Page 61 of American Hellhound
“Not much?” That sounded like thousands of dollars’ worth of work to her. “Ghost, I can’t afford–”
He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, arms falling to his sides. “I’ll sell it to you for a dollar.”
“What?”
He held up a finger. “One dollar.”
“But…” She wet her lips, panic creeping up her throat in tense shivers. “Why would you do that?”
His expression softened, eyes warm and chocolatey. “Because I like you. And I want you to have a car.”
The panic unfurled in her bloodstream, an effervescent rattle: one-part hunger, one-part blind terror. She could spar with him, but she had no idea how to handle his kindness. It was one thing to be attracted to him when he was being an asshole bad boy – that she could resist. But when he broke down and looked vulnerable, or friendly? That she couldn’t handle. That scared her.
“But…why?”
He stepped in closer; she could have leaned forward and pressed her face into his shirt. She didn’t –but.
“I have a car, you need a car,” he said, and then his voice dropped, low and smoky. “Plus I don’t like the idea of you standing on street corners waiting for buses and friends who might not show up.” Then he reached and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. And froze.
His fingers were warm, and callused. The scents of leather and smoke rolled off his jacket. His eyes widened, shocked, before they shuttered and he pulled back like she’d burned him.
“So. Yeah.” He cleared his throat too-loudly. “You should buy the car.”
Her breath came in uneven stutters, just from that one, innocent touch. She’d kissed him before, and here she was low on oxygen from a brush of his fingertips.
But it was different now, she knew. The quietest contact from someone you wanted trumped grappling with a stranger every time.
Ruined. She needed to be ruined.
“Ghost.” She hated the trembling in her voice, but it couldn’t be helped. “What would you do if I was over eighteen?”
“But you’re not.”
“But what if I was?”
His gaze lifted, hungry. “I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”
Ruined. Ruined. Ruined.
She steadied herself against the side of the car. “This is worth more than a dollar.”
“I won’t take a penny more.”
She took a step toward him, leading with her hips, calling on every bit of body language she’d observed in her friends. “Then let me make it up to you a different way.”
A single brow lifted. “Oh,sweetheart. Don’t.”
She took a deep breath. It was that or pass out. “It would help me, too.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t.”
“I need to ruin my reputation. You need a babysitter. And to get rid of this car. It can be mutually beneficial.”
He breathed a laugh. “Ruin your reputation?”
“I assume you’re familiar with that sort of thing,” she said, frowning, chills skittering down her back at the sound of his laughter. She’d hoped he’d grow heavy-lidded and snarly and just lean into her. Laughingather instead ofwithher was of no help.
“Very.” He grinned and leaned to brace his hip against the front quarter-panel of the Monte Carlo. “But trust me, that ain’t something you want.”
