“An hour ago. It has an 8.0-liter V10 engine, 450 horsepower and six-speed manual transmission. It can accelerate from zero to sixty miles per hour in 4.1 seconds.”
To Marco, she sounded as if she were reciting painfully memorized facts, much like a second grader reciting her times tables.
“You know what all that means?” he asked. His heart skipped a beat when she grinned impishly.
“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that the salesman made a big deal out of it, and that the car can go fast.”
He laughed. “Mind if I look it over?”
She stood aside. “Be my guest.”
Slowly he walked around the vehicle, running a finger over the sleekness of its gleaming curves. It was the kind of car he’d always dreamed of owning. Once he paid off all his school loans, that is. It cost a small fortune, he knew, more than most people earned in a year. More than he’d be able to afford for quite a few years to come.
How, he wondered suddenly, and with a start of concern, had his landlady afforded it? Now that he thought about it, she had spent a lot of money lately. That outfit didn’t come cheap. Nor did the ongoing repairs to the duplex. Like the music that had kept him awake three weeks earlier, the way she was dressed today, not to mention buying a vehicle like this, seemed so out of character for her that he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was she involved in something—or with someone—that, in the long run, would only bring her trouble?
Before he let his imagination run away with him, Marco decided a note of caution was in order. After all, what, if anything, did he really know about her? Maybe she’d scrimped and saved for years, just to savor this moment of ownership. As for the improvements to the house, it only made sense for a homeowner to keep up her property. Probably a tax write-off, as well.
And the new clothing? The answer to that one was also simple. She couldn’t drive around town in a car like this wearing a three-piece suit. Could she?
“I removed the hardtop myself,” he heard her say. “It was surprisingly easy.”
“So I see,” he replied, peering into an interior that was all cognac leather and fancy gadgets.
“Impractical, isn’t it?”
Straightening, he returned his gaze to hers and smiled. “The most impractical thing I’ve ever seen. That’s what makes it so great.”
“It is great, isn’t it?”
Was that a flicker of doubt in her eyes? Did she need him to convince her that she’d done the right thing?
“Sure is,” he said with a heartiness he didn’t feel, his own doubts resurfacing. “You don’t see many cars like this around here.”
“Which means,” she said, surprising him with her candor, “you’re wondering how I could afford it.”
Again he thought of the improvements she’d made to the duplex. And to herself. As for the duplex, it was a comfortable, middle-class home. Nothing about it, or Gretchen Montgomery herself, had ever indicated she could afford to spend money the way she had been lately.
Had she won the lottery? Received an inheritance? Robbed a bank? He felt his lips curve at that last, fanciful imagining.
“The thought may have crossed my mind,” he admitted, deciding to be as frank with her as she had been with him.
“Just think of it as creative financing,” she replied. “I am a CPA, after all.”
Which told him nothing, even though it wasn’t any of his business in the first place. Whatever the source of her newfound wealth, it did seem to be accomplishing one thing. It was definitely pulling her out of her shell. And that was a good thing.
“Let me reassure you,” she added with a smile. “I’m not going to lose the roof over your head.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Relieved was more like it.
The conversation underscored how little he knew about her, even though he had been her tenant for two years. Was he really so shallow that a change in her looks, and a flashy car in her garage, were what it had taken to arouse his curiosity?
No. There was more to it than that. Part of the reason had to do with the fact that Gretchen Montgomery had always put up walls around herself. Now that she’d pulled them down, he should probably take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about her.
So long as he remembered that she was his landlady and nothing more, he cautioned himself.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked.
He knew she meant the car, but he couldn’t help thinking of a far different, exceedingly intimate kind of ride that, landlady or not, he’d like to take with her. “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift,” he said.
She maneuvered those long legs of hers into the driver’s seat. Looking up at him expectantly, she replied, “That’s okay. I do.”
When he hesitated, she patted the creamy leather of the passenger seat with fingernails that had been painted a bright red. “Don’t worry, Dr. Garibaldi. I promise I won’t bite.”
She might not, but he was afraid that if he was cooped up in close quarters with her for too long, he might.
“Marco,” he said. “The name’s Marco.”
“Call me Gretchen.”
“Very well, Gretchen.” Swinging the passenger door open, he sank with a sigh onto the soft leather seat. Inhaling a heady breath of new-car aroma, he said, “Take me away from all my troubles.”
“My pleasure.”
When she started the engine and began backing down the driveway, he glanced over at her. “Don’t you need your glasses to drive?”
“Lasik surgery,” she explained. “You are now looking at an emancipated woman. Twenty-twenty vision, both eyes.”
She was emancipated all right, he thought, eyeing her body in that tight dress. Any more emancipated, and he might not be able to contain himself.
“Must feel good,” he said, mentally adding the cost of the lasik surgery to the growing column of cash outlays she had made in recent weeks.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied fervently. “To have the weight of glasses off my nose is heavenly. And the exhilaration of waking up in the morning and being able to see—”
She broke off, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with all the details.”
Bore him? How could she bore him, when the light of pleasure gleaming in her eyes had his pulse rate accelerating like mad? How could she bore him, when all he could think of was how exhilarating it would be to wake up in the morning and see her lying next to him? He, Marco Garibaldi, who made love to women but who avoided sleeping with them.
He forced his gaze out the window and shoved his inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind. “Trust me, I’m not at all bored.”
Ten minutes later they were out on the open highway.
“Let’s see what this baby can really do, shall we?” she said.
Marco felt the rhythm of the engine change as she shifted gears and the vehicle picked up speed. In fascination, and not a little trepidation, he watched the speedometer needle edge past sixty, to seventy, then eighty, until it finally rested at eighty-five.
Outside, the scenery rushed past, wildflowers and trees melding together in one big blur. Thank goodness they were on a flat stretch of road and there wasn’t another car in sight. Of course, that wouldn’t help them if a deer darted out from nowhere, or an unseen patch of oil sent the car into an unexpected skid.
Tossing