Page 35 of Hell Bent
Which was when she reached out, touched my hand on the steering wheel, and said, “This was such a good night. I know I’ve made the right decision giving myself this break, but I thought Christmas was going to be hard, and it wasn’t. Because of you.”
I turned my hand to hold hers, and she left it there a moment, then pulled it away and said, “I’d better let the driver drive.” A little breathless, the same way she’d been when I’d phoned to let her know I was there to pick her up.
“You do now,” I said, “but we don’t have to end our night right here.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” And there was the tension again, like she was warring with herself. I might know how she felt, because my body was saying,Let’s go, boy,even as my mind said,You’re going to have to take it slow..
“You don’t have to sleep with me to spend time with me,” I said, setting that aside. “We just need to figure out where we can go that’s open on Christmas.”
“Out here in the middle of nowhere,” she said. Which wasn’t a “no,” was it?
I took the next exit, and she said, “What? Sebastian …”
“Looking,” I said, and pulled out my phone. It took a minute or two, and I was driving again, getting back on the freeway.
She said, “Did you find something?”
“I sure did. And it’s right across the river from you.”
“I really should go to bed by ten.”
“As a ‘no,’” I said, “that’s too weak for me to tell if you mean it. I need clarification.”
“Wow, you’re direct,” she said.
“I’m Canadian, that’s why.”
“You are?” Diverted, now. “You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“Anyway,” she said, “are Canadians known for their bluntness? More the opposite, from what I’ve heard.”
“It’s just me, then,” I said, taking the Cascade Locks exit. “Time to tell me if you want to go sit in front of a fire and drink a glass of something with some sweet, hot bite to it, or if you want me to drive you home right now and maybe kiss you goodbye.”
“Is it a choice?” she asked.
Once more, I was pulling over. “You bet it’s a choice. Your choice.”
“I mean,” she said, “if we go have a drink, I can’t kiss you goodbye?”
“You can kiss me,” I said, “anytime you like. That’s a promise.”
“Mm.” Some tease in her eyes, I was sure, though it was too dark to see. I wanted to kiss her here and now. I wanted todo more than that, but I needed to tread carefully here. “Then I want to go have a drink,” she said. “Please. Because I want more time with you. Just you.”
I let go of my breath, put the car in gear, and headed over the bridge.
I was going to wow this girl if it killed me.
15
FURTHER INFORMATION
Alix
Picture this. You’re perched on a barstool in a rustic-but-modern lodge, sipping an Old Fashioned that, yes, does have some sweet, hot bite to it, and swiveled toward a man in a merino sweater you want to run your hands over, a gleam in his golden eyes and his strong hand wrapped around a beer bottle, his boot hooked over the chair rail and his powerful thighs on full display. He’s telling you a story about the dog knocking the Christmas turkey off the counter, and saying, “We cut away the part he’d eaten, washed it off, and sliced it anyway. Fine, right? Except for the dog getting sick all over the house during the night. From both ends. Merry Christmas!”
Except …
