elevator arrives, we step inside, she selects her floor, and then we move to stand at the back so other people can file in behind us. Silently, I grab her hand, wrapping my fingers through hers.
And there it is. That feeling I love so much. The unspoken awareness that we’re about to see each other naked. That we’re about to fuck. It’s like carrying fire. It’s like holding lit dynamite. It’s like a bomb about to go off, and every second that passes feels like hours. Every breath I take in and push out feels like lead, and I’m suddenly obsessed with how soft her skin is. Softer than I’d imagined. How soft will she be everywhere else?
At her floor, I practically yank her arm trying to get out of the elevator.
“Left,” she directs me, her tone equally impatient.
The walk down the hall is endless, and by the time we reach her door, I’m too wound up to wait even a second longer.
“Hey,” I say as she digs in her purse for her key. I’m already stepping closer, and when she looks up, I put my hands on either side of her face, lean in and kiss her.