Hell's Belles. Kristen Robinette

People therefore choose a vehicle based on who they feel they are inside.”

      Mattie looked at the Crown Vic. It was plain, ugly as sin, and its paint was crackling like the makeup of an old woman. Tears welled in her eyes.

      But when she looked up at Jack, she found his gaze trailing over her bare legs. She watched in amazement as he paused at her breasts before meeting her eyes. She shivered.

      “You, Mattie Harold—” he lowered his head to whisper in her ear “are not a beat-up Crown Vic.” He sighed and little shivers danced across her bare shoulders. “You’re a red Mustang. Convertible.”