“Wow.” Spencer’s voice came from behind me.
I turned, my heart beating fast.
He was leaning against a lamppost, wearing a tuxedo, his face freshly shaved and his hair slightly damp. He was so handsome, it took my breath away. And, if the look on his face was any indication, he liked what he saw, too.
But I wouldn’t let it get to my head. We were playing a part.
I would have to keep telling myself that if I wanted to protect my heart.
Because, despite what I wanted to believe, Spencer was confident and intelligent—a dangerous combination that intrigued me.
“You clean up nice.” I smiled.
Thunder reverberated closer than before, and we both looked up.
“I hope the rain holds off.” He returned his charming gaze to me. “I have a pretty date to show off tonight.” He motioned me to join him and offered his arm.
We walked to the parking lot, and he led me to a cream-colored Rolls-Royce. The car was sleek and expensive, and exactly what I would have expected him to drive.
Spencer opened the passenger side door for me. I slipped into the automobile, lifting the train of my gown so he could close the door. Then he walked around to his side of the car and jumped in, grinning.
“This could be fun,” he said.
“As long as you play by the rules.”
“Rules were meant to be broken.”
“Not when there’s a legal contract involved.”
“Especiallywhen the law’s involved.” He laughed as he pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto Sunset Boulevard, going faster than necessary.
“You sound like you have some experience with the law.”
“More than I’d like to admit.” He sighed as the first drops of rain hit the windshield.
“Will they cancel if it rains?” I asked.
“I guess we’ll see.”
It took us less than fifteen minutes to get to the Hollywood Bowl. The venue was built in a natural amphitheater nestled in the Hollywood Hills and could seat over seventeen thousand people. We’d spent each Easter morning there for the past seven years, attending their beautiful sunrise service. From the top of the spectator seating, there was a good view of the large white Hollywoodland sign several miles away.
By the time we reached the Hollywood Bowl, we were caught in a downpour. Spencer had slowed the Rolls-Royce to a crawl, unable to see the road in the deluge of water.
“I don’t think we’ll be listening to the philharmonic symphony tonight,” he said, pulling to the side of the busy road, his windshield wipers unable to keep up with the demand.
“Will we get in trouble with Mr. Fellbaum if we don’t show up and mark our attendance sheet?” I couldn’t help but smile.
Spencer returned the smile. “We can do something else. Have you eaten?”
“I’m starving. I didn’t eat anything for supper.”
“How about we get something to eat?”
My stomach growled at the thought, and my cheeks grew warm.
Spencer chuckled. “It’ll have to be somewhere close, since it’s raining too hard to drive.” He frowned, as if he was thinking, and then said, “I know just the place.”
He slowly pulled onto the road again. The rain pounded the top of the automobile, amplifying the sound. Thankfully, Spencer didn’t have far to drive and was soon pulling into a parking lot. A neon sign flickered above a modest storefront, proclaiming “Miller’s Malt Shop” in bright, cheerful letters. Spencer stepped out of the Rolls-Royce first and rushed over to my side, pulling his coat off. He opened the door and held the coat over me as we dashed for the entrance, where a small bell chimed as we pushed open the door.
