Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I would not admit to liking that facet of his personality at all.
Or that I got no small amount of pleasure out of the way his eyes drifted over my body when I opened the door. There was a flicker of something that could have been mistaken for a positive reaction. Almost as if he liked what he saw.
However, he quickly wiped the reaction from his features and gruffly gestured for me to follow him, so I probably imagined that brief flare of appreciation.
Outside my building, parked on my street, and drawing attention from people passing by, was the coolest car I’d ever seen. I knew very little about cars, but I’d seen enough old movies to know it had to be an American classic. Whoever had restored it did it lovingly. I was gawking at the impressive silver-blue shininess, wondering who it belonged to, when Rafe walked right up and unlocked it.
He opened the passenger door for me. “Ready?”
Mute with shock, I hurried across the sidewalk and slid into the car ass first. I lifted my skirt so it didn’t get caught in the door, flashing my legs as I pulled in my feet. Looking up at Rafe, I saw his gaze lingering on my bare skin for a split second before he slammed the door shut.
I blinked against the abrupt motion and then turned to take in my surroundings.
Holy shit.
I was almost afraid to put my hands on the seats—they were a perfect ivory leather. Even the interior of the door was lined in ivory leather with chrome detailing. The steering wheel protruded from the dash and was much thinner than modern steering wheels. It was finished in a tan leather. The dashboard was a trip back in time. No computer system, no fancy-schmancy stuff. Just cool chrome-covered dials and a speedometer.
Rafe got into the driver’s side. His seat was pushed back farther than mine to accommodate his long legs.
He didn’t say a word about the fact that he’d turned up in the coolest car ever, so cool that even I, who was not “into cars,” thought it was the coolest car ever. I thought Rafe would show up in a practical SUV. Or worse, a supercar.
Not this. It was like sitting next to Danny Zuko without all the hair oil.
A few seconds later, the car growled to life and we were gliding down the street, turning heads.
“What kind of car is this?”
Rafe’s hands were light and relaxed on the steering wheel. I noticed how long and graceful his fingers were, in contrast to his large masculine knuckles. A tingle between my legs startled me, and I wrenched my gaze from his seductive limbs.
“It’s a 1965 Pontiac Catalina.”
Definitely an American classic. “Where did you get it?” I was endlessly curious since the car and Rafe seemed like contradictory beings. If a car could count as a being. I was pretty sure car enthusiasts everywhere thought that they could.
My fake date flicked me a look before focusing on the road. “I restored it.”
I think my jaw hit my lap. “You? You restored a 1965 Pontiac?”
“Catalina,” he murmured, as if that part was very important. Maybe it was. I wouldn’t know. “When I was sixteen, my father offered to buy me a car like he did my brother before me. We lived in New York, used a town car most of the time, so we didn’t have need of one, but we also had our summer home in Harrison—now my parents’ full-time home—and my brother used his car during the summer months. But I’d been obsessed with classic cars since my grandfather bought me a set of mini classics to play with when I was six years old. So I told my father that I wanted to buy a 1965 Pontiac Catalina.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Dad told me that a fully restored Pontiac Catalina would cost more than what he had in mind, so I would need to buy one that required a lot of work. I think he thought I’d balk and just ask for a new car. Instead, I asked him to buy me a piece-of-junk Pontiac.”
“And you turned it into this?” I was in awe.
Rafe chuckled, his fingers lovingly stroking the steering wheel.
“Eventually. It took a long time. Dad ended up buying me a Mustang for the summers. And I spent all of my free time trying to restore this baby. When Dad retired a few years ago, we finished her together. I’ve only been driving her for a year. I keep her in a garage in the city.”
“You spent sixteen years restoring a car?”
He frowned. “Yes, so? I’ve been busy.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I meant . . . wow. I don’t think I’ve committed myself to anything for that long. That’s impressive. And I like that your dad helped. You’ll always have those memories.” I reached out to touch the dashboard. “So . . . Was she—or he—just a shell when you bought her?”