Clay grinned. “Actually, I think about show jumping a lot more than sex, but when I’m sitting beside a beautiful woman, the latter seems to spring to the front of my mind.”
Ellie flushed at the compliment. Clayton Whitfield had called her beautiful. She’d discovered she was attractive four years when she’d looked at herself in the mirror. Without her thick glasses and wearing a little make-up, she was someone pretty.
Clay pulled the Ferrari into the parking lot of a small roadside tavern. A neon sign above the door flashed Willow Creek Inn in big red letters.
“I’ve enjoyed the ride Clay, really I have. But I think I’d better Shep the drink and be getting back.”
“One drink,” he cajoled. “Then I’ll take you to your car.”
One look in those warm brown eyes, one quick flash of his dimpled grin was all it took. “All right. But we’d better make it quick. Five-thirty comes early.”
They went into the bar, a softly lit room with a juke box playing Sinatra. The patrons were locals, some watching the television behind the bar, others waiting for a table in the dining room.
Clay chose a quiet spot in the corner. When the barmaid arrived, he ordered Ellie a glass of white wine and himself a Dewars and soda.
Clay leaned back in his chair. “All right, I know you’re twenty-four, you love to ride jumpers, and you’re a speed freak. You don’t have a boyfriend, but you may have a lover. What else should I know?”
Ellie fought a grin. “You should know I’m not in the market for a one-night stand. You should also know I have every intention of beating you on Sunday.”
Clay grinned. “Now I also know you’re a dreamer.”
“I’ve beaten you before,” Ellie reminded him.
“A fluke,” he declared.
They bantered back and forth, Ellie feeling a little more relaxed with every sip of wine. True to his word, when they finished, Clay pulled out her chair, helped her up, and escorted her out to the car. When she fumbled with the seat belt, he leaned across to help her, snapping it easily across her lap. He didn’t move away.
Instead, his head came down and he covered her lips in a leisurely kiss that made her stomach drop out and warmth spear through her body. His lips were soft and teasingly insistent. Ellie prayed he hadn’t heard her tiny purr.
Another brief kiss and he eased away and started the engine. Ellie leaned back against the head rest, enjoying the memory of his mouth moving hotly over hers.
She shouldn’t have done it. She knew what he wanted. But God, his kiss felt good and dammit, she wasn’t a saint. Why shouldn’t she kiss him?
She found out the answer when he turned the car south instead of north—opposite the party and her rented Toyota.
“Where are you going?” Nervously, she glanced around. “I’ve got to get back to the motel.”
Clay’s white teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “That’s exactly where I’m taking you, love.”
“But I need to pick up my car.”
“We’ll pick it up in the morning.”
We’llpick it up in the morning? The words rang a warning bell in her head. “Stop the car, Clay.” The words came out so high and strained, he pulled to the side of the road.
“What’s the matter, love, are you sick?”
Ellie didn’t answer. She popped her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the roadside. The lights of a passing truck flashed by, closer than she would have liked. Without a glance at Clay, she slammed the door and began walking back toward her car.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Clay’s voice was no longer warm. Jamming the car in reverse, he backed along beside her as she marched down the sandy road, high heels sinking into the dirt.
“Home,” she said through clenched teeth. “Alone!”
“Dammit, get back in the car before you get us both run over!”
“Not a chance.”
Clay slammed the car into park and opened the door. In a few long strides he’d caught up with her. “Look, I’ll take you back to your car.”
