Overnight Wife(16)

The thought brings a smile to my face.

John catches it, and smiles back, and there’s something way too familiar about this scene. Almost like we’ve been here before, done this before. “Hungry?” John asks.

I blink, confused by the question. But my stomach growls in response, actually audible in the dead quiet studio, which makes us both laugh. “I guess that answers that,” I say.

“Come on.” John pats the finishing touches onto his own set of antlers and then offers me a hand up from the table. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

My eyes dart toward the clock on the far wall. “I don’t know. It’s so late…” Already almost 10pm. When did that happen? Last I’d checked the clock was two hours ago. But time flew while John and I were talking, I guess.

“Exactly.” John extends an elbow, ever the gentleman. “You need food, and I need to make sure you get home safe. Perfect solution.” I hesitate, but he must sense that I’m close to caving in, because he flashes me a wink. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

With a sigh that turns into a groan, I reach out and hook my arm through his. “Now who’s the stubborn one?” I grumble. But still, I trail him out into the parking lot, unable to resist.





6





Mara





“Wow.” I was expecting an expensive car, but not… this. “Is this a Veneno?” I ask as John hits the switch to open the passenger side door of his Lamborghini. “I thought these were limited edition.” I run a hand along the edge of the car, unable to resist, before I climb inside. “Aren’t there only like… ten of these in the world?”

The interior is almost as breathtaking as the exterior.

“Nine, actually.” He grins as he taps a button to seal us both into the car. It looks like he’s starting up a spaceship, and I lean over eagerly to watch him do it. His smile widens when he catches me watching. “You know a lot about cars?”

“A little more than average, I’d say.” I run my hands across the dash, eyeing the controls. “You ever let anybody else drive this?”

He laughs softly. “I’d probably have to let my wife, wouldn’t I?”

My breath hitches, not just at the promise, but also at the reminder. I lean back with effort and put on my seat belt, trying not to let my hands tremble, or thoughts of what we’re doing here, of who we are to each other, invade my mind. “Y’know, it might be worth this whole mess, actually,” I respond, surprising both myself and him into laughter.

But then his gaze turns sly as he flashes me a long, considering look. “I’m sure I can think of a few other ways to make this all worth it,” he points out.

Before I can respond to that, he pulls out onto the highway and really lets the car do its thing. For a moment, my breath is caught in my throat, and I lean forward, eager to experience this. I’ve never been in a car like this. We weave between the usual LA snarl of traffic effortlessly. I swear, the cars we pass stop or slow to let us ahead, staring while we pass.

Well, except for the couple of BMWs who cut us off. But that’s BMW drivers for you.

By the time we’re slowing down on a side street, we’re both grinning, breathless. I expect John to take me to some hole-in-the-wall, the kind of place that will be open this late, not to mention open to us rolling up in our paint-and-clay-covered work clothes. It’s not exactly a work environment where you can pop out to a nice restaurant after a day of work.

But instead, John pulls up to one of the most expensive restaurants in town—one I recognize from magazine articles like “Where LA’s A-Listers Eat.” Lea’s always interested in magazines like that, and I usually make fun of her because when would girls like us ever get the chance to eat at places like that?

And yet here I am.

“We can’t go here,” I protest as we pull to a stop and John hits the button to open our doors. It feels like climbing out of a spaceship. So I stay seated and glare at him instead.

“Why, because we don’t have a reservation?” He chuckles. “Relax. They know me.” He climbs out of the car and circles around to my side, but it only makes me more determined not to step out and embarrass myself.

I cross my arms over my chest to hide the paint stains up both of my arms. “We’re not dressed for this,” I hiss. “Look at me!”

“I am.” He leans on the side of the car and grins down at me, his eyes taking me in slowly, an inch at a time like I’m a meal he’s savoring. “And you look absolutely flawless to me. I don’t see the problem.”

My face flushes with heat. But I shake my head, refusing to be swayed by his flattery. “You might find paint splatter cute, but I promise you, most people at a restaurant like this won’t.”

“I don’t care about what most think.” He reaches in to take my hand, forcibly prying my arms apart, before he tugs on them, lifting me from the car.

Reluctantly, I climb out of it next to him and shoot him another glare, an angrier one this time. I hope. But if I’m expecting that to deter him, I am sadly mistaken.

In fact, the next thing I know, he’s scooped me up into his arms.

I gasp and push at his chest. “What are you doing?”