Vicki Thompson - Drive Me Wild

Today she could see that behavior had been a mistake. Alec was much too aware of her, and she was absolutely drooling over him. How could she resist a man who was rumpled and late because he’d helped an old couple change a flat tire?

“You’re welcome.” He swept a glance over her. “Watch your purse strap.”

She thought he’d noticed more than the strap, which dangled next to her ankle an inch or so from the door. She pulled it out of the way and he closed the door with a firm thrust.

Firm thrust, indeed. Leave it to her to make closing a car door sexual. It was a habit she might not be able to break—assigning sexual meaning to everything Alec did. That was how she’d been able to imagine him in bed, where firm thrusting would definitely be welcome.

He rounded the hood and opened the driver’s door. “How long do you plan to be in the city?”

“Not too long. Why?”

“I could park in a garage and then drive you home.” He climbed into the car and closed the door.

“You don’t need to do that.” Now he was really behaving more like a boyfriend than a chauffeur, and she was enjoying it, unfortunately.

After picking up his sunglasses from the dash and putting them on, he backed out of her small driveway and headed toward the turnpike. “Up to you, but I don’t have any other clients today and I’ll charge you the same as if you took the train home.”

“In that case, sure.” She knew he always needed money, and if taking her to New York and back would help him financially, she wouldn’t hesitate. “Do you have your books in the trunk?”

He gave her a quick grin. “Always. And I’d much rather have company on the ride back, anyway.”

If only he wouldn’t smile like that and make her tummy quiver. Until the moment when she’d begun worrying that he’d been in an accident, her emotions regarding him had been under control. But that concern seemed to have eaten away her defenses, and now every move he made created little shock waves in her system.

She groped for solid ground. “You must be getting ready for finals by now.”

“Don’t remind me.” His hands rested easily on the wheel.

“Are you falling behind?” Because she didn’t drive, she was fascinated with how casually he handled the big Town Car in heavy traffic. She’d ridden with people who made her nervous, but with Alec she felt completely safe.

He laughed. “I’m always behind, but it’s my own fault. Want some music?”

“Okay.” With her heightened awareness of him, she wasn’t sure music was a good idea, but to say she didn’t want any might call attention to a change in their relationship. She hoped by pretending there was no change she’d eventually regain control of her thoughts.

Alec reached over and pushed a button on the CD changer. Obviously he’d preloaded it with soft jazz, their agreed-upon traveling music. In the past, the jazz had filled the car with sensual overtones, but today the atmosphere oozed sex.

For the first time in the six months she’d known Alec, Molly couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, she sat with her fingers laced together and tried to talk herself out of wanting him. She didn’t have much luck.

Alec wasn’t saying anything, either, and even his silence was sexy. Because they weren’t carrying on a conversation, Molly was more aware of his breathing. She had a sudden and powerful image of what it would be like to be lying next to him after…. Her fingers tightened, and she glanced out the window, forcing herself to think of something else, anything else—the budding trees beside the turnpike, the clouds sailing briskly overhead, the flow of traffic down the black ribbon of road.

The trip was an endless exercise in self-control set to a sound track of smoky jazz, but eventually they reached the outskirts of the city, and Molly’s thoughts shifted to the appointment with Benjamin. Sexual arousal gave way to a case of nerves.

Alec lowered the volume on the CD player. “So where are we going?”

“Midtown. Near Park and Fifty-seventh.” She hesitated. Not telling him anything about their destination, now that he was driving her right to the front door of the building, seemed paranoid. “I have an eleven-thirty appointment with my agent.”

Alec nodded. He didn’t ask what kind of agent. “Lunch?”

“No, it won’t include lunch. I should be finished by twelve-thirty. If you don’t mind, maybe we can pick up something to eat on the way home.” Right now she had no interest in food, but by then she might be hungry. She hoped she’d be hungry, because that would mean the appointment had gone well.

“Sounds like a plan.” Alec’s expression remained neutral.

All the questions he wasn’t asking hung between them, and she was beginning to feel silly for being so secretive. She couldn’t talk about the ghostwriting, but this appointment wasn’t connected to that. And after all, he was driving her to Benjamin’s office and picking her up again.

Still, no one knew about this project except Benjamin, and she was afraid to talk about it and risk jinxing herself. On the way back to Old Saybrook, though, she’d have a tough time staying silent, especially if Benjamin raved about her writing.

She settled on a compromise. “I’ll tell you what this is all about on the way home, okay?”

He glanced at her as if taken aback. “You will? Why?”

“Because I doubt if I’ll be able to keep it to myself.”

“Then if you’d ridden the train, you would have collared the nearest passenger and blabbed to them?”

Her laugh released some of her nervous energy. “Probably.”

“Then I guess I should feel lucky that we missed the train.” He sounded irritated.

Whoops. “Look, Alec, I realize I haven’t revealed much about myself in the time we’ve known each other, but—”

“You’re not required to reveal anything about yourself, Molly. I apologize for taking that tone. I’m your chauffeur, and what you choose to tell me or not tell me is entirely up to you.”

“Now you’re upset.”

He sighed. “Only with myself. I’ve known from the beginning that you weren’t chatty. And I am.”

“Not today.”

“Well, I got to thinking that I’ve probably been boring you. I’ll bet you didn’t want to hear—”

“I’ve loved hearing all about your family,” she said softly.

“You’re being polite.”

“No, I’m serious. I don’t have any good stories like that.” His normal childhood and his adventures with his younger sister made her green with envy.

“Oh, God. Please don’t tell me you’re an orphan.”

“No. But my upbringing was…different.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s better if I don’t.” She’d discovered a long time ago that nothing good came of telling people her dad was Owen Drake, one of Hollywood’s top directors, and her mother was Cybil O’Connor. If fans remembered Cybil O’Connor at all, it was for a spectacular nude scene in The Haunted Lagoon, a movie released twenty-eight years ago. After that, she’d given up acting to become Mrs. Owen Drake and mother to Molly Drake. Molly had always felt the weight of that sacrifice.

She’d also learned that mentioning her parents usually brought out intense curiosity, and people tended to forget their manners in the quest for insider dirt. Maybe Alec wouldn’t pump her for information about big stars, or mention her mother’s infamous nude scene. Knowing Alec, he really wouldn’t react that way. Still, Molly liked being anonymous for a change, and moving from L.A. to Connecticut had allowed her to separate herself from that high-pressure, glitzy world.

Alec cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t do this, but I have one question about you, and it’s killing me.”