“Classy. I see you spared no expense.” Sarcasm came in handy at that moment.
His fingers trailed across her hand before he shoved the little box back into his jacket.
Lucy followed him out the door, staring at the ring.
In what reality did she wear a fakey-fake engagement ring to go on a honeymoon with William?
He hoisted the bags and equipment boxes filled with cameras and various gadgets into the back of the old red truck he’d driven the first day she met him, hurrying around to the passenger side just in time to open Lucy’s door.
His hand rested against her elbow for a moment. A flash of light caught the metal of the gold band on his left hand, taunting an impossible reality. Her blood pressure spiked, her breath turned ragged.
The scent of him swirled in the air—spice, citrus, and the forest at dusk.
“Relax,” he said against her ear.
For the briefest of seconds, she thought he might nip at the soft skin of her earlobe where his lips brushed. A shiver slinked around her, over her, straight through her.
His grin broke the spell.
“What’s with the not shaving thing?” Lucy climbed inside.
He glanced at the hem of her dress where it slipped up on her thigh, for about four beats too long. She cleared her throat and tilted her head to the side.
“It’s my cover.” He closed her door.
Cover?
He moved his hand over the hood as he jogged around the front of the truck. Once he climbed inside, her nerves did that purring thing they were so fond of when he was around.
“Do people recognize you a lot?” she asked.
“Not here in Confluence. But why take the risk?” He backed out of the parking lot. “It helps that people see what they want to see. What they expect to see. They don’t expect to see a reporter, so they don’t.”
“Kind of like an alter ego. Except instead of spandex and a cape, you grow a beard and drive a truck?”
He smirked, and it spread into a grin. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well then, you’ll need an alter ego name. Maybe I’ll call you Willy?”
“Not on your life.”
“Can you at least talk with a special accent and low voice like Batman?”
“No,” he said as they stopped at a red light.
“C’mon William, you can’t be called ‘William’ all the time when you’re on assignment. You need something more fun. What if I just call you Bill? Or Billy or Mack or Buddy?” She quoted Sheryl Crow.
He gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead for a moment. When he turned to her, the tenderness of his expression nearly did her in. “I’ll tell you what, Lucy. You have special permission to call me Will when we’re on assignment.”
“Superhero Will who grows a beard and drives a truck. Sounds good to me.” She toyed with the hem of her skirt. “Tell me where we’re headed.”
He reached over and opened the glove box, grazing her uncovered knee with the back of his hand.
Inappropriate risqué thoughts about what harlot Barbie would like to do to G.I. Joe surged through her mind. She sucked in a hot breath as he handed her a brochure.Get a grip. This is not a real wedding night.
“Fancy,” she drawled, flipping through the brochure. “How far is this place anyway?”
“An hour,” he replied.
