The sun had not yet set, and so he wore sunglasses, which just drew attention to his mouth, the strong jaw, the smooth beard. She wanted to see his eyes.
He turned his head and though he shouldn’t have even noticed her, his attention slid into the parking lot of the convenience store, found her and her car in a matter of several seconds. He said something to Richard. The other man grinned, offered an appropriate male gesture of farewell. Then Mac was walking toward her.
She couldn’t help smiling at him as he crossed the street, and she kept smiling, an easy thing to do, until he stopped at her open car window, leaned in. He took in her 60
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casual appearance, a snug pair of blue jeans and deep hunter green placket shirt. “You look like you have a secret.” He touched his finger lightly under her chin.
“I do, Mackenzie. You’re it. Take off the sunglasses.” And because it pleased her to do it, the moment he complied, she curled her fingers in the open neck of his shirt, brought him in for a kiss, a touching of lips that she deepened, or maybe he did. Their tongues tangled, and she felt the heat of it rush up from her toes to the point of fusion, enervating every part of her, erasing any weariness or stress she’d carried from the mundane world. His hand came up, cradled her face, his fingertips in her hair in a romantic, protective gesture she liked very much. When she broke the kiss, she was smiling still.
“I missed you,” she said, and his eyes crinkled in an attractive way, returning her grin. They were looking at each other like a pair of foolish teenagers, and though she knew she should be appalled, she wasn’t. She was just…happy. Excited.
When she lifted her leg over the gear shift and moved into the passenger seat, she could tell she’d surprised him. “I want you to drive. If you can handle a stick.” He laughed then, and it coated her like melted chocolate, a warm sound. She wondered if he had any idea how deeply sexual a creature he was. Not the prettiest or most handsome man she’d ever seen, but beautiful and sexual in the way predators were. Mesmerizing.
He opened the door and slid one leg in, ducking his head to take the pilot’s seat of the black Stealth. He gave her a sidelong glance, and she leaned over, reached down between his legs and released the seat lever so it eased back, making room for his longer frame. Taking her hand back over his leg, she caressed his thigh with her palm, enjoying the feel of the hard body beneath the denim.
“Talk about a ticket magnet,” he observed, familiarizing himself with the controls and readjusting the mirrors.
“I have a Fraternal Order of Police sticker,” she informed him, poker-faced. “I give regularly.”
“Mmm-hmmm. I’m sure that stops them from pulling your ass over.” She grinned, reached over and took the sunglasses from the open collar of his shirt where he had hooked them, put them back on his face. “Just shut up and drive. Take I-75 to state road 48. It’s not the most direct route, but it will be less traffic.” When Mac glanced over a moment later, she had taken a brush out of her purse and removed the wig. He missed a gear and winced at the resulting complaint from the engine. Fortunately, a stop light caught them at the next major intersection so he could turn and look at her without risking both their lives.
Short, sassy auburn hair curled wildly around her face and stopped just above her shoulders, enhancing the impression of a forest fairy he’d had when he first saw her.
She looked toward him with that big, beautiful violet gaze, and he felt his heart skip a beat and stumble, just as he’d made the engine do. “What color are your eyes?” 61
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She rummaged in her purse again, withdrew a lens case. She pulled the contacts from her eyes, put the case away, then blinked at him with irises that were a soft blue like the Caribbean, so close to the lavender of the contacts he suspected they were more enhancement than a different color.
“The light, Mackenzie,” she said gently.
He jerked his attention back to the road when the guy behind them blared his horn.
He missed another gear accelerating. She raised a brow. “Are you sure you’ve driven straight gear before?”
He chuckled. “Sugar, last time I drove one, there were a lot less distractions. You’ve got to give me a moment to catch up.”
She smiled, and he could tell his reaction pleased her. “So, what do you drive?”
“I’ve got a pickup for hauling and a bike for everything else. A Honda VTX.” She frowned. “Motorcycles are very unsafe.”
