Chapter 5

CLOGS AND CLUTCHES

5

"Need a hand?" Killian makes a roll-down-your-window gesture.

I shake my head from the safety of behind the glass.

"Come on." He knocks on the pickup window. "What's the matter?"

"No matter at all," I shout to be heard through the glass barrier.

Killian tries the handle next, but thank goodness, I'm locked in.

Still, I think it wiser to just roll down my window and shoo him away. I actually have to manually roll the glass down as per the lack of modern electronics in my Chevy pickup.

"Leave my truck alone," I threaten.

Unperturbed by my menacing tone, Killian drops his elbows on the sill. "Have you forgotten how to drive a stick?"

More I never learned how.

"Of course not."

"Then why was your car jerking about worse than a rodeo bull?"

"My foot slipped over the clutch, that's all," I reply, feeling a little defensive. "Clogs are not the best driving shoes."

Killian's eyes trail down my mostly naked legs to my feet, shrouded in darkness under the dashboard. His gaze on me feels physical, scorching a path down my legs.

I clutch the wheel harder, suppressing a shiver.

He laughs, and my annoyance grows. "Sure thing, princess. Need me to give you some lessons?"

"I don't need any lessons from you," I snap back.

He stands back up, crossing his arms over his ruined shirt, still matted with white flour, and takes a step back. "Then, please, drive. I'm not standing in your way."

Right now, I really wish I could drive a stick. That I could simply tell him, "Watch your feet," and speed off.

But I can't, so I debate my other options. There's no way I can move this car forward without him knowing I don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing.

"No, I think I'll just take a break."

"In your car?" His frown is almost victorious. "In front of the shop?"

"Yes, it's not illegal."

His eyes narrow and he braces his arm on the roof of the car, leaning in again. "What's going on with you lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"You forget things. Half the time, you look like you've suddenly woken up out of place. And now you've forgotten how to drive a stick shift when I've seen you do it a million times before."

Ha. Sorry if I have a few gaps in the narrative.

"I'm fine, I promise. It's only the stress of starting a new business and having to deal with an awful landlord."

"Oh, come on, would an awful landlord offer to drive you home?"

Before I can react, he's pulled up the lock from the inside and is opening the car door.

"Scooch," he orders.

When I don't move, he forces his way into the truck, pushing me sideways with his butt.

"What are you doing?" I protest.

"I'm taking you home." Killian grins at me as he pulls the door closed after himself. And it's an actual grin this time. No smirk. This genuine smile illuminates his face, softening the usual intensity in his gaze and lending him a boyish charm that enhances his rugged features. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that makes it hard to breathe.

I scowl and pout, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're not driving me home."

Killian shrugs. "Fine with me."

He puts the car into gear and seamlessly pulls onto the street because, of course, he can drive a stick like a NASCAR racer.

We speed past what I suppose is the small downtown of Lakeville Hills. Soon, shops give way to houses and then endless pastures.

"Where are you taking me?"

He flashes me that heart-stopping grin again. "Not home."

"You know, some may consider this kidnapping."

"You need to loosen up, Sugar Spoon. A little adventure won't kill you."

No, but falling for him might. Especially because, in the back of my head, I still know that he's not real.

We drive through the countryside, the sun a red ball of fire directly in front of us. Warm yellow light filters through the pickup windows as we merge onto a dusty track. As we go deeper into the forest, the sun's rays are cut off by the taller, older pines.

Killian has kept his window down, and a warm breeze brings in the smell of rich earth and wildflowers. It mixes with Killian's unique masculine scent of sandalwood and impossible dreams.

And I know romance heroines are supposed to smell like honeysuckle and peaches, but I might be developing an unpleasant body odor instead. The worn leather of the pickup bench has gone sticky under my bare thighs. I hope my armpits won't be next. Why is nervous sweating a thing for me even in fictional worlds?

I look over at my supposed enemy, who's driving me away into the sunset.

I take in his strong profile and firm jaw. The perfect line of his mouth, and the way his sun-kissed hair falls in gentle waves over his forehead. He's dangerously, infuriatingly handsome.

Imaginary love interest, I repeat to myself. Wiser not to fall for him for real.

But right now, with the breeze tousling his hair, he seems so real, so alive. Killian is driving with his arm casually draped out the open window. On any other man, I'd find the position tacky. But he couldn't look more at ease in his dirty designer suit driving a ratty old pickup.

As I keep ogling him, Killian's gaze flickers to me.

"Don't stare at me like that, Sugar Spoon."

"Like what?"

Eyes on the road, he brushes a knuckle on the outside of my knee. "Like you're regretting not finishing those cinnamon buns and taking a bite out of a warm one."

Eeeeeeeeee.

Stars are shooting straight up my leg from where he's touching me, and he's right. I wouldn't mind biting that sensual, pouty lower lip of his.

"Would you be the cinnamon bun in this scenario? 'Cause you're the furthest thing from a cinnamon roll hero, I promise."

Side glare. "What's a cinnamon roll hero?"

"A golden retriever kind of sweet guy in a romance novel. Ideally, he'd be a veterinarian, a middle-grade teacher, or a single dad. The cinnamon roll is goofily hot, possibly even a hot nerd. He has some heartbreak in his past but has never stopped being open to love. And he's spectacular in bed, of course."

