Throb

“Ready?” he asks in a businesslike manner. His hand reaching out to the small of my back is the only indication he could be more than my ride.

“Yes.” I smile somewhat wearily at Ava. “See you tomorrow.” Her mouth is still hanging open as we walk away.

Remaining silent as he opens the door for me and waits for me to get in, Cooper jogs around to the driver’s side and pulls out of the parking spot in a rush. “If you’re in a hurry, I can get a ride,” I offer, but he’s already barreling out of the lot.

“Sorry. I just want to get out of here. It’s been a long day.” His hand flexes, shifting the gear stick into third and, as ridiculous as it seems, even the sight of him taking control of the car does something to me. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Everything okay?” I ask, turning to watch him drive. There’s tension on his face … in the clench of his handsome jaw.

“It’s better now.” He flashes me a sexy grin.

As we make our way through traffic and reach the highway, he turns east, rather than west. “Ummm … I live the other way.”

“Not taking you home,” he says with a smile. One that reaches all the way up to his eyes. They’re now covered with sunglasses, but I picture the sunflowers growing bigger as his smile broadens.

“Where are you taking me?”

“For something to eat.”

“And you’re not going to bother to ask if I want to go?” My eyebrows rise, intrigued more than offended by his assumption.

“This is the third time I’m asking you out. The first time you shot me down. The second time we were interrupted. So I’m not taking any chances by hesitating.”

“What if I were to tell you to take me home right now?”

He glances at me and quickly back to the road. “I’d take you home.” His unwavering response solidifies what I’ve felt since the moment I met him. Underneath the bossy exterior lies a gentleman at heart. The combination is sexy as hell.

“I guess I am sort of hungry …”

Cooper chuckles. “You’re difficult, aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not all. Good things don’t usually come easy. And I love a challenge.”

A flutter grows deep in my belly. I consider arguing with him for a second, telling him I’m not a challenge for him to conquer. But instead, I relax into the seat, deciding to enjoy the wind in my hair and the beautiful man sitting next to me.

“So you work at Mile High?” I ask, breaking a comfortable silence.

“No.” His response is fast, almost as if the notion insults him.

“You just hang around there in a business suit and drop in to play cards sometimes?” I say, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

“Something like that.” The corner of his mouth twitches up, but he tries to hide his amusement.

Merging on to the scenic Pacific Coast Highway, Cooper hits the gas and the car’s power pumps up my adrenaline. The roar of the engine coupled with the beautiful late afternoon sun warming me as the wind streaks through my hair is invigorating. Freeing. A feeling I realize I haven’t felt in a very long time. I lean back into my seat, shut my eyes, and let myself sink into the sensation.

Cooper reaches across and gently lifts my hand from my lap, wrapping my fingers around the gearshift before his hand covers mine. Our eyes meet for a split second and we both smile.

“You like the car?”

“I like how I feel right now,” I reply honestly. Cooper’s hand tightens around mine.

A short time later we exit the highway, traveling off the beaten path for a while until we pull into a parking lot. I’m surprised to find we’re at a roadside food truck. This seems more my style than I would have taken Mister Custom Three-piece Suit for. He comes around to open my door and offers me his hand.

“Not what I would have expected,” I say.

“Sometimes the best things in life are the unexpected.”

The parking lot has a half a dozen worn picnic tables and the food truck looks like it’s seen its glory days … about a decade ago. Cooper doesn’t let go of my hand as he walks over to the older couple loudly arguing from inside the truck.

“Ah! Señor Cooper. Long time no see. We’ve been wondering where you’ve been,” the man exclaims in broken English.

“Busy, Carlos. Busy.”

“You work too much. Just like your father. God rest his soul.” The man makes the sign of the cross.

The man’s wife smiles at me and then speaks to Cooper in Spanish. “Esta es su novia? Ella es Hermosa.” The only words I understand are ella es hermosa—“she is beautiful.”

“Sí, ella es muy hermosa,” Cooper says, squinting at me with a devilish look on his face. “Y estoy trabajando en la parte novia.”

“Ahh.” The woman smiles at me and then says to Cooper, “Ella no tiene oportunidad.” She laughs.

“What did she say?” I ask Cooper.

“She said you don’t have a chance.”

“About what?”

He ignores my question. “They make the best tapas on the West Coast here.”

“You find someplace better on the East?” Carlos interrupts, looking highly offended.

“Just a figure of speech, Carlos. Just a figure of speech,” Cooper says, amused. “They have salads if you prefer,” he adds as I study the menu board.