Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

As the Porsche accelerated away from the hotel, Laura threw Tara a parting wave and reached up to pull the pins that secured her long blond hair in its confining style. Sebastian darted her a sideways glance when she tossed her head to shake her hair loose.

“You were serious about letting your hair down, weren’t you?” An amused smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“I’m a firm believer that when you ride in a convertible, you have to let your hair down so the wind can blow through it. It’s part of the experience.” Laura turned her face into the motion-generated breeze. “A little faster, if you please.”

Chuckling softly, Sebastian stepped on the accelerator and the sports car increased its speed. At a reckless pace, they zipped along the busy city streets, darting in and around slower vehicles, careening around corners with tires squealing.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” Laura warned with laughter in her voice. “You didn’t even slow up at that last light.”

“One of the first things you have to learn about driving in Rome: motorists tend to regard traffic signs as mere suggestions. So, when in Rome . . .” he reminded her of the oft quoted phrase without bothering to finish it, an impish twinkle in his eyes.

Her throaty laugh was hearty and full. “I knew the moment I saw you behind the wheel of this Porsche, you weren’t some stuffy Englishman.”

“I hope you haven’t made the erroneous assumption that it’s mine,” he warned. “I merely borrowed it from Bianca.”

“I’ll bet you had a choice, though.”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Sebastian paused to glance her way. “Something told me you might favor a sports car.”

“You have sound instincts.”

The car picked up more speed along a straight stretch, and Laura surrendered to the freshened wind, enjoying the feel of it whipping through her hair. It reminded her of the many times she had galloped her horse across the rolling range of her Montana home just to feel that exhilarating rush of air against her face.

“I take it you found Bianca’s dinner party a bit dull,” Sebastian remarked.

Laura dragged a tendril of hair off her cheek and hooked it behind her ear. “Only toward the last. It’s a failing of mine,” she stated without a trace of repentance. “At times, I’m easily bored.”

“It happens to all of us, especially when we’ve had a surfeit of elegant soirees.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Is that ever the truth. It’s been almost nonstop since we arrived in Europe. Which proves it is possible to have too much of a good thing.”

But as her glance skimmed his leanly chiseled profile, she became aware again of that little buzz of excitement she felt in his presence, and doubted that it would be possible to have too much of Sebastian Dunshill.

“It’s definitely possible to have too much of formal affairs.” His voice was laced with humor.

The smile drew her attention to the manly construction of his lips. From there it was an easy step to wonder what his kiss would be like. Laura was conscious of her pulse quickening in anticipation of that moment. She had no doubt at all that it would come, whether at his instigation or hers.

She was almost sorry when they arrived at a nightclub on the edges of Rome’s city center. A part of her wanted to continue the car ride, just the two of them. Then the loud, driving beat of a bass drum reached out from the club and caught her up in its primitive spell.

“You asked for loud and crowded,” Sebastian reminded her as they entered, greeted by blaring music and a din of laughing, chattering voices.

“It’s wonderful.” Laura declared, already feeling the need to move with the music’s contagious beat.

After a discreet slipping of bills, a waiter led them through the crush of people to a small table near the dance floor. The waiter lingered long enough to take their drink order: a glass of white wine for Laura and a gin and tonic for Sebastian. One song had barely ended before the band struck up another.

“So, do you samba?” Sebastian asked.

“Absolutely.” Taking his hand, Laura rose from her chair. The firm pressure of that hand on her waist, guiding her to the dance floor, started her pulse racing. “I never expected to hear Latin music in Rome,” she said when he turned her into his arms.

“It’s currently riding another wave of popularity here in Europe.”

“I’m glad.” The blatant sensuality of it suited her mood perfectly.

But they hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps before Laura found her movements restricted by her gown’s long, pencil-slim skirt, making it difficult to throw herself into the music as she wanted to do.

She stopped dancing. “Let me have your tie.”

“My tie?” Sebastian drew his head back in mild bewilderment.