Cut that down to five. This girl really knows how to wrangle some impressive performance from a vehicle.
“There’s a grain road cutting through if you’re reallyinterested in showing off,” I tell her, pointing to where it’s coming up, the actual turn not yet in view.
“Sounds like a challenge,” she says, her eyes sparkling, and her lips parted in enjoyment. Instead of keeping my attention on the road, I focus on her face. The sharp jut of her chin melding into the sweet curve of her jaw. The beautiful pout of her top lip, larger than the bottom, so plump my teeth ache to bite into it, to make her squeal and squirm.
“Here,” I say, belatedly pointing out the turn.
The whole car judders as she swings the wheel to the left, holding the vehicle on the road by sheer force of will, the gravel spitting out from its wheels to punch bullet holes in the darkness.
She shifts gears, eyes narrowing as she wrestles the steering column for control. The back-end shivers, making the car vibrate like its crossing a cattle grid.
For a split second, I think she’s lost it. Then she steers into the turn, easing off the accelerator until she’s back in charge. Laughing like a maniac with the wind whipping through her open window, tugging her hair out of shape, strands flying across to stick to her lipstick, her flushed cheeks, her mouth.
I laugh along with her, enjoying the difference between her and the women I’m used to. The mouse has briefly turned into a lion, roaring as loudly as the car engine.
Another kilometre or two down the road and she slows the car, pulling to the side though not so far the wheels are in danger of sinking into the mushier soil of the pasture.
Her giggle warms me more than the alcohol still buzzing through my veins. Her hands stroke the leather contours of the steering wheel like it’s a lover.
I tease her, feeling more like I’m sitting next to a friend thana captive stranger. “You need me to take over? You seemed to lose control back there.”
Her eyes flash with the reflection of the dashboard lights. “No, I do not. Until you sober up, this pretty little tin can is mine.”
Tin can. It’s a late model charcoal C8 Corvette with green leather interior. If she weren’t so obviously appreciative despite her words, I’d take issue.
Her laughter trills into the night as she pulls back into the road, performing a three-point turn that shouldn’t be possible on the narrow strip of hard packed clay that passes for a road.
“How long till we need to be at the mansion?”
I reach over, pulling the loose strands of hair away from where they’ve caught on her mouth. “About right now.”
She wrinkles her nose, twisting her lips to the side. “Are you sure your watch isn’t running fast?”
“Not unless it’s conspiring with my phone.”
“Well…” She puts her hand on the gearstick again, raising her eyebrows and poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth. “Better get you there pronto.”
For a minute I’m tempted to tell her no. To drive wherever she wants, whatever speed she wants, just to see how much she enjoys the ride.
It’s been a long time since I found such joy in the excess that my father brings to everything in our lives. Her happiness is intoxicating but reality kicks back in soon enough.
A night with the family shouldn’t be something so dreaded but there’s no avoiding the fact I’d rather be anywhere but on my way to a dinner sitting opposite the man who belatedly claimed me as his son.
But George doesn’t know all the dirty secrets piling up in our closets. She can have an enjoyable time driving this expensivecar, wearing her expensive dress, fiddling with her expensive earrings while dining on the finest dishes and sampling the finest wines that money can buy.
And later, I can strip every last thread of clothing from her body. Kari’s found her own entertainment for the night, so I have a free pass to do the same.
I’ll strip her and see if I can find my own joy in the girl I just bought for the price of her father’s debt.
CHAPTER THREE
GEORGE
The momentI step through the front door, a man takes my phone. He’s polite, dressed in a top and tails like an old-time movie star, and smiles apologetically, but he’s resolute. When I sputter a few excuses about how I need it in case my father phones with an emergency, the man politely nods as he continues to extract from it my hand.
“Your dad’s fine,” Lachlan murmurs, checking his own device. “At least, he was when my friend left him. Sore enough to think twice next time but you won’t miss any emergency calls.”
Thank goodness. I briefly close my eyes in relief.
