Page 42 of Filthy Rich

“I don’t think that,” he says quietly, staring me in the face. “Maybe the real issue is that you’ll think less of me. No matter what I do. Because of my money.”

“I don’t think that,” I quickly say, and I want it to be true.

I’m just not sure it is. I don’t think I think less of him. I just question his motives.

And maybe that’s the same thing.

Why is he here on this cruise? Why is he here with me, of all women? Does he see me as a fun plaything to spend time with before slipping back into his regular world?

“You don’t think less of me?” he says.

“No,” I say, willing it to be true.

“Good,” he says, and those dimples make a quick reappearance. “Are you going to take this before it melts all over my hand?”

“Sorry.”

I take the pistachio from him and help myself, licking the side of the cup before things get messy.

An uneasy peace ensues while we lean against the sidewalk railing, eat our gelato in silence and watch the passersby. I don’t know why the whole wealth-gap issue throws me for such a loop. I mean, I know this thing between us has a short shelf life. I know the clock is ticking. But I really feel like something important will be spoiled if I don’t come to terms with it.

“Ready?” he says, taking my cup and tossing them both in the trash when we finish. “Let’s get you back. It’s your turn to drive.”

And he walks off, tossing the keys in the air as he goes.

Startled, I catch the keys and hurry after him, kicking my doubts to the curb as I go. It’s just that easy, although I want the record to reflect that I hate myself for my weakness where he and fancy cars are concerned.

“You do have a license, don’t you?” he says when we get to the car, and I scramble into the driver’s seat before he can change his mind.

“Absolutely.” I start her up and get the seat and mirrors adjusted. I have precious little experience in the luxury car arena, but I have to say that few things are sexier than the buttery bucket seats and powerful purring engine of a Mercedes cabrio. “I’m a very safe driver.”

“Thank God for that,” he says, strapping on his seatbelt.

Laughing, I put the car in drive, and we set off. He navigates me back to the High Road, and the next thing I know, we’re zooming back along the cliffside curves and heading downhill with the wind whipping through our hair. Actually, zooming is probably not the right word. This car is so powerful, and the cliffs are so high and steep, that I don’t trust myself to take any chances with any speed limits.

“Sorry I’m driving so slow,” I say happily, keeping my hands firmly on the wheel at ten and two and sparing him a quick glance. “The police will probably come and give me a ticket for being a snail.”

“However you’re comfortable,” he says, laughing. “This thing is not an airplane, so let’s make sure we keep all four wheels on the ground.”

“Thank you for your understanding. I feel like Princess Grace in that movie. What was it?”

“To Catch a Thief,” he says.

“Yes! I just need a fabulous straw hat or silk scarf on my head, right?”

“Next time,” he says, brushing my hair back from my face and trailing fire along the side of my neck as he goes.

As always, his touch heats me up and unravels things inside me until I no longer feel like I’m even nominally in charge of myself. Still, I focus on the scenery and driving safely.

“What a view,” I say.

“Indeed,” he says, his fingers drifting down to the hem of my skirt and slowly pulling it back to expose my thighs. I should mention that I’m wearing another cute little dress because Mrs. Hooper gave me permission to skip the uniform for the rest of the vacation.

“Lucien. I meant the scenery.”

“You enjoy your view and I’ll enjoy mine,” he says, his fingers now skating along to my inner thigh, making me shiver.

“Stop that,” I say, but I’ve never meant anything less. There’s a breathless sex-kitten quality in my voice that he brings right to the surface. Worse, every inch of my skin feels as though it’s shivering with life. With excitement. With desire. I cry out when his fingers finally glide their way up to my pussy and slip under the edge of my panties. My hips began to surge on their own, making the car lurch as I hit the brakes. “Unless you want me to drive off this cliff.”

---