The Things She Says. Kat Cantrell

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded toward the floorboard, where a broken-in black leather bag was wedged under the dash. “Find my MP3 player and pick out some music. It’s a long drive to Dallas.”

      “You’re going to take me?” She’d been studiously avoiding the subject, hoping to segue back into it later. Like after it was too late to turn around.

      “You’re in the car, and I’m driving to Dallas. Seems like that’s going to be the end result.”

      Relief lessened the weight on her shoulders. Nine hours in the company of Kris. Nine hours in an amazing car with her Greek god in shining armor. It wasn’t nearly long enough, but far more than she deserved. “You aren’t mad?”

      With a half laugh, he said, “About what? Didn’t we go through this already?”

      Sinking low in the seat, she tried to make herself as small as possible. “Because I wasn’t honest with you. I practically forced you into taking on an unwanted passenger.”

      After a beat of silence, he tapped the steering wheel in a staccato rhythm. “I drink coffee black, I refuse to screw the lid on the toothpaste when I’ll have to take it back off again, and no one—no one—can force me to do something I don’t want to do.” A wealth of pain and untold history underpinned the sentiments, darkening his tone. She hated being responsible for bringing back bad memories. “Now you know the three most important things about me. Next time, ask instead of making assumptions.”

      Her fantasy gained dimensions and layers. And she craved more depth, more knowledge, more understanding of this extraordinary person in the next seat.

      “Oh, no. You busted my deal all to pieces. I can’t worship someone who doesn’t screw the lid back on the toothpaste.” She shook her head and tsked. “That’s wrong. What if it gets lost?”

      His million-dollar smile burst into place, and she intended to keep it there. It was the one repayment she could give him. Of course, it was a win-win in her book.

      “Lost? I throw it away. Waste of plastic.”

      “Figures.”

      The craving intensified. What kind of music did he listen to? She hooked the bag and pulled it into her lap, then rifled through it, absorbing, touching. These were Kris’s personal belongings. A green toothbrush. A stick of deodorant. A brush with a black stretchy band twisted around the handle. She’d never seen him with his hair tied back and hoped she never did. His loose, shoulder-length style was nothing short of mouthwatering.

      “Having trouble finding it?” he asked a touch sarcastically, as if he knew she was a heartbeat from inhaling the citrusy scent of his deodorant.

      “I confess. I’m actually a reporter for a celebrity magazine doing an expose on independent film directors. And their luggage.” She was rambling. Spitting out whatever came to her mind because her fingers had closed around a small, square box with a hinged lid that every woman on the planet could identify. Blindfolded. “You caught me.”

      She dropped the ring box, but her hand still stung. Why did an engagement ring in the bag of a man she’d just met put a lump in her throat? So he wasn’t engaged to Kyla yet, but obviously it was only a matter of time. Better all the way around to accept that he was completely unavailable. Much, much better. Then she could make a clean break. Wipe him from her mind once he left her in Dallas.

      He glanced at her over the top of his sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing’s wrong.” She yanked the only electronic device from the bottom of the bag and waved it, hoping it wasn’t a newfangled garage-door opener. “Got it. Let’s see what we have here. How do I turn it on?”

      “You’ve never used an MP3 player?” Amusement colored his question. “Touch the screen to wake it up.”

      “It’s asleep?” Fascinated, she flipped the gizmo over and right-side up again. “Does it snore and hog all the covers, too?”

      His rich laughter washed over her and she wallowed in it. He reached over, slid a fingertip across the device and colors illuminated the screen. Colors she barely registered because his arm pressed against her shoulder, sparking like a firecracker in a Coke bottle as he deftly tapped the MP3 player.

      The brush of body parts was totally innocent but the pang low in her belly unleashed a flood of longing more akin to original sin.

      “There’s the song list,” he offered nonchalantly. “Pick one.”

      She glanced down at the screen, contracting her diaphragm until she could speak again. “I don’t know any of these artists.” Was that her voice? She cleared her throat and prayed it eliminated the huskiness. “Any Kenny Chesney or Miranda Lambert?”

      Nope, still croaking like a late-night ad for a 1-900 number.

      “There’s no country music on this and there’s not going to be.” He took the player from her and stuck it in the holder on the dash. Two taps later, a stringed instrument wailed through the speakers, the melody so instantly heartbreaking, it stole her breath. She’d never imagined such passion could be poured into music.

      “The musician is Johannes Linstead,” he said. “Do you like it?”

      “It’s so beautiful, it hurts my chest. Is it weird that it makes me feel like weeping?”

      With two fingers, he slid off his sunglasses and impaled her with stormy, liquid eyes, searching her face with an immeasurable intensity. “The music makes me feel like that, too.”

      She couldn’t break their locked gazes. Didn’t want to. A whole other world lived inside his eyes, a world she wanted to fall into.

      “It’ll be our secret,” he whispered and snapped his attention back to the road as he obscured his eyes with the sunglasses again.

      Her heart beat so fast, she was shocked it wasn’t audible. She stared at his profile. What had just happened? It had been A Charged Moment. Thrilling—for her, at least. But what did it mean?

      She might be from Nowheresville but she could follow instructions. “Instead of assuming again, I’m going to ask. Why does it seem like you’re flirting with me sometimes?”

      “I am.”

      “Why?” Additional words, phrases, ideas escaped her. In fact, it had been a surprise her tongue worked at all.

      “Why not?” He lifted a shoulder. “I like you. You’re fun. Beautiful.”

      He thought she was beautiful? The jumpy crickets stampeded through her stomach.

      Stuff like this didn’t happen to her. Oh, she’d had her share of boyfriends—small-town, small-minded boys who wouldn’t know romance if it bit them in their unimaginative butts.

      The difference between them and this enthralling, charming man beside her was the difference between Ford and Ferrari.

      But he wasn’t finished. “What does it hurt? It’s harmless and has zero calories. Besides, you’re flirting back.”

      Harmless. Nothing more than sport for the beautiful people. Yes, Kristian Demetrious СКАЧАТЬ