His lips curl into the same smile that has always made my stomach flip. “It’ll be just the two of us. I want to take you for a drive in a couple of hours. After it gets dark.”
“Where to?”
“You’ll see.” He leans forward, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Trust me?”
“Sure,” I say, setting my empty glass back on the tray.
He nods. “Cool.”
Stomach fluttering with excitement, my mind starts whirring with all the possibilities of what he might have planned. A night trip to the beach? Or, maybe risk being arrested by climbing up to sit on the Hollywood sign?
“Stop overthinking it,” Rowan says, reading my mind. He reaches over to take my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “It’s just us tonight. No paparazzi, no Hollywood bullshit.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
The gateto Rowan’s garage slides open with a smooth hum, revealing a stretch of polished concrete and glassgleaming under bright lights from overhead. Shoes echoing softly with each step, the sound is immediately swallowed by the sheer size of the space.
“Okay. This isn’t a garage. It’s a freaking showroom.”
Rowan grins over his shoulder at me. “It’s great right?”
I shake my head in wonder. “So, you won’t take a private plane, but you’ll buy every fancy car in the known universe?” A snort bursts from my nose before I snark, “If I didn’t already know better, I’d think you were trying to compensate for something else.”
All I get in response is an “uh huh” and a dark, sultry look.
Cars line both sides of the room, sleek and pristine. Most of which look untouched. A matte black Porsche crouches low to the ground. Next there’s a midnight blue Aston Martin with a Ferrari sitting beside it. The Ferrari’s red paint is so freaking glossy, it throws my warped reflection back at me when I lean in.
I feel wildly out of place. Still, my fingers twitch with the sudden urge to reach out and drag one across one of the perfectly curved hoods. But I keep my hands to myself.
Barely.
I follow Rowan over to a silver-gray Land Rover parked at the far end of the garage. It’s lifted a couple of extra inches and has big tires that look like they could handle any terrain. Rugged and practical.
“This is more my style,” I say, running my hand along the door handle.
Rowan’s face lights up. “I knew you’d like it.” He unlocks it with a click of his key fob. “This is the one I always take when Evo isn’t driving me around. The others are mainly to keep up appearances. But they’re still fun to drive every now and then.”
I raise an eyebrow in question.
Looking almost sheepish, he shrugs. “Just a bunch of Hollywoodbullshit. My agent and manager think I need to drive something flashy. But this?” He pats the hood affectionately. “This is my favorite. This baby’s been with me through everything. She’s reliable, comfortable, and doesn’t draw too much attention. Unlike the others.”
“Unlike you,” I tease, walking around to the passenger side, palm brushing along the cool metal as I go, grounding myself in something solid before I climb in.
“Exactly.” He follows, opening the door for me with a gallant wave of his hand. “After you, Sunshine.”
The interior smells like dark leather, smooth and warm. And when I breathe in even deeper, the clean, masculine scent of his cologne takes over my senses.
Rowan climbs in, closes the door, and starts the car.
The low vibration from the V8 engine rumbles through the floor and up my legs as the quiet thrum of The Weekend’s, Starboy starts playing through the speakers.
I can’t help but grin at the irony.
Rowan backs out of the garage and heads down the winding hill. The city sprawls out before us like a vast, glittering constellation of stars. Night air flows through the partially open window, cool against my skin.
“So, you’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, watching the city lights as we descend.
