Page 14 of Velvet and Valor
“Ha!” I say, jubilant. “Isn’t that the movie with the flying spheres of death? I love that!”
“I’d prefer a little moreDriving Miss Daisyand a little lessFast and the Furiousright now, Mr….whoever the Hell you are.”
“I can’t turn myself into a septuagenarian African American man,” I say incredulously as we zip past the confused people in the limo. We gave them the slip.
Now we just have to live long enough for it to matter. I zip onto the shoulder, avoiding a collision by less than a foot. The angry blares of horns grow shrill then fade into the distance while we make for the exit.
Of course, we’re facing the wrong way, so I have to do another handbrake turn…OK, maybe I don’t necessarily HAVE to but it is faster this way…
Am I showing off? Probably. Can’t believe this woman has me acting like a sixteen-year-old with a crush. There’s something about her, though. Not just the amazing body I can’t forget the feel of. She’s kept her shit together in a situation where a lot of men would have lost it, and did it with that sexy, sarcastic sense of humor.
Hell, a lot of guys I served with in war zones couldn’t have handled the last five minutes with as much grace as?—
“You fucking moron!” she screams as the muscle car fishtails wildly at the apex of the handbrake turn. “I’m going to lobotomize you with a shovel!”
“It’s all good,” I say, pulling off on the exit ramp. “It’s all?—”
The left rear tire slips off the pavement and I leave some of my paint on the guardrail. The car swerves wildly side to side until I regain control.
“It’s all good,” I say, but my voice kind of breaks and I cough to cover it up.
She peers back up at the highway, fear swimming in her eyes. Only when we get off onto the service road does she relax, slightly.
“Who the hell are you?” she asks.
“You’re welcome for the rescue,” I say. “No need to thank me.”
Her eyes narrow to dark slits and her nostrils flare like a bull about to charge. Somehow, she’s still hot, though. “You call that a rescue?”
“Question,” I say, downshifting to first gear because traffic is thicker than a Chicago deep dish. “Are you still being held captive?”
“Um, no,” she says.
“Question two,” I say, “are you alive?”
“I hope so, because if this is the afterlife I definitely didn’t go to the good place.”
Ouch! This kitten has claws. It’s okay. You can scratch me anytime…
I’m glad I don’t say that out loud. Not with this woman. She has presence, style, that special unknown quality that tells me my usual pick-up lines would be wasted on her. I’m simultaneously pulled toward her, and repelled. Any woman strong enough to keep her cool through a car chase like this, would be a challenge even for me. Her intelligence,perseverance, spells nothing but trouble for a guy that sticks purely to the physical.
My silent battle rages for what feels like hours but is only a couple of seconds in reality. I force myself to objectify her again, focusing on her shapely legs. No feels whatsoever.
Yeah, right.
“Well, then I think this constitutes the dictionary definition of a rescue,” I say as diplomatically as I can manage. “A successful one at that.”
“I was almost decapitated, then nearly dropped out of a car going a hundred miles an hour,” she says icily.
“Semantics,” I say with a shrug. “And it was closer to one twenty.”
“That’s even worse.” She gives me a look. “You realize that’s even worse, right? Now, let me out of this damn car.”
“Yeah, you got me there,” I say. “My name is Axel. I work for a company called Platinum Security. Ever hear of ‘em?”
“Platinum? My friend Easton married the CEO and founder,” she replies. “Jackson something.”
“Right. Well, your friend Easton is who you have to thank for the rescue.”
