“If I issue an invitation, sweetheart, you won’t have to clarify.”
Taking a moment to replenish the breath in her lungs, Rita tried to calm her racing pulse and eject from her head the vivid images of the two of them sliding together in a naked dance.
“I’ll make note of that,” she murmured, pretending she wasn’t cowed by reaching for some fruit instead of pursuing that intriguing line of thought.
“So, what’s up?” she asked after she’d finished an orange and half the French fries. A balanced breakfast if she did say so herself. “I’m not criticizing, but why aren’t we farther along?”
Something flickered in his eyes. Rita didn’t know what, or why, but she felt her defenses rise.
“I’ve got a few stops to make on my way home. Some bike shops, a couple buddies who’re interested in new rides.”
Rita knew he was talking about the motorcycles he customized. He’d always been into bikes. It must be nice, she mused, to find a niche that fit so perfectly.
“Okay,” she said, as if her agreement mattered. They both knew it didn’t, since she’d basically shanghaied this ride home. “How much longer? A few hours? Half a day?”
Not that anybody would be worrying. She hadn’t told her parents when she’d be home, since she’d been hoping to talk Benny into waiting a few extra days so she could stockpile a little more cash.
“Two, maybe three days,” Tyler said, dropping the bomb in an easy drawl.
“Two or three…”
“Extra days,” he finished with a nod, gathering their breakfast leftovers onto the tray to return to the diner.
“Days,” she echoed faintly. She grabbed the remaining apples and salad from the tray, tucked them into her bag. She’d only budgeted enough for one day’s worth of travel food, knowing she’d be well fed as soon as she got home. How the hell was she going to stretch her funds to three days?
Rita did a quick mental count of the cash tucked away in her bag. Still a few hundred shy for the payment on the victrola.
She was so screwed. Pressing her hand to her stomach, she tried to quell the panic. Somehow, some way, she had to salvage this. Because Rita Mae Cole had learned the hard way not to let herself get screwed unless she knew the pleasure was worth the price.
THEY’D BEEN ON THE ROAD awhile and Tyler was still grinning. His plan was brilliant. He’d called a few buddies to spread the word while he’d been waiting for the food. He’d delay enough to keep Rita away from Randy, who was leaving Christmas evening. If Tyler played it right, they’d get home for Christmas Eve without her catching a clue.
So what if it meant he spent a few more days in her company? It wouldn’t be a major hardship. He glanced over, his smile dimming a notch at the glum look on her face. Her forehead resting on the window, she stared out like the answer to every question in the world was written on the side of the freeway.
Should he ask what was wrong? He wasn’t supposed to care, he reminded himself. She was a big girl, well able to take care of herself. But the dejected droop of her shoulders was really getting to him.
“Hey—”
“What town are we going to?” she interrupted. She didn’t look so dejected now, thanks to the slightly manic gleam in her big green eyes. “Do you know about when we’ll get there?”
“Um…” He gauged the expression on her face, wondering if she was about to throw a monkey wrench in his plans. “Chatsworth. We’ll be there in an hour, hour and a half, I’d guess. Why?”
She just shrugged, bending over to dig into the huge tote bag she’d plopped at her feet. Resurfacing with a cell phone that looked as if it could run complex algebraic formulas, she sent her fingers flying over the tiny keys.
“What’re you doing?”
“Just…I’m not sure,” she admitted, her fingers freezing for a second as she stared out the window again. Tyler leaned forward to glance past her, trying to figure out what the hell she was staring at.
Apparently she didn’t see it either, because she dove into the bag again. This time she pulled out a thick stack of papers, puffing out her cheeks as she flipped through them. She nodded and tucked them under her thigh, then resumed tapping on the phone.
“Rita?”
“Hmm?” She stopped tapping long enough to glance over. “Oh, I’m just, well, working on a little Christmas project. It’s for my parents.”
As soon as the words cleared her lush lips, she winced and wrinkled her nose. “Sort of. In a roundabout way.”
And those confusing words were all she’d say about it. For the next forty-five minutes, over the Christmas carols belting out of the radio, Tyler peppered Rita with questions.