Page 8 of Take Hold of Me

Trying to get a grip on my out-of-control emotions, I inhale. The scent of lavender—ofher—invades my senses, keeping me immobile. Wanting things I don’t deserve.

She steps back, breaking my torture. Her eyes stray to my vehicle and her teeth worry her bottom lip. The need to calm her fears takes precedence over my desire to get out of Dodge. “Ready for your first lesson?”

She nods up-and-down, takes two steps and stops, giving me the once-over. “You look good, Wills. Better than, well, the last time I saw you.” She reaches out and touches my arm. “How are you?”

Her soft voice combined with the pressure of her gloved hand threaten to break my control. I want what she seems to be offering.No.Just a driving lesson.Backing up a step, I put my hands in my back pockets, requiring her hand to drop from my arm. I ignore the slight downturn of her lips. “I’m good. You’re looking beautiful, as usual.”

As we resume walking to the sidewalk, she switches her purse from one shoulder to the other at least three times. As her driving instructor, I need to calm her down and prepare her for what’s to come. “Are you looking forward to getting behind the wheel?”

She licks her lips. “I am. I have my official permit right here.” She stops again, opens her purse and pulls out a piece of paper, waving it in front of me. Her smile is like a punch to my gut. Replacing the permit in her bag, she holds up her thumb and index finger, about an inch apart. “But I also am a teensy-tiny bit nervous.”

Damn. Why does she have to be so cute? “Don’t worry. We’ll stick to this street and not leave here until you say so, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my brain goes into overdrive picturing her in a very different position, and I’m the one doing the driving.Down, Wills. Not gonna happen. Never.

We stop outside the driver’s side and I offer her my keys. “Merci.” Before taking them, she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “I want to make sure nothing interferes with my vision. I do not want to do anything to hurt your car.”

Forcing my lips to remain neutral instead of breaking into a smile at how charming she is, I simply say, “You’ll do fine.” I lift my chin at the door, which she unlocks and scrambles in. She looks all kinds of right behind the wheel of my Jeep. I run my hand through my hair.One lesson and done.

Once we make sure the seat is at the right distance and her seat belt fastened, I instruct her to check the mirrors and adjust them. Every move she makes is slow and deliberate. So fucking adorable. “Textbook.”

Her smile at my encouragement lights me up from the inside, but I tamp down the undeserved feeling. Closing her door, I walk around to the passenger seat and buckle up. And look at my driver. “All yours.”

She starts the engine and goes over all the dials as if we were on an airplane, then looks at me. Waiting for me to give her instructions. Looking at me like I hold all the answers. A guy could get used to this look. Mentally shaking myself, I address mystudent. “For starters, why don’t you pull ahead to the end of the cul-de-sac.”

She nods and puts her hand on the smaller transfer case lever instead of the main gearshift. Before she can grind the transmission, I place my hand on top of hers. “That’s for putting the Jeep into four-wheel drive.” I move her gloved hand to the gearshift and put it on top of the knob that spells out the car’s brand.Thank God for the gloves. No skin-on-skin contact.

She nods at me several times, and I release her hand. After giving her some more basic instructions about how to handle the Jeep, I point ahead. “Now, let’s drive.”

Emilie inhales deeply, then returns her hand to the gearshift. We jerk out of park, causing me to grasp the roll bar. Keeping my voice even, I say, “Keep it slow, but you don’t have to keep your foot on the brake. You just want to get a feel for the vehicle.”

Never flicking her eyes off the road, she nods and we roll forward. When we approach the cul-de-sac, she brakes. Hard. Good thing for seat belts. I swallow my grunt. “That was a great first attempt. Now, let’s drive around the curve and stop right across from your house. Got that?”

Her head bobs, ponytail bouncing. She bites her lower lip.Damn. “I understand. Ready?”

“When you are.”

I hold my breath as she pulls forward again. This time, her attempt is much smoother, and she carefully maneuvers around the curve. When she comes to a less jerky stop across from her house, I nod and she smiles as if she just won a big award.

The road is wide and empty. “Good job. Think you can drive around the block?” Hers is a sleepy, very affluent neighborhood with only occasional local traffic. It’s safe for her to practice on these roads at this time of day.

She bites her bottom lip and nods. “Oui. I can do this.” Her brows furrow in concentration, and she slowly approaches the intersection.

“Turn on your blinker to let everyone else know that you’re turning right.”

Her long-fingered hand, encased in its leather glove, swipes at the column and the windshield wipers flick on.

Containing my mirth, I direct, “The other lever.”

Her face turns a charming shade of red. “I knew that!” She replaces the wipers with the right-turn signal. Three more turns—and three more appearances of the wipers—brings us back in front of her house. Clapping, I praise her skill. “Excellent.” She beams. “Let’s do it again.”

This time, my breathing relaxes. I switch my attention from the road to her driving posture. She’s hunched over the steering wheel with her nose right over it. Smothering a chuckle, I say, “You’re doing really well. How about you sit back in the seat.”

She turns her head toward me.

“Eyes on the road.”

Her head whips forward again, ponytail swinging, her bottom lip between her teeth. Her body retreats from the steering wheel and we move forward again. When she signals a turn with her blinker on the first try, I offer her some encouragement. “You’re doing great. That was perfect.”

She grins but keeps her concentration squarely forward. As we progress, her body inches closer to the steering wheel. By the time we stop in front of her house again, she’s sitting like a grandma behind the wheel. I bite my inner cheek to stifle a smile. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. Plus, she needs to relax.

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