Jess hesitated. “Just a drive?”
“Just a drive,” he confirmed.
She thought for a moment. But only a moment. Then she reached for his hand.
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” she said under her breath.
Sean laughed and pulled her toward the door.
CHAPTER TWO
“WE CAN’T TAKE the bridal car!”
“Of course we can—it’s my car.” Sean pulled on Jess’s hand until they stood on the apron of the curved hotel drive. His GT had clearly been parked by someone who appreciated that this was a car worth showing off.
But he’d forgotten about the freaking ribbons.
Someone had put ribbons on Dezzie. Ribbons! Sean crouched down in front of the car only to find the stupid stuff had been threaded through and tied tight around the front grille. He needed a knife, but bloody Rob had refused to let him wear one in his tux.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured as he stood. He stroked the hood of the car to try to make her feel better about the ignominy.
“Sean, seriously, we can’t take this car.”
He nodded. “Yes, we can. Rob and Hailey are staying here at the hotel tonight.” He gestured to the tall building behind them. “Honeymoon suite.” He winked.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I, uh, did a few things to make the room ready for their wedding night.” Sean opened the passenger door and reached for Jess’s hand.
She hesitated. “Oh. Oh.” She gave him a look of distaste. “What, lots of condoms and sex toys and stuff? Nothing too gross I hope.”
“Nothing too gross, I promise. Just...being helpful.”
Jess shook her head, but a smile played around her lips. He wanted to kiss her, to see if those lips were as soft and sweet-tasting as they looked. But she had something of the easily startled lamb about her and Sean figured he needed to work up to that. Reading people was one of his talents—a talent he was proud of—and that contributed to his success as an author. And he was sure he was reading Miss Jessica Alexander correctly. She wasn’t going to easily succumb to his charms.
Just as well, he’d always enjoyed a challenge.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but she put her hand in his and allowed him to help her into the car. Sean blessed the designer of her dress as the split in her skirt once again fell open, revealing a length of creamy thigh. He swallowed hard as his body tightened, and he gave himself a silent lecture about restraint as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
He settled into the familiar seat and smiled as the car started up with a welcoming rumble. Desdemona was more than a car. She was a friend, a shelter, a partner in crime, a symbol of his achievement. Occasionally, even, a home. Dezzie meant more to him than most human beings of his acquaintance.
Tonight, she was an escape vehicle. Sean felt a weight lift as he maneuvered the car out of the hotel and away from the Paterson family, as if he’d been wearing a lead cloak that he’d finally managed to shrug off.
“Would you like me to leave you two alone?”
Sean was startled from his reflection by Jess’s amused tone. “Huh?”
“The way you’re stroking the steering wheel. It’s almost...obscene.” She laughed, a warm, rich sound.
Sean didn’t rise to the bait. Jess wasn’t the first person to comment on the close relationship he had with his car. And frankly, he didn’t care what other people thought. Not about Dezzie, anyway.
“She’s been through a lot today,” Sean said. “Not the least of which was Rob driving her from the church. He’s my brother, and I love him, but the guy has no idea how to work a clutch.”
“Go on, give me the specs.”
“Seriously?”
“Tell me as if I don’t know anything about cars.”
“Because you don’t know anything about cars.”
“Exactly.”
Sean ran a hand over the dash as he spoke. “Dezzie is a Ford XY Falcon GTHO Phase III, affectionately called the Hoey. One of only three hundred made. This model won Bathurst in 1971 with Allan Moffat driving.”
“Dezzie?”
“Yeah, short for Desdemona—the woman who elopes with Othello. Most of the other cars that are still around today are in showrooms or collections.”
“But you like to drive it—I mean, her, Dezzie.”
Sean smiled, pleased with Jess’s correction. “Yeah. It’d be kind of like keeping a wild bird in a cage. She was born to be on the road.”
Jess nodded with a surprisingly understanding look on her face. “I get what you mean. So, gonna show me what she can do?”
He flicked Jess his best wicked look. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The speed limit on city streets was disappointingly low, so Sean headed for the closest freeway he could find—then he could at least let Dezzie off the leash a little. When he reached the on-ramp and accelerated hard, Jess let out a yelp, but he backed off as soon as he reached the limit. Well, just over the limit. Dezzie’s top speed neared two hundred and fifty kilometers an hour, but Sean hadn’t let her rip like that for a while. He needed to wait until he’d earned back a few more points on his license.
“That was fun,” Jess said.
“It’s better when you get out on a racetrack.”
“I can imagine.” She twisted and looked around into the backseat. Her dress gaped as she did, revealing to him that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Sean did his best to be gentlemanly about it, but the sight of her breast almost down to her nipple had his mind fogging over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such an instant attraction to a woman. And he didn’t for the life of him understand how she could have been left sitting alone at the wedding. She should have been slapping off come-ons like flies.
“She’s very clean. Did you have to get her detailed for the wedding?”
Sean struggled to focus on her question. “Dezzie’s always pretty clean, but yeah, she did get a spruce up.”
“And ribbons.” There was no mistaking the tease in her voice.
“Yeah. And ribbons,” he grumped.
He glanced over and Jess met his eyes. She was smiling, more than a trace of amusement in her expression over his fondness for his car. But it was kindly meant—and after a day with his family, Sean definitely knew the difference.
“You’re a writer, huh?”
“Yep.” She was the first person all day to ask him about his work. It was probably just as well, as the big news he wanted to share wasn’t nearly final enough to make public. When he finally did make his announcement, he wanted it to be a big occasion—he wanted to be there to lord his triumph over his parents, see the recognition of his achievement light up in their eyes.
“What kind of books do you write?”
“This and that.” He’d learned it was better to be vague with most people. Unless they understood his genre, they tended to be dismissive, if not insulting. Better not to get into it at all. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“Huh?”
“Being a vet and all, I figure you must have one.”
“Not really. I like all animals.”
“What’s