He shot her a pointed glance. “And I suppose you got this thing so you could drive Miss Daisy around?”
She relented. “A motorcycle, hmm? Those long legs with all that power between them.” She ran her nail down his thigh and his cock tightened against the crotch of his jeans. “Will you take me for a ride sometime?” He grinned. “Sure.”
“Will you let me drive?”
“You got a bike license?”
“No.”
“Then, no.”
“Oh, that’s just an excuse. You just don’t want me handling your wheels.” He looked her up and down. “You can handle anything you want of mine, sugar, but when we get to the bike, that’s in the same territory as marriage.”
“Have you ever been married?”
Violet knew the answer, even before he shook his head. Not her slave. She was sure he’d never let a woman get that close. And it made her woman’s heart wonder why, though she suspected she already knew a large part of the reason.
“Want to explain that?”
“I can’t.” His gaze shifted, and his voice was quiet, telling her he wasn’t avoiding the question. “It has to do with some things I just can’t talk about.”
“Ever?” She reached out, touched his face so he would look her way.
“Not yet,” he said.
“An honest answer, so I can live with that. “
They drove in companionable silence for some time, and she enjoyed watching the capable way he navigated the car through Tampa’s traffic to the interstate, the way he 62
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shifted gears, the movement of his long legs as he maneuvered brake and clutch.
Actually, she thought she could make a pastime out of just watching him. He was aware of her intent stare, she could tell, but he handled it well, his sub training kicking in so that he did not try to make conversation. That would have intruded upon her obvious, deliberate perusal and been considered rude.
Nevertheless, her scrutiny aroused him. She could tell by the flicker of his eyes, the press of his lips, the occasional swallow that moved the muscles of his throat. It wasn’t until they merged into the interstate that she relented and broke the silence.
“Would you like to turn on some music?”
“Sure.”
She opened the console, held up a handful of CD’s for his inspection.
“Smashmouth? Matchbox 20? Avr…Avril Lavig…Ay-ya-ya-ya.”
“Avril Lavignon,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Well, thank God.” He plucked out one of the choices. “At least you have a Credence Clearwater Revival tape.”
“I’m sure my father probably left that in here.”
“Brat.”
“Old fogey.”
She considered him as he put in the CD, the teasing look in his eyes doing amazing things to her pulse rate. “How old are you, Mac?”
“Depends on the day.”
“Mackenzie.”
He glanced at her, relented. “Forty-three. You?”
“I turned eighteen a month ago, I swear.”
He let out a low whistle. “Well, you’re out of luck then, sugar, because I only date high school girls.” He lifted her hand, pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her knuckles that shivered through her. “I’d guess twenty-seven.”
“Would it make you happy, me being that much younger than you?”
“You make me happy just being near me, sugar. But if I’m right, it would scare the shit out of me.”
She smiled. “I’m thirty-two. And I know what scares the shit out of you, Mac.” She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his neck. “It’s not my age.” 63
Joey W. Hill
Chapter 8
They stopped at a general store in one of the picturesque fishing towns. She bought cheese, blackberry preserves, a fresh tomato and a couple baguettes to go with the bottle of wine she had in the car already. He got her a fountain vanilla coke and himself a Dr. Pepper. As they pulled back onto the rural route that would take them to Tyler’s reclusive home on the Gulf, he reached over and took her hand. He just held it, a simple, sweet gesture that tugged on her heartstrings as she watched his long fingers completely surround hers, the way his index finger stroked her knuckles idly as they talked and rode.
She had him pull off at a roadside picnic area to eat their snack. The location overlooked a breathtaking view of a small man-made lake that fed into the marsh areas.
Maples had been planted in the protected area, and they were starting to experience some fall color, which added to the scenic view. “Could you eat?” she asked.
He grinned. “I’m six four and two hundred twenty pounds of muscle, sugar. I can eat.”
“Braggart. Mess with me, and I won’t share dessert.” She produced a small bag of M&M’s.