Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(54)
“Is the air-conditioning too much?” he asked solicitously.
“No. I’m fine. Where are we going?”
“Back to the Musée de Saint-Germain,” he murmured. “It’s closed on Mondays. There’s a rather large employee parking lot in the rear, where we can practice.”
Francesca had a vision of ramming the car directly into the elaborate palace’s wall and couldn’t decide if she was glad or uneasy that Ian’s grandfather owned the property. It would be a miserable way for the venerable earl to learn of her existence.
Twenty minutes later, she sat behind the wheel of the sedan while Ian sat beside her in the passenger seat. It felt very strange—firstly to be in the driver’s seat, and secondly because the wheel was on the opposite side of the car than it would be in the states.
“I think those are all the basics,” Ian said after pointing out the key control mechanisms and pedals to her. “Keep your foot on the brake and shift the car into drive.”
“Already?” she squeaked nervously.
“The object is to make the car move, Francesca. You can’t do that while it’s in park,” he said dryly. She did what he’d said, her foot jammed against the brake.
“Now ease up on the brake, that’s right,” he said as the car began to inch forward in the empty parking lot. “Now begin to experiment with pressing on the accelerator . . . Easy, Francesca,” he added when she pressed too far and the car jolted forward. She slammed her foot on the brake even more aggressively, and they both flew forward against their seat belts.
Damn.
She glanced at Ian nervously.
“As you can see,” he said wryly, “the pedals are very sensitive. Keep experimenting. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”
She clenched her teeth together this time and cautiously touched the accelerator. When the car began to respond to her subtlest urging, a thrill went through her.
“Very good. Now turn to your left and circle around,” Ian instructed.
She used too much gas on the curve.
“Brake.”
Again, she jolted them against the seat belts.
“I’m sorry,” she squealed.
“When I say brake, I mean apply your foot gently to the brake to slow down. If I want you to stop, I’ll say stop. You have to slow on a turn or you’ll lose control. Now again,” he said, not unkindly.
He was so patient with her for the next half hour, she was a little amazed, especially because she really was a spaz driver. Her jerky stops and accelerations smoothed out quite a bit under Ian’s tutelage, however, and she was starting to feel euphoric piloting the sleek, responsive vehicle.
“Now park in that end spot there,” he requested, pointing. Rain began to spatter on the windshield as she did a neat turn into the parking spot and cried out in triumph. “Very nice,” Ian complimented, smiling at her when she turned to him. “We’ll practice more when we get to Chicago. I’ll have Lin forward the rules of the road so you can study on the plane home tomorrow, and you’ll be ready to take the test in a week or so.”
She was so excited, she didn’t comment on his meticulous planning of the details of her life. She held on to the wheel and stared out the front window, grinning. Learning to drive had been a much more liberating experience than she’d imagined. Or was she just euphoric because Ian had been the one to patiently instruct her?
“You see, it’s not so hard,” he said as rain began to fall rapidly on the windshield in fat drops. “Turn on your wipers and lights. It’s really starting to come down. Here,” he said, pointing to the respective controls. “Good. We’ll just try one other thing before the storm hits full force. I want you to back out of the spot and turn the car to the left. That’s correct,” he said as she began to go in reverse. “Use your mirrors. No . . . no, the other way, Francesca.” She fumbled, confused as to how to move the wheel while going backward to get the desired result. Meaning to brake, she hit the accelerator hard at the same moment that she twisted the wheel in the other direction. When the car lurched, she slammed down on the brake, with the result that the car swung around on the wet pavement in a complete circle.
Electricity seemed to spark in her veins at the unexpected, abrupt exhilaration of movement . . . of losing control.
She whooped.
The vehicle came to a brain-rattling halt, causing her hair to fling forward onto the wheel when the seat belt caught her. She experienced a sudden, strange kinship with the car—as if it were alive and had just revealed a rebellious streak. She snorted with laughter.
“Francesca,” Ian said sharply.
She ceased her laughter and looked over at him wide-eyed. He looked stunned and a little ruffled. “I’m really sorry, Ian.”
“Put the car in park,” he said briskly. Was he angry with her? He hated disorder, despised when she lost control. She followed his instructions quickly, feeling a little breathless and dizzy, not sure if her reaction came from the car whipping around in a tight circle or the glint in Ian’s eyes just now.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” she muttered, turning the key in the ignition so as not to cause any further unintentional havoc.
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” he said, his mouth set in a hard line. Her breath froze in her lungs when he reached for her, his fingers furrowing into her hair, turning her face toward him. The next thing she knew, he’d leaned over and captured her mouth. The adrenaline rush that had gone through her when the car spun around on the wet pavement was nothing compared to the surge of excitement at Ian’s unexpected kiss. She melted against his heat, his taste inundating her, the demanding thrusts of his tongue overpowering her senses. He applied a suction so precise, liquid surged between her thighs as if he’d somehow conjured it with his mouth. She was panting by the time he lifted his head a moment later.