Page 23 of Princess of Pride
“Also, unless you have something warm for me to wear, I’m taking your jacket.” It smells divine. Thunder rolls again, sounding farther away. “And an umbrella, just in case.”
His nostrils flare. “We’ll take the car.”
“What car?”
“My car.”
“You drove here?” Dad always sends our driver to pick up guests from the private airport where he stores the jet.
Lachlan’s eye twitches, displaying his annoyance. “I’m about to call this off.”
“No. No, no, no. I can be quiet.” I fake zip my mouth closed and walk toward the door. “I’m being quiet. Quiet as a mouse.”
“Mouses are quieter.” He opens the door for me.
I walk outside and slip my arms into his jacket. It could belong to a giant the way it swallows me.
“This way.” I veer from the regular path that leads to the house to get to the garage. “It’s private. No cameras.” And he’s so fond of privacy.
His features soften. Finally, I did something right.
We take a stone path that’s lined with an array of bushes and flowers illuminated with tiny lights. My heel gets caught in a crack, and I lose my balance.
Lachlan catches me so I don’t fall. “This is why I wanted different shoes,” I grumble.
He scoops me up into his arms, drawing a squeal from me. His muscles flex under my body, and I feel vulnerable compared to his strength.
“Do you always just do what you want?”
“If it saves time, yes.” He continues walking, his woodsy cologne like a caress to my womanly senses.
I turn my head away. No one has ever carried me before. It’s the only reason I like it, not because it’s this big sexy man holding me. We come to a fork in the path.
“Which way?” he asks in his deep voice.
“Right.”
The trail cuts between the detached garage and estate andsoon we’re at the large circular driveway. A sports car that resembles the Batmobile sits near the entrance. If it weren’t for the landscape and front door lighting, the car’s black color would blend in with the night.
“What is that?” I point, wiggling to get down.
He takes the hint and carefully, easily, sets me on my feet. The moment his hands leave my body, taking his warmth away, I shiver.
“A Bugatti Veyron,” he replies and takes his buzzing phone from his pocket. He stops and reads the text, his jaw muscle flexing. “Change of plans. I have to return to Scotland. Take care of the wedding arrangements for us.”
He walks to the driver’s door without so much as a glance at me.
My pulse skyrockets. “Wait. You can’t just leave. We have a deal, secrets to share.” He can’t just walk away without even a goodbye.
He opens the car door but pauses. Finally, his eyes connect with mine. “I’m sure you can handle this without me. You have your mother.” With an exaggerated flourish, he waves toward the house, mocking her, as if he already knows she’ll be running the entire show.
My lips pull with a huge frown. “When will you be back?” I ask out of desperation. Is my plan to elope off?
“Don’t worry. I won’t miss the big day.” He winks, momentarily stunning me with his unusual flirty behavior.
When my brain finally catches up, I blurt, “That’s in three weeks!”
My words are lost in the roar of the engine of his Bugatti.
