Enemy Dearest

At least in this case, I’d know where my money’s going.

And I’m getting something better than a tax write-off in return …

If my father knew I was offering to save the life of a Rose, he’d blow a gasket. He’d disown me, kick me out of his mansion, and revoke my trust fund so fast every head in a fifty mile radius would spin.

But if he knew what I’m really gaming for—if he let me explain—he’d be proud.

There’s no one on this earth he hates more than Rich Rose. And there’s no one in the world Rich Rose loves more than his precious, innocent, untouched daughter.

Oh, sweet Rose girl—the dirty things I’m going to do to you …

Chapter Fourteen

Sheridan

* * *

“Adriana’s dad has a fully restored ’69 Cadillac DeVille in the garage. Chalice gold firemist …” I tell him in an attempt to steer the conversation into a more neutral direction. Plus, my legs ache from sitting in these hard chairs. And I could use a change of scenery. “Maybe you’ve seen it in the annual Fourth of July parade? It’s basically my dream car …”

“I’ve never been to a parade in my life.”

“Really?” It never occurred to me that people like that existed. I can’t count the number of memories I have of my parents plopping lawn chairs by the curb and telling me to wave at the funny-looking floats that passed as they helped me gather the candy tossed in our direction. Such a simple, joyful childhood experience. I almost feel sorry for him. But I’m sure the other joys and privileges of his childhood more than made up for it.

“You want to go check it out?” I point to the garage. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind as long as we don’t touch anything.”

“You really have no qualms about trespassing, do you?”

“It’s not trespassing.” I swat his hand. “Plus, her dad loves me. I think he’d be thrilled that someone’s showing off his car. He spent years sourcing original parts and rebuilding it. He’s told me about it so many times, I could probably recite it for you, verbatim.”

“Please don’t.”

“Come on.” I wave for him to follow. I don’t care if he is or isn’t a car buff. I’m obsessed with this thing. I once teased Adriana’s dad about adopting me so I could inherit it—a morbid request in retrospect.

August follows me down the deck stairs, toward the freestanding garage at the back of the house. The side door is unlocked, and I reach up and tug on the string, giving us just enough light to help us navigate around the single stall garage without bumping into the antique beauty.

“He named her Barbara-Ann.” I chuckle, peeling back the canvas cover. “Don’t ask me why.”

“Probably after an ex-girlfriend.”

“Don’t tell Adri’s mom that …”

He makes his way to the trunk and drags his middle finger against the length of the rear fender, a move my body suddenly decides is oddly sexual. For whatever reason my brain fixates on his hands—his fingers inside me. And his lips…have they always appeared so pillow-soft? Not too full, not too narrow. For a moment, I imagine them pressed against mine, silky and burning hot, followed by the wet slip of his tongue piercing through.

Heat flushes my ears.

Maybe it’s the beer.

Or the fact that we’re truly alone right now.

Or that, for the first time all week, I’m able to relax.

Or the fact that I’m locked in a gaze with a man who wants to change my entire life (and my mother’s) in exchange for one night with me.

If I sell him a little piece of my soul, I’ll get priceless peace of mind in return.

That alone should be reason enough.

But I’m in no condition to make that kind of decision.

And it certainly isn’t happening tonight.

I slip my hands into my back pockets and drag in a slow, cleansing breath. I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to slow down. If he wants this enough, he’s not going anywhere.

“So, what do you think?” I teeter on the balls of my feet, definitely buzzing. “Of the car, I mean.”

“It’s gorgeous.” He makes his way to the driver’s side, pops the door open, and climbs inside. Adjusting the mirror with one hand, he runs his other palm along the skinny black steering wheel. “Look at this. Keys are in the ignition.”

Adri’s dad would never. But in any case, I lean over the passenger door to check.

“Liar.”

“Get in,” he says.

“What? Why?”

“Just humor me.”

I prop the passenger door open and slide inside, scooting across the buttery leather Adri’s dad has worked so hard to condition, and ensuring I don’t track a single grass blade onto the floor mat.

“If you could be anywhere in the world, right now, where would you want to go?” he asks. “Anywhere at all.”

“That’s a hard question …”