Page 10

I step on the gas, reversing in an expert arc that throws her against me.

“Whoa, easy there, Rusty,” she admonishes as she rights herself.

My jaw clenches, and my fingers curl around the cold steering wheel. “I’m keeping tally, Keely. For every time you call me that name.”

She laughs and fiddles with the climate control until warm air flows into the car. “And how exactly do you intend to get me back, seeing as you’re leaving tomorrow?”

The smile barely twitches on my lips. “The night is still young.”

“Umm, no, it kinda isn’t. It’s almost 1a.m.” Her voice holds a cautious delivery, as if she’s realizing just what she’s let herself in for.

I don’t respond as I quickly navigate the quiet streets on the outskirts of Montauk, letting the powerful engine beneath me growl and fly. I drive fast and aggressively, and every now and then I hear her breath catch when I take a corner too quickly. After about ten miles, the turmoil in my chest starts to calm.

In direct proportion, the turbulence in my pants is growing. My cock has been hardening since she slid in barefoot beside me. Seeing one fist clenched around the door handle and the other gripping the center console is not doing my libido any good either. Nor is the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the very visible outline of one breast playing peekaboo with the gaping robe.

A glance at the GPS shows a mile-long road, leading to a dead end coming up on the left.

I take the turn and floor the accelerator.

She slams back against her seat. “God, slow the fuck down, would you?”

“I’m keeping a tally of that, too.”

The needle rises to a hundred, then one-twenty. One-forty. Her breath shudders out. “You can keep all the goddamn tallies you want. If you make me dead just one day into my twenty-fifth year, I swear you’ll never have a moment of peace. I’ll haunt you until you beg me to kill you.”

My foot doesn’t lift from the pedal, but I glance at her. “Yesterday was your birthday?”

She visibly shakes as she sees the row of white oak trees that marks the end of the road. “Jesus, slow down, Rusty!”

“Answer my question.”

“What question? God! Yes, yesterday was my birthday.”

“What did you wish for?”

“Not to fucking die in a psycho’s car today!” Her fingers have turned white and her face is ashen with fright. One nipple is fully exposed and I feel the blood rushing through my veins.

“Please!” The word explodes from her lips. “Slow down,” she whispers. “Slow down, slow down,slow down!” The words trip over themselves.

“What about your foul language?” I ask, returning my eyes to the road.

“Fine. I won’t swear again!” She starts shaking her head frantically as the trees rush toward us. “God, no!” Her right hand clutches my thigh, digging in with a tight, nail-biting grip.

I narrow my eyes, scan the dashboard, then the tree line. After exactly three seconds, I transfer my foot from gas to brake.

The McLaren skids to a stop at the exact point where the road ends.

For several seconds, her breath gusts out in loud gulping heaves, her eyes frozen in wide-eyed fear.

Then she explodes at me. I easily block her blows, my arms gripping her as fear turns to anger.

“You are a FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

4

MASON

I throw open the door and drag her out through my side, making sure her feet don’t touch the frozen ground.