Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
It was inevitable, though, and she blushed like a schoolgirl as the image of his bulging boxer briefs flashed in her brain like a neon sign.
“And secondly,” Saiden continued, either not noticing or politelyignoring her bright, tomato-red face, “my ability only triggers for dangerous situations. Not minor inconveniences.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call this minor,” Cora argued.
“When compared to what it’s normally used for, I would say this is most definitely minor.”
She hated that he had a point, but what was the purpose of having cool vampire powers if you still had to change a tire like any old mortal?
“So, what now? We have to wait for a tow truck to take us to a shop to get it fixed? That’s going to take hours!” Cora banged her head against the seatback. She’dwantedto get this trip over with quickly before their kiss at the hotel. Now sheneededto get it over with. Her ability to make smart decisions could only withstand so much when she was near Saiden and his damn animal magnetism. It was like feminism never existed when he was around.
“Relax, we’re not going to wait for a tow truck.”
Cora’s tension did ease a little at the lack of concern in Saiden’s words. He sounded so sure of himself that he probably had some vamp way to fix things.
“It would be pointless to call one anyway. No shop around here would even carry the right tires for a car like this.”
And Cora’s shoulders promptly ratcheted back up. “What do we do, then?”
“I think there’s a patch kit in the trunk. I just need an air pump and that should tide us over until we get home.” Saiden pulled out his phone, and a second later he held it up triumphantly. “There’s an auto shop only twenty miles away.”
“Are you serious? That’ll take forever to get there and back on foot.”
Saiden just raised one eyebrow.
“Right, vampire. You can run there in what? Two minutes?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not that fast, Cora. I can probably make it in five to ten, though. The question is whether I can trust you not to run off while I’m gone.”
She flung her hands out, indicating the wide stretch of empty land on either side of the freeway. “Where am I going to go? The last town is miles behind us.”
Of course the McLaren chose a barren stretch of I-5 to break down on. Couldn’t have been helpful and waited til Stockton to crap out. Her best option for escape would be hitchhiking, but she was under no misconception that he wouldn’t be able to immediately find her again.
Something sparked low in her abdomen at the thought of him hunting her down, but she promptly dismissed it. Now was not the time to unlock any new kinks that she absolutely should not be exploring.
Saiden’s eyes flicked back and forth between hers, evaluating, then he sighed and said, “Fine. But lock the doors and stay inside. I’ll be right back.”
With that last ominous warning, he hopped out of the car and took off down the side of the freeway in a blur.
It took less than six seconds before she completely lost sight of him.
Pulling out her phone, she checked her e-mail to see if she had any new demo reels to watch, but the well of desperate Hollywood actors seemed to have already dried up. She started to send a check-in text to Jinx but decided against it. That would only lead to her friend asking questions, and Cora didn’t want to lie to Jinx any more than she already had.
Tossing the phone back in her bag, she leaned down to start massaging the muscles of her legs. The little episode that morning washaving lingering effects, and she really needed to do her usual morning yoga stretches. Asking Saiden for time to do that before they left would have required talking, and if they hadn’t popped a tire, she would still be giving him the silent treatment.
Cora peered out the window and noted there was plenty of space between the McLaren and the fenced off field containing a herd of rather vocal cows. She could at least get a few good stretches in before Saiden returned if she was able to concentrate long enough to block out the mooing and the thrumming traffic whipping down the highway.
Stepping from the car, she wiggled her legs a little then eased forward into a front bend. She could barely reach the tops of her shoes lately, and today was no exception.
Fifteen minutes later, she was halfway through her series of sun salute poses, when the rattle of an engine in desperate need of repair broke through her carefully curated serenity.
“Need some help, miss?” a voice called out over the din of high-speed traffic.
She returned to standing and glanced over her shoulder at the guy making his way toward her from a beater truck that was likely older than her father. The owner of the junk heap clearly cared as little about his physical appearance as he did his truck’s based on the hairy gut hanging over his oil-stained jeans. The prominent beer belly was only partially covered by a gray t-shirt that had probably been white when he bought it.
“One hell of a nice car ya got here,” Beer Belly commented, running his dirty hands along the exterior.
