Page 82 of The Wake-Up Call

Itisridiculous: petrol is so expensive, the planet is dying, and driving along after Lucas in convoy makes the whole thing feel a bit seedy.

I get into his car, breathing in the smell of clean leather and Lucas. It’ssotidy in here. My car is filled with bits and bobs: hair bands, CDs (Smartie is old-school), water bottles that roll around under the seats if you take a sharp corner. Lucas’s car is pristine.

My legs jitter as he drives, knees bouncing. I meant to get changed before we left—my uniform is extremely unsexy. At least I’m in good underwear. It’s been digging into numerous body parts all day, but I’m grateful for it now. I’m hot with anticipation, cold with nerves.

Lucas lays a hand on my knee.

“You can still change your mind,meu bem.”

My breath seems louder, everything else quieter.

“I don’t want to.”

“But it’s always true. You can always change your mind.”

I relax back into the seat. I knew that, of course, but it’s calmed me to hear him say it out loud. Something’s shifted since that car door closed. Everything’s different. For instance, Lucas’s hand stays on my knee as he drives. I stare down at it: Lucas da Silva’s hand onmyleg. The mind boggles. How did we get here? And what doesmeu bemmean?

“You have driven me mad today,” he says, taking his hand away to shift gear and then setting it right back there on my knee.

“Don’t I drive you mad every day?”

“Yes,” he says, voice almost silken. His eyes stay on the road. “But not quite like this.”

“No?”

“No. You have been particularly irresistible.”

I’ve never been called irresistible before. I reach tentatively for his hand on my leg, and trace my fingers over his, listening to the way his breathing changes at the contact. It is so strange to touch him like this. So strange to see him as a man Icantouch.

“This is weird, isn’t it,” I whisper. “Weird but...”Exciting, I want to say, because there’s a giddy, drunken thrill moving through me now, like I’m a teenager again.

“Weird but good,” he says, his voice low and soft.

“Can I...” My throat is dry. I swallow, turning my body towards him within the confines of my seat belt. His hand shifts on my thigh, and that tiny movement pulls all of my attention to that one spot, as if suddenly the heat of his palm on my leg is the only thing that could possibly matter.

“Yes,” he says calmly. “You can. Whatever it is you want.” He turns to look at me for a split second and his eyes are as dark as the sky outside. “I’m yours.”

“For the night,” I whisper, and his eyes flicker.

“Yes. For the night.”

I want to reach across to touch him, but before I can, the car jerks and I’m thrown forward. His hand grips my thigh tightly, then flies to the steering wheel. The engine chokes, chokes again; the car stutters along, and Lucas is steering us to a lay-by on this dark country road and suddenly we’re stationary, handbrake on, both breathing hard.

“Fuck,” I say. “Is your car...”

“I’m not sure,” Lucas says, sounding much calmer than I feel.

“Do you think we should...”

He’s trying the engine. It makes a sound a bit like a steam train. We both wince. I wonder how long it’ll take us to walk back to Smartie from here. We’ve been driving for almost ten minutes on fast roads. Maybe... an hour and a half on foot.

Fucking hell. I’m way too turned on for a hike.

“I’ll call my breakdown provider,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opens his door as if to step out of the car, realises how freezing it is out there, and slams the door shut again with a quiet Portuguese swear word.

The conversation is brief—classic Lucas—and the conclusion is that they’ll be here in an hour or two.

“I should wait for them to arrive,” he says. He sounds calm, but his shoulders are tense, and he mutters something else in Portuguese before unclicking his seat belt and turning my way. “If you...”

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