Vicki Lewis Thompson - Drive Me Wild

“Sure I do.” His voice was husky, his gaze hot and intense. “But you could have had the decency to wait until I was here to watch.”

“Oh.” Molly’s breasts tingled. Well, of course she should let him watch. Obviously she still had a few things to learn about being a wild woman. “All right, then. Pay attention. I’m going to take off my skirt now.”

And she proceeded to take off the garment an inch at a time, making sure her breasts shimmied with every movement. “Enjoying this?” she asked.

Alec looked down at his straining sex, a wry grin on his face. “Obviously.”

“Tell you what.” She wiggled again, nearly free of the material.

“What?” He was almost fully erect, and it was an impressive sight.

“When I finish this little chore, there might be something else I can do for you….”

She paused, letting the anticipation build. “Do you remember telling me that I had a perfect mouth?” At his dumbfounded nod, Molly slowly ran her tongue over her lips. “Well, what do you say we take it for a test-drive…?”

Dear Reader,

Being chauffeured is a rush, at least for me. Thanks to Harlequin’s promotional events, I’ve had the privilege several times, but one instance in particular stands out. I’d been invited to a reader event at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, the same place they filmed Pretty Woman. Mark Williamson, who met me at LAX, was moonlighting as a chauffeur while waiting for his big break in music. So far, he’d recorded many commercials and one album.

I mentioned Mark to the Harlequin people orchestrating the event, and they hired him for the weekend. On one outing he took us on a tour of Beverly Hills, admitting some time into it that he really didn’t know where the stars lived. We didn’t care. We listened to his album on the CD player and enjoyed his company. I lost track of Mark after that weekend, but I’ve always hoped he got the big break he was looking for.

Ever since that experience, I thought a chauffeur would make a terrific hero, and at last Alec Masterson showed up to handle the job. If all chauffeurs looked like Alec, women would burn their driver’s licenses. Come along for the ride as Alec does his best (and his best is awesome) to drive Molly Drake wild.

Warmly,

P.S. If you’re online, drop by my Web site at www.vickilewisthompson.com and say hello!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mark Williamson, who had dreams as big as mine.

I’m still hoping that someday you’ll write the score for my movie!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

AS LONG AS Alec Masterson kept driving down the Connecticut Turnpike, he’d pick up his client exactly on time. That meant ignoring the ancient silver Caddy listing to one side on the shoulder up ahead. Now was not the time to play Good Samaritan.

Then a frail old man climbed from behind the wheel and tottered back to the shredded rear tire. Alec groaned and glanced at the clock set into the Lincoln Town Car’s leather dash. Nope, couldn’t stop. He slowed down, though, hoping somebody else would get out of the Caddy, a teenage grandson, maybe.

If Alec was late, Molly would miss her train into New York, and she’d already told him this trip was important. She hadn’t told him why, of course. Molly liked to keep her secrets. His buddy Josh was convinced she starred in X-rated videos. Josh had a wild imagination, but his theory would explain her constant trips to L.A., and she did have an incredible body.

Alec was damn curious but he didn’t pry. He was the guy she requested whenever she called the car service, so she must like him. He liked her, too. Lusted after her, in point of fact.

Her red-gold hair seemed designed to fan out on a pillow and her green eyes flashed the kind of fire that gave guys wet dreams. Nevertheless, there was a sweetness, an almost innocent quality to her. If Josh was right about her profession, she was one hell of an actor.

If Alec had met Molly any other way than being her chauffeur, he probably would have asked her out. He had to say probably because he really shouldn’t take time for a girlfriend right now, and when it came to Molly, he couldn’t imagine stopping with one date. But he was her chauffeur, and he couldn’t risk losing his job with Red Carpet Limousine.

He’d been playing student for more than ten years, testing out premed, electrical engineering, architecture, accounting. Law school was his last-ditch attempt to find something he loved, and he was determined to finish. The chauffeur’s job was perfect—decent money and flexible hours. Plus he could study while he waited for a client.

As Alec passed the Caddy, he checked in the rearview mirror, still hoping to see some able-bodied passenger get out of the car to help the old guy. But no, a tiny, white-haired woman in a pink dress appeared and wobbled to the back of the car. She wore white shoes and carried a white pocketbook. Alec knew that women of her generation called them pocketbooks instead of purses because that was the word his granny used.

Oh, hell. He pulled to the side of the road and backed down the shoulder until he was a couple of yards in front of the Caddy. So he would be late.

MOLLY DRAKE PACED the worn oak floor while keeping an eye on the antique wall clock. Alec was never late, so why now, when this meeting with her agent could mean a new beginning for her? If she missed her eleven-thirty appointment, she wouldn’t get in to see Benjamin today. He was a busy man, and she wasn’t high enough on the food chain to think he’d squeeze her in somewhere else.

Damn it, where was Alec? She should have learned to drive when she moved to Connecticut. She’d intended to, but Dana had insisted now was not the time, when she was in an unfamiliar place. More protective than Molly’s own mother, Dana paid for the car service and told Molly to use it whenever she needed a ride. Privately Molly had planned to learn to drive, anyway, but then Red Carpet Limousine had sent her Alec. Getting a license would have meant giving up Alec, and that was totally unacceptable.

She was positive she wouldn’t have written the lust-filled novel sitting on her agent’s desk if Alec hadn’t come into her life. He’d inspired her to fantasize a grand sexual adventure in which her heroine, Krysta, explored her sensual urges in the primitive jungle setting of Brazil. Molly hadn’t ever combed her fingers through Alec’s thick brown hair, but Krysta had. Krysta had gazed into his brown eyes while she slowly unbuttoned his silk shirt and rubbed her hands over his muscular chest.

And if he didn’t show up in the next two minutes, Molly was going to wring his gorgeous neck. The appointment with Benjamin meant the end of waiting for his reaction to her book. She’d mailed it to him three months ago—three of the most agonizing months of her life. Then last week, his assistant had called to set up this meeting to talk about the book.

Molly was prepared for Benjamin to say he couldn’t get her a big advance. Big advances went to Hollywood stars like Dana Kyle, who had astounded Tinseltown by writing a series of clever mysteries. That’s what Publishers Weekly called them—clever and well plotted.