Page 87 of The Love Destroyers

He smiles at me, and the pleased look on his face is so genuine, I feel myself responding in kind.

“Right this way,” he says, nodding. And I follow him around the corner. My breath sucks out of my lungs when I see the car. She’s cherry red, just like my hatchback, but that’s where the resemblance ends. She’s long, sleek, and red, with the kind of circular headlights that make cars look like they have faces. I skim my fingers over the perfect finish, rounding the car to take in every angle.

I glance back at Seamus, noticing the hungry way he’s watching me.

Another gasp almost escapes me, but I swallow it down before saying, “I know nothing about cars, but she’s beautiful. You’ve put a lot of love into her.”

He swears under his breath, then says, “Fuck it. I’m going to be honest. This is where I want it to happen, Em.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is where I want to see you touch yourself. In the backseat of my car, splayed out in front of me.”

Heat blasts me, but then I remember where we are. I glance around, worried that we might be overheard.

He shakes his head. “There’s no one around. Just you and me.”

“It’s not happening,” I say. “There are probably cameras back here.”

“I thought you might want us to share our dreams with each other,” he says with a small smile. “That’s all I’m doing. That’s what I’m going to be thinking about all night. You touching yourself in my car while I stand over you watching.”

My lips part, and a wicked need fills me that I try to crush into submission. His smile says he knows it.

“How many cars have you restored?”

“Dozens. I sell them to old rich people who don’t know what to do with them.” His grin develops a sardonic twist. “Like Jeffrey Nichols.”

“This car would be wasted on him.”

He gives me one of his sardonic grins. “We’re not all Little Rich Girls. I do it for the pleasure, but I need money.”

I shrug, because he has a point. I may have given away most of my father’s money, but I kept enough of it to still qualify for that title. I was born to privilege. Privilege smothered me, but it brought me opportunities too. “You don’t have to sell this one, though, do you? My mother’s paying you for helping?”

His grin stretches wider. “You have a way of reminding a man of his place.”

That wasn’t what I’d meant, but maybe it’s best if that’s the effect it has. Because I still feel that thrum of possibility tonight. Of believing anything can happen. That belief is as dangerous as it is beautiful.

He nods after a moment, then says, “Yeah, and I’ve got that job lined up, week after next. I’m keeping her.”

I watch him watching the car, taking in the light in his eyes. This is what he loves. This is the passion that drives him. “Why don’t you restore cars for a living?”

“I’ll have steady work at the garage,” he says.

It’s not an answer, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want me to press him, even though the glint in his eyes makes me want to press him. To make him reach.

I wait a moment, then say, “Let’s go upstairs.”

He nods and offers me his arm. I take it. Neither of us talk as we walk to the elevator, then take it up to his apartment.

“Let me open the door,” I say as we leave the elevator and walk toward it.

His mouth hitches up at the corner. “Will you get the keys for me too? They’re in my back right pocket. You wouldn’t be crossing a line. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“We both agree you’re sick, then.” I meet his gaze, feeling another of those shivers work through me. Without lookingaway, I reach around into his pocket, feeling the solid curve of him there as I slip the keys out. More intent pumps into his expression. “Maybe I’m sick too, because I like taking things from your back pocket.”

He smiles at me and raises his eyebrows slightly. “Are you going to keep them?”

“I like the idea of having access to you whenever I want,” I say, swinging the keys around on my index finger, the tinkling of metal filling the air. He stops them with his hand, gripping it around mine. The heat of him filters into me, making me feel drunk.

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