Page 3 of Bastard In A Suit, Vol. 3

Chapter 2

An entire floorof the parking garage at Duke’s apartment complex is devoted to his extensive collection of fast cars. Among the Porsches and Ferraris, I spot a couple of fancy sportsters that are either foreign or bizarre concept models.

My eyes land on the cherry red Lamborghini taking up two stalls. It commands the space, powerful, just like Duke. My stomach flips end over end. I’m mesmerized by its sleek lines, the slope of the windows that ride low on the hood.

Duke pushes a button on his keychain and the winged doors rise in a steady whoosh that makes my knees knock together. My first vehicle was an old Ford Escort that barely hit sixty miles per hour without rattling. I traded that for a Smart Car that drove slow enough for people to point and laugh. I sold that to secure the damage deposit on my first apartment and have been public transporting it ever since.

“Buckle in,” Duke says.

I settle into the seat and the doors lower, cocooning us in. A computerized dashboard glows with soft blue lights. I run my hands along the sides of the scooped seat, curling my fingers into the leather. Duke turns the ignition key and the car thrums to life.

My thighs vibrate under its awesome power.

“Ready?”

I nod with too much enthusiasm, sure my eyes are wide and round.

Duke puts the car in gear and its throaty growl pulses through me as it crawls out of the parking garage and onto the busy street. People stop to gawk at the Lamborghini and I shrink deeper into the seat, away from their incredulous stares.

“The windows are tinted,” Duke drawls. “No need to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

I gulp aloud. “That’s not at all what I thought. I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with me…”

He slowly shakes his head. “You underestimate yourself, Hailey.”

I latch on to the words, cling to them for dear life as he steps on the gas and the car lurches forward with a guttural roar. My adrenaline jacks.

I study Duke’s profile in my peripheral, the easy set of his jaw. Sunglasses ride high on the bridge of his nose, dark like his hair. A strand curls on his forehead. I tuck my hands under my butt to stop from reaching over and threading it through my fingertips. The gesture is far too intimate.

We turn onto Michigan Avenue and Duke idles down, merging into the flow of traffic. I’ve never driven along this busy street, and it amazes me how as a passenger in Duke’s sports car, I’m more aware of my surroundings. Taking it all in—the stores, the characters, the street corners where people wait for the light to change—instead of burying my head in a textbook or playing a new game on my phone. Everything looks different, more alive.

“First time in a Lambo?”

I blink, then laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

He grins. “You appear to be lock-jawed with awe.”

He’s not far from the truth. Riding shotgun with Duke Kingston is as far-fetched as joining a space mission to the moon. My observations are keener, my senses on high alert. My eyes flit to my skirt—the same one I wore yesterday—and even my sub-par state of dress doesn’t unnerve me. In this moment, I am invincible.

My fingers inch toward the gearshift, close enough that the energy between us crackles.

His pinky thrums against the shaft as if playing the accompanying drums to the rhythm of my pulse. At a stop light, he leans forward and turns up the volume on the stereo. A familiar pop song pulses through the speakers and I expect him to switch the station—it’s so opposite to the music in his penthouse. Instead, he starts to sing.

He’s badly out of tune, and he skips over half the words, but it doesn’t matter because my heart races so fast it drowns out everything but his voice.

“Come on doll, I know you know the words,” he says, bobbing his head in time with the beat.

I shake my head. “I couldn’t…”

He cuts me off with a high-pitched wail I think is supposed to mimic the vocalist’s. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Sing it, sister.”

I start to sing, soft at first, and then louder as the moment wraps around us, allowing myself to cast aside reservations and doubts. I lean my head toward him as we belt out the chorus in unison. It’s bad, so bad, but a smile is stretched so wide across my face it hurts my cheeks. When I risk a glance at Duke, I see he’s grinning too.

At the stoplight, he threads his fingers through mine.

My knees go weak and I’m grateful to be seated. His pinky lightly sweeps across my bare knee, causing me to gasp.

“Ticklish?”