Page 87 of The Perils of Paulie
Dear god, he was handsome. That straight nose, the bluish gray eyes that could go from pretty to steamy with just a bat of his lashes. And his jaw—oh, that jaw. I loved his jaw, almost as much as his chest. And his legs. And butt. And pretty much every other part of him.
Dammit, I loved him. There was no denying the fact—I wanted to wake up next to him every morning. I wanted to argue with him, and make up, and laugh and sing and dance with him. I wanted to hold him in the night and see his eyes light up with laughter when I teased him.
I just wanted him.
We drove on in silence. Dixon didn’t seem to be bothered at all by our conversation, but I was badly confused and worried. And since I’m not a person who does either in silence for long, I finally blurted out, “Do you want to see me after the race? Or is this just a fling?”
The face he turned to me expressed utmost surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.” I gritted my teeth and glared out the windscreen. The weather was starting to turn chilly for August, with cloud cover over the moon, leaving the night dark and uninspiring.
Pretty much like my life at that moment.
“Yes, I did, but my question was aimed more for why you would ask that than what your question meant.”
“Man, you’re going to make me ask it right out, aren’t you?” I sighed, figuring my dignity didn’t stand a chance against my raging curiosity. “The person you’re talking about, the one you want to propose to—are you saying that’s someone you’ve yet to meet, or someone you know now?”
The look he gave me was chiding. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking it,” I said through clenched teeth.
His lips twitched. “Do I strike you as a Lothario?”
“Dammit, Dixon, answer the question!”
“Which one?”
“Gah! So help me, I will pull this car over and... and...”
“And what?” he asked, tipping his head to the side.
“Something you’ll be very sorry about!” I finished, almost sputtering, so annoyed was I.
“Pull over,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Pull over.”
I glared at him for a second, then did as he asked and pulled onto the shoulder. “Look,” I started to say, but got no further. Dixon was out of the car and coming around to my side, holding open the door for me.
“Are you kicking me out of my own car?” I asked, slowly climbing out.
“You have a very odd picture of me if you can declare your love and admiration for me in one breath and then suspect me of trying to get rid of you in the next.” He pulled me forward into an embrace, his arms solid around me and the feel of his body so perfectly right for mine.
He squeezed my butt and gave me a quick peck before pushing me into the passenger seat. “You’re tired and overwrought. Why don’t you rest, and I will drive for a few hours?”
“I’m not overwrought! I’m a bit murderous, but not overwrought, and you only have yourself to thank for that state of mind,” I growled.
“I’m sorry if you’re so unhappy right now.” He reached into the back for the lap blanket we kept there, mostly to take naps on. “Here, you cover up and rest, and I’ll drive for a few hours.”
I gave up at that point. I don’t like to think of myself as a quitter, but I’d asked him point-blank several times, and if he didn’t want to answer the question, then so be it.
The big idiot. “Roger will be pissed if we don’t go find a hotel and park ourselves so they can find us.”
“To hell with Roger,” he said with blithe abandon.
I bit back some rather scathing comments and settled back, confused, emotionally vulnerable, and fearing a future of unrequited love, but realized that now was clearly not the time to discuss the future, so I tried to put the matter from my mind.
