The Things She Says(13)

She dropped the ring box, but her hand still stung. Why did an engagement ring in the bag of a man she’d just met put a lump in her throat? So he wasn’t engaged to Kyla yet, but obviously it was only a matter of time. Better all the way around to accept that he was completely unavailable. Much, much better. Then she could make a clean break. Wipe him from her mind once he left her in Dallas.

He glanced at her over the top of his sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She yanked the only electronic device from the bottom of the bag and waved it, hoping it wasn’t a newfangled garage-door opener. “Got it. Let’s see what we have here. How do I turn it on?”

“You’ve never used an MP3 player?” Amusement colored his question. “Touch the screen to wake it up.”

“It’s asleep?” Fascinated, she flipped the gizmo over and right-side up again. “Does it snore and hog all the covers, too?”

His rich laughter washed over her and she wallowed in it. He reached over, slid a fingertip across the device and colors illuminated the screen. Colors she barely registered because his arm pressed against her shoulder, sparking like a firecracker in a Coke bottle as he deftly tapped the MP3 player.

The brush of body parts was totally innocent but the pang low in her belly unleashed a flood of longing more akin to original sin.

“There’s the song list,” he offered nonchalantly. “Pick one.”

She glanced down at the screen, contracting her diaphragm until she could speak again. “I don’t know any of these artists.” Was that her voice? She cleared her throat and prayed it eliminated the huskiness. “Any Kenny Chesney or Miranda Lambert?”

Nope, still croaking like a late-night ad for a 1-900 number.

“There’s no country music on this and there’s not going to be.” He took the player from her and stuck it in the holder on the dash. Two taps later, a stringed instrument wailed through the speakers, the melody so instantly heartbreaking, it stole her breath. She’d never imagined such passion could be poured into music.

“The musician is Johannes Linstead,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“It’s so beautiful, it hurts my chest. Is it weird that it makes me feel like weeping?”

With two fingers, he slid off his sunglasses and impaled her with stormy, liquid eyes, searching her face with an immeasurable intensity. “The music makes me feel like that, too.”

She couldn’t break their locked gazes. Didn’t want to. A whole other world lived inside his eyes, a world she wanted to fall into.

“It’ll be our secret,” he whispered and snapped his attention back to the road as he obscured his eyes with the sunglasses again.

Her heart beat so fast, she was shocked it wasn’t audible. She stared at his profile. What had just happened? It had been A Charged Moment. Thrilling—for her, at least. But what did it mean?

She might be from Nowheresville but she could follow instructions. “Instead of assuming again, I’m going to ask. Why does it seem like you’re flirting with me sometimes?”

“I am.”

“Why?” Additional words, phrases, ideas escaped her. In fact, it had been a surprise her tongue worked at all.

“Why not?” He lifted a shoulder. “I like you. You’re fun. Beautiful.”

He thought she was beautiful? The jumpy crickets stampeded through her stomach.

Stuff like this didn’t happen to her. Oh, she’d had her share of boyfriends—small-town, small-minded boys who wouldn’t know romance if it bit them in their unimaginative butts.

The difference between them and this enthralling, charming man beside her was the difference between Ford and Ferrari.

But he wasn’t finished. “What does it hurt? It’s harmless and has zero calories. Besides, you’re flirting back.”

Harmless. Nothing more than sport for the beautiful people. Yes, Kristian Demetrious was exactly like his car. Smooth, exotic and his engine was equally unfathomable.

The crickets died a quick death. “Of course I’m flirting back. You’re driving. I’d hate to be dumped on the side of the road.”

He paused for a beat and didn’t laugh. “Women don’t flirt with me. They slip me room keys and follow me into the bathroom. Flirting with you is the polar opposite of that. I enjoy it. There aren’t any expectations. It’s safe.”

Now she was safe. How appealing.

She needed to throw it in reverse, distance herself, or eventually he’d drive right over her heart, flattening it like an unfortunate armadillo too transfixed by the bright lights of the freeway to see the splat coming. “Tell me about Kyla. Where did you meet her?”