The Things She Says(18)
Then there was the engagement, which had to be real to the public in order to work. He wasn’t sure of Kyla’s angle yet, but if the engagement was designed to throw them back together like he suspected, she’d perceive VJ as competition. No one deserved to be in those crosshairs.
He sighed. The reasons for nipping this thing with VJ in the bud were legion.
Because this situation didn’t suck enough, he’d just transformed VJ into ripe, delicious, forbidden fruit. Cursing, he yanked on the wheel and swerved to avoid a dead armadillo.
Half-blind, he struggled to keep his attention on the road and off VJ.
Stop. Detach. Immediately.
He hated to step on any of her puppies, let alone her fanciful ideas about romance. Unfortunately, it might be the only solution capable of getting his mind out of the gutter.
“This is all fascinating. But I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
“Who said anything about fairy tales?” VJ countered and wiped damp palms on her jeans stealthily, so Kris remained unaware of how nerves were kicking her butt. “Romance instruction” had grown from a ploy to prove he wasn’t in love with Kyla, which he’d readily admitted, into a death match of wills over something far worse. He didn’t believe in romance. And she was going to change his mind.
“Romance novels are not fairy tales. I’m talking about real life.”
“Whose real life? Yours?”
“Sure. One day.” She shrugged. “That’s why I said no to the proposal. Walt Phillips and romance don’t even speak the same language. It might as well be Greek.”
She winced. Freudian slip. Or something. This conversation was going to kill her one way or another.
With a hint of a smile, Kris peeked over the rim of his sunglasses and said something foreign and sexy. “I’ll translate that for you some other time.”
Her breast still tingled where it had touched his arm and that voice did nothing but heighten it. What was she doing? Was this really about changing his views toward romance or a thinly veiled excuse to get close to him now that she knew his relationship with Kyla was not what it seemed?
The car passed the Van Horn city limit. “Okay, now I’m hungry,” she said, even though she wasn’t. She needed time to regroup. “We can stop here for breakfast.”
Kris pulled into a crowded fast-food place without comment.
He parked the Ferrari among rusted flatbeds, semis and beat-up four-doors, then sped around to her side to help her out of the low seat. Always a gentleman, and jumping jellybeans was that ever attractive. She took his hand, and the contact sparked. “Would you mind ordering? I want to freshen up.”
He nodded and followed her inside, where she fled to the filthy bathroom. The crust on the sink lost her attention when she caught sight of the dark welt under her eye. No wonder he’d freaked. She looked horrific.
Kris didn’t believe in fairy tales because his entire life already was one. She had to believe in them. Otherwise, how could she possibly hold out hope that life might be different than the tragedy she’d escaped?
They ate breakfast in silence, or rather, he ate and she picked at her sausage. The longer they didn’t talk, the tighter the tension stretched, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that watching him do anything with his hands set off a throb low in her belly.
“Can I borrow your phone?” she asked when he stood to collect trash from the table.
“Sure. It’s in the car.”
“Do you mind giving me some privacy?” She jerked her head in the direction of the Ferrari. “I have to let someone know I’m okay. I’ll just be a minute.”
Without a word, he slid his gorgeous body back into the molded chair with grace, which made not imagining those long, golden limbs wrapped around hers impossible.
“Let me know when it’s safe,” he said.
She bit back a snort. “You haven’t figured it out yet? You’ll never be safe from me.” Then she spun on a toe and flounced to the car, heart pounding in her throat as she elbowed through the throng of testosterone checking out Kris’s Ferrari.
She should be committed. Romance instruction. Where did she come up with these ideas? The best plan was to focus on getting to Dallas and then, the rest of her life. Kris had no place in the middle of that, even without the nebulous engagement. He was from Hollywood. She wasn’t.
His phone lay in the hollow between their seats. The seats.
Nothing in the car belonged to her except her bag. She had to remember that.
After three fumbles with the confusing little pictures crowding the screen of Kris’s phone, she figured out how to play a fishing game, use the timer and search for a restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard. Then she found the section that looked like numbers to dial an honest phone call. Rich people.