Page 38 of Late Harvest

“Oooh, I love it there. Brinder took me there when he recruited me to Evangelist. The portions are massive, so get ready to have leftovers.”

“Excellent. Then I’m glad I didn’t eat breakfast.”

Arabella reached for a key fob and dropped it in her purse.

“I wasn’t sure what side of your driveway to park on so I picked the furthest from the door.”

“Great—I’m in the garage on the other side.”

Bash waggled his brows. “Look at us—already aligned. Can’t wait to see how else we…mesh.”

She didn’t respond, but her shoulders visibly tensed. “I’m happy to drive,” Bash offered, beating himself up internally for pushing too hard too soon.

“Nope.” His magnificent Scrub Angel popped the p hard, striding into the garage. “I’ve got it.”

Bash gazed after her admiringly, wondering if she was aware of the aura of confident competence she exuded. It was tantalizing beyond belief. Bash grinned, smitten.

You’ve got it alright, Scrub Angel. All of it.

Chapter Sixteen

Don’t fucking give up, because a true badass bitch never backs down from a fucking challenge. No quitting, bitch.

—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations

Remy

“Holy shit,” Bash breathed, white-knuckling the handle above the passenger door of Remy’s black Audi Q8 as she pulled into a spot outside the restaurant. “I knew you liked F1, but I had no idea you drove like you’re actually in a Grand Prix. Jesus…I think I just violated the safety clause in my contract.” He slumped back into the leather seat. “Have I updated my advanced directives lately? Gonna need to if I keep hanging out with speedy Max V. here.”

Remy looked over at him, shaking her head in amusement. She tried—good lord she tried—not to give in to his hilarious dramatics. But there was something so appealing about this goofily endearing man residing inside the form of a god descended from Mt. Olympus. When she’d opened the door earlier, her first thought—uninvited and largely unwelcome—was he looked…delicious. There was no other word for it.

The day was surprisingly warm for April, so both of them had eschewed jackets. Bash wore a crisp, pale aqua button-down, which he’d rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. His dark-wash jeans molded beautifully to his body, hugging pronounced thigh muscles in a way that made her mouth water. And his hair? Oh, gods. She just wanted to run her fingers through the dark, loose waves on top and stroke the back of his corded neck where his hair was shorter.

In sum, Bash Wheatley was freaking hot. Otherworldly, blessed-by-the-gods, soak-your-panties hot.

Remy might be an ice queen. But she wasn’t immune to the potent, sizzling effect of Bash Wheatley. And his forearms.

She tore her gaze from the arm porn on display. “Wuss,” she teased, surprising herself with her out-of-character joking. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the fire, baby. Also, I thought you said you didn’t know F1, much less arguably the best racer in the line-up.”

“What can I say? I did some Googling.” He lifted a shoulder, a massive smile spreading across his face. “And…you just called me ‘baby.’”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a figure of speech, not an endearment.”

“Boooo,” he pouted adorably. “I guess I’ll just wait patiently until you determine your special nickname for me.”

How was he so good at disarming her? Her walls were strong and thick—out of necessity. “Good grief, Bash. What am I going to do with you?”

“The possibilities are endless…”

Bash’s smile shifted into something else. Something that made her core clench. His eyes darkened, the lids dropping ever so slightly as he rubbed a finger slowly below his full lower lip. He hadn’t shaved, and dark stubble graced his chiseled face.

Oh fucking hell. Why was he so damn appealing? This whole charade was just a convenience to save St. D’s, and she’d be damned if she let it be more. She was absolutely not setting herself up to be hurt. She’d had more than enough pain and loss in her life.

Once again, his phone chimed.

“Saved by the bell.” she uttered hoarsely, her heart thumping unnaturally.

He opened his door and coasted around the front of her car. She’d barely reached for her handle when the driver side door opened and he held out a hand. “Shall we, my queen?”