“Oh? Who is it?”
“Uh…well, you have her in your contacts as Sexilicious Sondra.”
He snorted, but didn’t seem to want to know the contents of the text message. I provided them anyway. Because they were too juicy not to share.
“She wants to know if she left her pink fuzzy handcuffs at your place last time she was there.”
I enjoyed the slow creep of color up his neck from the collar of his dress shirt. Without looking at me, he reached up and held out his hand for the phone. I slipped it into his palm.
“You shouldn’t read it while you’re driving.”
“I’m not going to.” He set it down in its own little cubby specially designed to hold it.
“Sure you don’t want me to reply? You can just unlock it with your thumbprint, and I’ll let her know whether you still have her handcuffs or not. And I can tell her where she left her vibrator while I’m at it.” My cheeks started to hurt from the grin I was wearing.
“That’s okay,” he said between clenched teeth.
“It also showed that you had five other unread texts, but they had scrolled off—”
“All right, Weiss. I get it. You’re amused. Can we move on?”
“Well, you don’t want to keep your lady friends waiting. I’m very concerned that they might feel neglected.”
In truth, the idea of him with another woman made more than a little heat rise under my own collar. I clenched my jaw at that thought. Was I…was I jealous? I promptly told myself I was being silly and forced myself to ignore it.
“And in what way does that concern you?”
I shrugged, trying not to feel the sting those words caused. “It is in my best interests. If you have a lack of regular…companionship, you might get even grumpier than you already are.”
His jaw worked, but he kept his eyes on the road. “I liked it better when you were reading your book.”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll go back to reading, then.”
“You read a lot.” It was a statement, not a question. He glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road.
“Was that an observation or an insult?”
“What all do you read? Novels?”
“Sometimes novels. Sometimes non-fiction. I’ve been on an economics theory kick lately.”
“Freakonomics?”
“I love that one.”
“It figures.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Econ theory lovers are head games people.”
I shrugged because I had no real reply to that. Hell, I had no idea what he even meant by it. Did he mean playing head games on others? Or maybe I fooled myself with my own head games?
We rode on in silence for a few more miles, passing the city of Ventura. The highway turned and paralleled the ocean on our left. I found myself gazing out his side of the windshield at the sunlight reflecting on the water. The early morning coastal fog had begun to burn off, and it was going to be another glorious, sunny Southern California day.
And here I was, stuck in a car with the Grumpiest Boss on Earth. The hot, grumpy boss with hands more magical than anything JK Rowling could dream up in any of her Harry Potter books. Orgasmo Patronum. He hadn’t even needed a chant…just those hands. The thought of his hands brought back that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My eyes dropped from gazing at the ocean to watching his hands on the steering wheel. They were big, with a light dusting of hair and prominent veins. I remembered what those hands felt like, threading through my hair, holding my head in place while he kissed me.
I flushed hot, and almost as if he could read my thoughts, his head turned. “Are you warm? Do you need the air on?”
He reached out and cut the heater on my seat.
I shook my head, shot him a glance and then turned toward my window, away from him, watching the scrubby coastal hills out the right side of the car.
“So, uh, should we talk about what happened the other night in the alley?” I finally heard myself ask. It was a question that had been nagging at me ever since it had happened. But I hadn’t overtly planned on uttering it out loud.
He was silent for another stretch of time while the Range Rover ate up the miles with its smooth glide along the highway. I didn’t dare look at him, nor did I even move. I was too afraid he’d snap my head off.
Finally, he let out a sigh. “It shouldn’t have happened and it won’t happen again. I apologize.”
I frowned. That wasn’t what I’d wanted him to say. Maybe something like, “You’re so hot and sexy I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” Or, “I hate you because you are beautiful.” Or, “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed…You must allow me to tell you how ardently I want to fuck you.” My mouth quirked at my modern take on Mr. Darcy’s classic words. Yes, those would do nicely.