Page 17 of My Fiancé's Brother

“Just warming up. Haven’t got to the fun stuff yet.”

If that was the warm-up, I hated to know what the work out entailed. I internally debated. I could call a cab, but it could be 30 minutes before one showed up here. “Okay. I would appreciate it.”

“Let me grab my keys.”

He disappeared upstairs and reappeared a couple of minutes later wearing a green t-shirt that said US NAVY across the front and a pair of jeans. He walked me to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for me. Embarrassed by his chivalry, I moved to step up into the truck. My tight pencil skirt impeded my ability to lift my leg high enough to get in.

“Need some help there?” He sounded amused.

Why was this happening to me? So much for looking sophisticated and mature.

I spun and almost bumped into his chest. His big frame blocked me in. “I’m just going to go change.”

“Hang on.” His hands grasped my waist, and I squeaked as he lifted me onto the seat like I was a five-pound bag of sugar. No effortrequired on his part. Our eyes met, and then he winked at me before shutting the passenger door. The man winked at me! I sat there trying to breathe like normal. Suddenly I had that very familiar feeling of tingling butterflies in my stomach.

No no no no.

Don’t even go there. This is Matt’s friend. He may be hotter than Hades but do not get fluttery around the man. He’s in the flutter-free zone.

He climbed into the driver seat beside me.

“So where to?”

“In Soho. Do you know where that is?”

He turned the key, and loud music blasted through the speakers. Matt didn’t listen to loud music. He only listened to non-digitally recorded classical music. Matt said that digitally recording music destroyed real art. The music that was blasting now was big and about as un-classical as you could get.

“I think I can figure it out,” he said over the music.

He drove like a bat out of hell. Before I could get my seatbelt on, he had backed up at about a hundred miles an hour. I was shocked and desperately trying to put my belt on as he shifted through all the gears as he tore up the street. I braced myself as he brought the vehicle to full speed. Now we wildly fishtailed on the gravel road around a bendy corner. I held onto the ceiling strap as we flew over a bump and I swear the entire vehicle took on air.

“Holy shit!” I breathed as we took another corner and he swerved expertly to deliberately hit a large puddle. Water poured over the windshield, momentarily blinding us.

I looked at him in part horror and part amazement. He seemed indifferent to the fact that he was driving his truck like we were in a life or death car chase.

“So do you like working at the gallery?” he asked mildly, as we wove around a bus and then around the corner. No one I knew drove as he did.

I was breathless. I couldn’t tell if I was terrified or excited or both. “I love it. I know it’s only part-time, but what people don’t realize is that this is my dream job. I would pay to work there.”

He threw a glance my way making me feel self-conscious. My skirt was riding too high up my legs. I discretely tried to yank my skirt down over my thighs.

My hand reflexively hit the dash even though my seatbelt held me back, as he slammed on the brakes due to a group of pedestrians that crossed the road and we came to a complete stop. We didn’t speak. We didn’t move. I was acutely aware of him beside me. His clean scent filled my nostrils. His long fingers slowly, impatiently tapped on the steering wheel as we waited for the last of the crowd to cross the street.

“What people?”

I chewed on my lip. Damn. Why was I always inadvertently disclosing details about myself? “Some people think I need a real job.”

“Who?”

I didn’t answer right away which made him turn to look at me, taking in my heels and my skirt that seemed determined to climb up my legs. “Just people.”

We watched in silence as one last person jogged across the road. “Fuck em.”

“What?” my voice faltered. I watched as his muscular forearm negotiated that stick shift like he owned it. Again we accelerated to an alarming speed.

He looked over at me. “People can mind their own fucking business. Do what you want.”

My eyes were wide. First of all, shouldn’t he be keeping his eyes on the road? And secondly, no one I knew talked like this. The last person who had given me this kind of advice, sans the f-word, had been my granny.

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