Raised brow. "And what's my archetype?"

"Oh, you're definitely a beautiful bastard."

A quick glance at me, and the corners of his mouth curl up. "Beautiful, uh?"

"Of course you'd concentrate on that part of the sentence."

"If you want me to concentrate on something else, I could ask you how the beautiful bastards do in bed?"

They're wicked, toe-curlingly devastating, and ruthlessly addictive.

"I'd rather not discuss that part."

"Fine by me." He oh-so-casually brushes that wretched knuckle on the outside of my knee again, making starlight explode in my belly once more. "I've always been more of a show-don't-tell kind of guy, anyway."

And he's started to make literary puns. My clothes might spontaneously rip off at this point.

Thankfully, we soon arrive at our secret destination, and the parking maneuvering requires Killian to keep his hands to himself.

We're standing at the edge of a small lake with a rickety pier that looks like it hasn't been used in forever.

Killian kills the engine and hops out of the car.

"Come on, or you're going to miss it."

Begrudgingly, I exit the car. "Miss what?"

He looks back at me over his shoulder with a face that's pure damnation. "The best sunset in the world."

I follow him to the pier, my steps tentative at first, wanting to make sure the boards won't give under my weight. Not that I really need to, if they can withstand all six-foot-four of muscled cowboy billionaire they sure can support me.

We sit side by side at the edge of the pier, our feet dangling over the water but not touching it.

The view is truly spectacular. Hues of red, pink, and orange paint the sky and bleed into each other, casting a golden light over the lake. The surface is still as glass, with only a gentle ripple breaking the reflection.

It's breathtaking.

"Is this where you bring all your women to seduce them?"

Killian tilts his head toward me, mischief dancing in his eyes. "So I'm trying to seduce you now?"

I shrug in an I've-no-idea way. Is he?

Killian glances away, gazing at the horizon, his expression unreadable. "I haven't come here since my wife died."

My heart stops, breaks, and falls apart. The reaction feels too real for a dream. I shouldn't be so upset about the death of an unseen character. But… he had a wife? She died? I'm simultaneously jealous and sad. "You had a wife?"

His mouth twists. Oh my gosh, is he going to cry?

But when he presses his lips harder together as if he were trying to suppress a smile, I shove his shoulder. "You jerk. You've never been married. You're just messing with me."

Killian lets go of the laugh he'd been holding, throwing his head back. The sound of him laughing is like a ray of sunshine that cuts through the clouds on a rainy day to make a rainbow.

And it's a punch to the solar plexus.

"Sorry." He shakes his head. "You always fall for my tricks. I couldn't resist."

How long exactly have we known each other? In the book I was reading, since high school. But I'm not her, and this feels like a completely different story. Because a story is all that we are, right? All of this is just a fantasy.

"Don't look so upset, it was only a joke," Killian says, misinterpreting my downcast expression.

"You make terrible jokes. Dead spouses shouldn't be part of your repertoire."

"Noted." He turns serious again and looks back at the water. "But to answer your question, you're the first woman I've brought here. I used to come as a boy with my dog, Crumbles. We'd swim out to the center of the lake and then race to the shore." I try to imagine Killian as a boy. I bet he was just as much of a daredevil. "We came almost every afternoon, but I haven't been back in a long time."

"Why?"

"One day, Crumbles didn't come back with me."

Did he lose his puppy? "What do you mean?"

"A whirlpool got him, or so I think." He throws a pebble in the water. "Guess I'll never know." Deep sigh.

I narrow my eyes at him. "What breed was Crumbles?"

With a straight face, he looks me right in the eyes. "A Labradoodle."

We burst out laughing together this time, then he says, "The Labradoodle was taking it too far, wasn't it?"

Still chuckling, I nod. "Yep. And dead dog jokes are just as bad as dead spouses," I say, standing up.

Killian jumps up next to me. "Don't go. I promise it was the last one."

We stare at each other for a long beat. Slowly, the smile dies on my face. The mood shifts and the air in my lungs thins. All I can hear is the steady thump of my heart. The way Killian is looking at me sends alarmed tingles shooting down my spine. I take a small step back, but collide with a thick pier piling—and just as well, or I might've splashed right into the water.

"What do I have to do to make you stay?" Killian asks.

"Tell me something real," I whisper, bracing my arms backward onto the piling for support.

Killian reaches out and unties the bow of the hair tie on top of my head. My curls tumble loose.

"Right at this moment, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

He takes my neck, cupping my nape with his warm palm.

"Killian—" I gasp as he steps closer. "What are you doing?"

His other hand slides into my hair, tousling my curls. Then he pulls on a lock at the front, straightening it only to let it bounce back.

"I'm pulling your hair. Don't girls love it when boys pull their hair?"

"I'm not a girl, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh, I think you know." He pins me down with a wicked smirk. "Do you want me to kiss you, Sugar Spoon?"

His eyes search mine for a sign of resistance, but all he's going to find is a desire to surrender completely to him.

I can't think straight. My heart is pounding, my skin tingling with anticipation and a strange sense of longing.

Then his gaze lowers to my mouth and beep, beep, beep…