When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(53)

“Because you’re not six foot three,” he retorted.

“I’m also not a whiny baby.”

If he kept complaining, he’d only prove her point. Until today, he hadn’t thought twice about riding with a woman driving, so sexism wasn’t his problem. What specifically bothered him was being Olivia’s passenger.

He’d never regarded himself as controlling. He respected women. Appreciated them. Hell, he worked for Phoebe Calebow. But when he was with Olivia Shore, all of a sudden, he wanted to call the shots, something she clearly wouldn’t allow to happen.

He tapped his foot against the floor mat. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish on this trip.”

“I don’t, either. But I’m tired of feeling like a victim, and I need to do something.”

“What exactly?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

Meaning she had no clue. As she pulled onto the freeway exit ramp, he stretched out his legs as far as the Mazda would allow. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find a nice Holiday Inn and do what we’ve been wanting to do ever since we met.”

She stared straight ahead, but he saw her blink. “This isn’t Las Vegas.”

“Almost. We’re leaving tomorrow night, remember? And neither of us signed anything. We can change our minds any time we want.”

The troubled crease that formed between her brows made him regret bringing it up. “As soon as we cross that line,” she said, “everything will change between us.”

“It’ll change anyway,” he pointed out, trying to regain lost ground. “You’re the one who set the ground rules. Once the gala is over, we finish our commitment to Marchand, and we never see each other again, remember?”

She turned onto a four-lane road with modest houses set on large, wooded lots and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “There are so many people we can have sex with, but how many of them can we rely on? Can we trust? How many understand each other the way we do?”

It sounded as if Olivia Shore was trying to move him into the friend zone, something he wouldn’t let happen. “Our agreement stands,” he declared, as if he were the only one who had a say. “Our last night in Las Vegas. You. Me. A bed. And a long night of sin.”

*

A long night of sin . . . She had a good imagination, and all the erotic images that had been plaguing her for weeks played in her head like a film on fast-forward. How could she help that with Thad sitting right next to her? As the Plainfield, New Jersey, sign slipped into view, she imagined what it would be like to be in bed with him. Explore his body. Hold him naked against her. Feel him inside her.

“Watch it!” he exclaimed.

She slammed on the brakes. After all her bragging about being a better driver, she’d nearly rear-ended a Chevy Malibu.

He seemed to believe that continuing their relationship after the tour ended was a simple matter. It probably was to him, but she knew better. Sex changed everything. As unlikely as it would have seemed three weeks ago, The Diva and the quarterback were weirdly compatible. He was a special man—his humor, his loyalty, his decency—and he was as driven as she. He didn’t see the complication of extending their relationship, but he wouldn’t be the one handing over pieces of himself—little pieces at first, and then bigger ones, until she was once again lost.

She checked the GPS. They were nearly there. As she passed a plumbing truck doddering along in the right lane, she promised herself she’d enjoy every moment of their short, sex-fueled affair, and then she’d let him go. Since they’d never really been together, it wouldn’t even be an official breakup, and it would be easy to get through. She could only have one focus. Getting her voice back. Her goal from the beginning of her career was set in stone. To be the best, the stuff of legends, one of the immortals. She wouldn’t let anything derail her.

*

The bakery occupied the end of a strip mall that also included a tile store and a dog groomer. She pulled into a spot close enough to see the window, but not directly in front. Thad checked out the vintage sign hanging from a bracket over the front door. “My Lady’s Bakery?”

“Adam’s grandfather named it. He thought it sounded genteel.” A mess of plastic pennants were draped at the top of the window, and the artificial wedding cake at the center of the display looked particularly unappetizing, even from a distance. “It didn’t used to be this bad,” she said. “It was never exactly cutting-edge, but . . .”

“You’re not going to take responsibility for their bad window display, are you?”

“It seems symbolic. As if his sisters have given up now that Adam’s gone.” She saw the concern written on his too-handsome face. “I have to do this alone.” His jaw set in that stubborn line she was coming to know so well. She set her hand on his thigh. “I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t argue.

She approached the bakery’s door. The plaster roses on the wedding cake had lost some petals and the groom was missing a hand.

She’d learned a lot about Adam’s family during the time they were together. Neither of his older sisters had married or even dated much. They, along with their mother, were too busy focusing on the unexpected baby brother who’d arrived ten years after Brenda was born and nine years after her sister Colleen.