"Here? Where is here?"
"Pretty much nowhere." He points in front of us, toward the road that seems to go on forever. "This area was built up mostly on a grid. And it's not very populated."
"So?"
"So, I think it's your turn to drive." He kills the engine, then gets out of the car.
I remain, a little stunned, as he walks to the passenger side and opens the door for me. "And sweetheart," he adds, as I take his hand. "You're going to want to go fast. Like rollercoaster fast."
I hesitate. "You're kidding, right?"
"Griffin's right. This baby has some serious power." He tugs me up to my feet, one hand going around my waist as he bends down to whisper in my ear. "Trust me. You're going to enjoy the ride."
I shiver--then I blush, because I'm certain that he can feel my reaction. Not only to his touch, but to the flurry of wicked thoughts that the word ride has spurred.
His low chuckle reverberates through me, and I step back, needing some breathing room. "What if I get a ticket?"
"I'll pay it."
"What if my insurance goes up?"
"I'll pay that, too."
I frown. "What if I wreck the car?"
He takes my hand, gently lifts it, and kisses my palm. "You won't. Now go."
"Or?"
He steps back, then slowly looks me up and down, my body heating at his very thorough, very intimate gaze. "Or I'll suggest another way of cutting loose. Right here, right now, in the backseat of this car."
I swallow a sudden lump in my throat as sweat beads on the back of my neck. "Wyatt, I don't--"
"Then I suggest you drive, Kelsey." He slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door. "Now."
Oh. My. Gosh.
I suck in air, wishing I was bold enough to say no to the driving and see if he follows through on his backseat threat. But I know that he would--Wyatt's not the kind of guy to make idle threats.
More than that, I want it just a little too much. And between the lesser of two evils, blasting down a long, straight road seems the more prudent choice.
I slide behind the wheel and start the car, then glance over at him. "You better buckle up," I say, reaching into the glove box for my sunglasses. I slip them on, then use my finger to tip them down as I look at him over the rim. "I don't have any Aerosmith, but it's still going to be quite the ride."
He bursts out laughing, then swallows the sound as I work the clutch, slam the car into gear, then peel off the shoulder, skidding a bit on the gravel.
Twenty. Thirty. Fifty. She's up to seventy before I've barely taken a breath, then faster and faster until--
"Wyatt! Look! We're over a hundred." My hands are clenched around the steering wheel--but that's just for control. The rest of me is feeling loose and free and unconstricted. It's like jumping without a net, and I've never done that. Never.
And right then, as Blue eats up the ribbon of asphalt, I think for the first time that maybe that's a little sad.
"Wyatt," I say, letting up on the accelerator and gliding to a stop on the shoulder.
He looks confused, and I can't blame him, because I'm staring at him as if he's something lost that I've just found. Or, more accurately, as if he's a map to something I lost long ago.
"Hey," he says, his voice urgent. "Are you okay?"
I taste salt and realize I've started to cry. Suddenly, I laugh, the sound completely inappropriate, but oddly perfect. "No," I say. "I don't think I am."