A long sigh escapes me. “I make no promises, but I will try.”
She pauses on her way out of the door. “If you upset her, I will be taking your own secrets in payment.”
My grandmother knows how to play hardball. She can’t find out why I’m home. I won’t be able to stand the suspicion from the only woman who has ever loved me unconditionally. I will move heaven and earth to protect that love.
I stareat the monstrosity of a van parked next to my baby. This is what she drives? I’m surprised it even starts. I think there’s more rust than paint covering the off-white bodywork.
The door to the garage opens, and Cleo strolls inside and falters at my presence. She must think I’m stupid. It’s been barely five minutes, not fifteen.
Her gaze falls on my car, which I uncovered for the trip to town. “That’s yours?” she asks.
I quirk a brow and open the passenger door for her. I’m proud of my 1962 Shelby AC Cobra. She runs like a dream and is a pleasure to drive.
“I’d prefer to drive,” she says, jerking her head at the Jaguar. I might be forbidden from interrogating her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to feed her demand for control. I hope she enjoys being off balance, because that’s her life for the foreseeable future.
“Sorry, no one drives her but me.” I tilt my head at the passenger seat.
She gestures toward the other covered vehicle in the corner. “And the bike? She’s yours too?”
“She is.”
“I suppose I don’t get to drive that either.”
“Most definitely not. You’ll never even sit on her. That’s a highly personal thing.”
“Sounds like you and that bike have a very complicated relationship.”
“There’s nothing complicated about a machine that purrs between your legs.”
She snorts as she climbs inside and settles into the passenger seat. Two minutes later, we rumble down the drive and out of the gate. I take a left, away from town.
Cleo’s hands clench in her lap. “Where are we going?”
I glance at her before I change gear and push the car harder. “I rarely get to drive her. When I do, I want to enjoy the open road for a short time.”
“So we aren’t going anywhere specific?”
I grin as the engine vibrates under us. “No, I’m taking the scenic route to town.” Cleo presses her jean clad thighs together as her hands grip the edges of the leather seat.
I push the car to its limits, ensuring it takes the bends in the road safely but fast enough to make Cleo’s breath catch in her throat.
Thirty minutes later, I spin into a parking spot in town and cut the engine. “You doing okay there?” I ask her.
Cleo frowns, before leaping out of the car like her ass is on fire. And it’s a fine ass, too—but also a complicated one, and I am on a woman ban right now. I follow her into the butcher’s to overhear Rosa giving her the third degree about Samuel and their impending Saturday night date. That didn’t take long—gossip in this town spreads faster than a wildfire.
“You have boots, right?” Rosa asks as George the butcher hands her a grocery bag.
“No, I’ll figure it out,” Cleo utters.
“Whatsize are you?” Rosa’s gaze drops to her feet. “Seven?”
Cleo nods. “That’s right.”
“I’ll bring you some of mine over.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.”
“Nonsense, you finally said yes. You are going to knock his socks off.”
