Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [55]
I hadn’t exactly lied.
And I wasn’t going to now. “It’s running again. I just started it up.”
His eyes practically glittered as he came out from behind the desk and approached me, walking slowly, sinuously.
Oh, the man could move.
“How surprising.”
With a weak laugh, I said, “Yeah. I guess.”
“Maybe the heavy rain did something to the engine the night you arrived,” he murmured, coming closer still until his arm brushed mine.
“Umm…I don’t know.”
A tiny, nearly imperceptible smile tilted the corners of that incredible mouth and he never broke the stare, silently challenging me to keep up the facade. It was as if he knew.
But that was impossible. He would have tossed me out on my butt the other morning if he’d had any idea there was nothing wrong with my car. And if he’d found out later, he’d have been so mad, he’d really have tossed me out on my butt.
“Or maybe,” he said, his hand slowly reaching for mine, in which I clutched the car keys, “you simply pushed this nice little button and got it running again.”
My jaw dropping, I just stared as he tugged the keys out of my hand, holding the remote locking device up in front of my face.
“I saw the sticker on your window about the anti-theft system. And the brand name.” Shaking his head and tsking under his breath, he added, “You’re not the only one who knows how to do a little research, Lottie. A quick Internet search this morning told me all about the kill switch.”
He…my God, he was on the verge of laughing. Which both relieved me and made me want to punch him for keeping me in suspense. “And you didn’t say anything at first? You just let me dig myself in deeper. Jerk.”
Dropping his arms across my shoulders, he tugged me close. “You’re a sneaky woman, Lottie Santori. And if I’d figured it out sooner, I would have tossed you out on your gorgeous little ass.”
Little? That was a stretch. But it was nice to think he thought so. Especially because, at one point last night, I’d begged him to take me from behind, so he’d had a pretty good view of that ass.
“I was trying to stall for time. To get you to see I wouldn’t be any trouble, so you’d let me stay.”
Throwing his head back, he laughed, long and deep, a laugh I’d never heard coming out of this man. One I liked very much.
“You, no trouble? Oh, that’s a good one.” Shaking his head and dropping his hands to cup my waist, he dragged me even closer, until our bodies met in all the good places. “Angel, you are trouble with a capital T. I imagine you’re going to fit in quite well with that crazy little town at the bottom of my mountain.”
Then he kissed me deep and wet and I forgot that I’d just been insulted. After he pulled away and told me to drive carefully, I went out to my car. Blushing a little as I remembered the man had caught me in a big, fat, desperate lie, I marveled again over how surprising he could be. Laughing when I’d have expected him to be angry. Making passionate love to me when he’d seemed to want nothing to do with me.
I wondered, deep down, if he might be as mysterious emotionally as he was in so many other ways. If, perhaps, my fears that the man would never open up and allow himself to genuinely feel anything for anyone could perhaps be wrong.
I hoped so. Because I was already feeling something for him. Something very strong, very deep and very unique.
I was falling in love with Simon Lebeaux. I had no doubt about it.
That cheerful thought and the happy mental pictures that went along with it occupied my mind during the drive down to town. Once I reached its outskirts, though, I began paying attention to my surroundings.
At the edge of Trouble, two enormous, paint-chipped old Victorian homes that had probably once been magnificent hovered like a pair of dark birds of prey. As I drove past them, I saw two elderly women sitting on rockers on the porch of one. They both eyed me suspiciously, turning their heads to stare at me well after my car had continued by.
“Small-town people,” I muttered, already comparing the place to Chicago. I was a big-city girl, born and raised. Little