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He caught himself touching his earlobe and jerked his hand down.
He reached around her to open the office door and let her precede him into the bright spring sunlight. “To the right,” he said. “The gray sports car.”
She walked until she saw the Spano crouched by the curb. “That’s your car?” Admiration widened her eyes, and he felt an unexpected surge of pride.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s more sculpture than automobile.” She traced the curve of the door with one finger, and he felt it in his cock. “Isn’t it a Spano? I used to drive one in an auto racing video game.”
He pulled the key fob out of his pocket. “Would you like to drive?”
The sun flashed off her glasses as she jerked around to look at him. “It was a video game. I couldn’t possibly drive a real one.” She gave him a half smile. “Thanks for offering, though.”
He hit a button on the fob, and the butterfly door lifted open.
“That’s much cooler in person than in the game,” she observed as she sank into the low-slung leather car seat, her satchel clutched on her lap.
“You might want to put your bag in the back,” he said, pressing another button so the door sank back down.
When he folded himself into the driver’s seat, she was wearing reflective sunglasses, and her bag was stowed in the space behind his seat.
“It’s beautiful inside too,” she said, trailing a fingertip over the red and black curves of the dashboard.
Once again, he felt the stirring between his legs. They said that a car became an extension of one’s body. “Ah, but the real beauty lies where you can’t see it. Under the hood.” He touched the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life. “Did your video game mention the Viper V10 engine?”
After the kidnapping, he used to take the car out on the twisting back roads over the central mountains and drive like an asshole to try to escape the nightmares. It’s a miracle he hadn’t killed himself—which might have been his unadmitted goal—or even worse, some innocent driver or pedestrian unfortunate enough to be on the same road as he was.
“Yeah, and they even got the sound of it right in the game,” Quinn said as he pulled away from the curb. “I guess you have an in-palace mechanic to keep this thing running.”
Gabriel smiled as he steered the car through the downtown traffic. “My uncle likes sports cars, too, so yes.”
“Your uncle, who also happens to be the king.” Her tone was bemused. “Where are we going?” she asked as he headed away from the restaurant district and toward the highway.
“I’m in the mood for French cuisine. There’s a great café just outside Voile de Brume.”
“We’re going to la région française?”
“You don’t like French cooking?”
“I do, but it’s a hike.”
“It’s a working lunch, remember? All time spent with me is billable,” Gabriel said.
“I didn’t mean that.” She threw him a dry look. “Well, not exactly. But I do have a job.”
“And I’m a client.”
“Yeah, you are.” She fell into an unsmiling silence.
He was content to concentrate on weaving through the narrow streets, sliding through tight openings between less nimble cars and taking advantage of the Spano’s phenomenal acceleration. However, once they were cruising in the fast lane of the highway, he asked the question that had been percolating in his mind. “Tell me how you came to Caleva.”
She jumped as though he’d fired a gun inside the car. “I got offered a job,” she said.
“Just out of the blue?” He tossed a skeptical glance in her direction. “Caleva isn’t the first place most people think to look for a job. Especially if they’re young, talented, and American.”
He caught the wry quirk of her mouth before he looked forward again. “Thank you for the ‘talented.’” He heard the sound of her palms rubbing over the denim of her jeans. “I was looking for a new job, and one of my criminology professors from college knew Mikel was hiring, so she recommended me for the job. Since I wanted a change of scene, it seemed perfect. Like the answer to a prayer.” Her voice had dropped low on the last sentence. “Luckily, I speak decent Spanish, so Mikel took me on.”
“Where do you come from in the U.S.?”
