Page 89 of The Perils of Paulie
He paused in the act of snapping one of the roof arms into place and had the nerve to look at me like I was the one encouraging strange women to feel me up. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. No. Oh hell, I don’t know anymore. I just don’t like the fact that you’re so handsome women are going to be flocking to you. It’s going to be hell living with a man who could beat women off him with a stick.”
He stared at me for the count of five, then burst into loud, lengthy laughter.
I waited it out with a jaded look plastered all over my face.
“Oh, Paulie,” he said finally, mopping at his eyes. “Only you could imagine that anyone, anyone else in the world would think I’m handsome.”
“You are,” I said, annoyed that he didn’t understand what a burden I had to bear with his manly beauty. “You have a nice nose, and that jaw that makes my knees feellike they are made of pudding, and your eyes are so pretty, I just want to scream. And your chest! Holy hellballs, Dixon, your chest could make a sinner of a saint. I won’t evenmentionwhat your ass could do to people!”
Still chuckling, he came around the car and took me in his arms, then kissed me on my nose. “You are the sweetest woman I know, and I have a very nice mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law. Thank you for thinking I have such a devastating effect on the female population of the world, but I can reassure you in all honesty that the only woman who ever hit on me was drunk and thought I was someone else.”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this,” I said, allowing myself to be mollified nonetheless. I’d have to be made of concrete not to be swayed by the lure of his voice and body and hands while he gave me another kiss, this one steamy enough to make me moan into his mouth. My tongue danced around his, and I was thinking seriously of us going back to the room and giving in to our base desires when he finally dragged his mouth away from mine.
“Now that is a kiss that will keep me going through the day,” he said, squeezing my butt before returning to his side of the car.
“Just so long as you don’t allow other women to put their hands all over you,” I said grumpily, smiling to myself because it was clear that he was on his way to being in love with me. No one could put up with the things he put up with unless he was smitten.
Ugh. I hate it when I try to be cheery with myself.
Driving the Flyer in a heavy rain was a serious pain in the ass. It was hard at the best of times, but trying to see through the driving rain with no wipers on the windscreen made for tense driving. And then there was the fact that we had no side windows, so the wind and waterblew in, soaking us and making our driving goggles fog up. By the time we reached Daugavpils, we were soaked and uncomfortable.
“Worse,” I told Dixon when we stopped at one of the authorized gas stops to refuel, “there’s no sign of the blasted cheating Esses.”
Dixon glanced toward the car. “I’m glad you said that out of range of the dash cam. We should be careful to keep our opinions to ourselves, at least until Roger proves that they are the ones causing the issues.”
“Hrmph.” I snorted and made use of the station bathroom before we got back in the wetmobile and headed into Lithuania.
The weather got worse and worse the longer we drove, thunder greeting us when we crossed the border, along with rain that rode the wind until it was almost horizontal hitting the windscreen.
“This is miserable,” I said after I finished an hour’s stint driving. My arms ached, my hands were cold even in the leather driving gloves, my veil was sodden and dripped water all over me, and my face hurt from squinting to see through the rain.
Dixon and I swapped seats without getting out into the monsoon. He’d been doing the bulk of the driving duties simply because it was hell to steer the Flyer in the onslaught, but I was beginning to think we had better find a spot to pull over and see if we could wait out the storm when Tabby texted me.
August 8
From: Tabby
FYI our car just started making horrible grinding noises and the temp is rising. We’re turning around and going to the last petrol station we saw.
August 8
To: Tabby
Oh no! Are you guys OK? Should we turn around?
August 8
From: Tabby
Lord no. We’ll catch up once we have a mechanic look at it. Texting Roger to warn him.
I told Dixon what was happening.
“Ask her,” he said, peering through the rain, his jaw tight, his fingers white on the steering wheel as he fought to keep the car from veering off the road in the face of the blinding wind and rain. “Ask her if the Essex team got their spare tires.”
“Maybe we should stop for a bit,” I said, eyeing him with concern. “We can’t keep going on like this. We’re both wiped out, and we’ve only been driving for five hours.”
