My dick is hard instantly. Blood rushes through my veins, and I can feel my balls swell. A caveman desire to take, and to claim creeps through my brain, like I’m a wild animal. I can feel my muscles tightening as my cock strains and pulses at the front of my jeans. Annabelle shifts, and I growl as that tempting ass of hers sways back and forth, like she’s teasing me, or tempting me. It’s like she’s daring me to take what I want.
Somehow, I drag myself back from the edge. Damn, maybe it’s been way too long since I’ve been with a woman. It’s been years, actually. I guess maybe that’s why I’m staring at this girl’s ass like it’s my prize to claim. I suck air through my teeth and step away from her. I somehow drag my eyes away, too, and squeeze them shut. She’s too young. She’s too innocent looking, even if she is a little brat. She’s got no business being around a rough, grimy guy like me, just like I’ve got no business imagining peeling that thong down with my teeth before licking her little pussy making her come on my tongue.
I need to get ahold of myself. Right now. I turn away and walk back towards the truck. The car door shuts behind me, and I glance over my shoulder and see Annabelle with a small designer wheeled suitcase and a matching bag over her shoulder.
“All set?” She nods. “You put it in neutral?” Annabelle frowns, but I just shake my head. “I’ll get it.”
She shrugs and walks around the truck. I open her car door and duck in to put the Aston Martin in neutral. But then, something catches my attention. There’s a newspaper on the passenger seat, and smack-dab on the front page is a picture of a good-looking older guy smiling and waving, surrounded by American flags on a stage. The headline says, “Gov. Chisholm Surges Ahead in Polls for Senate Race,” but that’s not what catches my eye. What stops me is that standing behind him and a little to the left, smiling a fake smile and looking just as bratty and beautiful as she did standing in my shop, is Annabelle.
3
Annabelle
When Rowan gets into my car, I have a moment of panic when I remember the newspaper I left sitting on the seat. I swear to myself and worriedly look back toward my car. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to do much else but shift my car into neutral before he slides back out and closes the door. I watch him in the review mirror, looking for signs of him knowing who I am. But he walks back cool as a cucumber, which I take as a no that he didn’t see it.
It’s not like I’m walking around with a wig and fake glasses on or anything. But after this latest college picture fiasco, I do want to be as unknown as I can. Especially out here in hicksville nowhere-land. Rowan says nothing as he secures my car onto the flatbed, starts the truck up, and slowly pulls us around to head back into town. I keep sneaking glances at him the whole way back, trying to see if he’s figured out that I’m the daughter of a very, very high-profile politician. But he’s a blank canvas. A very hot blank canvas, that is.
A naughty heat blooms inside of me as I keep glancing at him. He’s gorgeous in a way I’m not used to. It’s like a dirty, off-limits, dangerous sort of gorgeous, and it’s got me squirming in my seat while I drink him in. I’ve known plenty of handsome guys growing up in the upper crust circles my father travels in. But they’ve all been a polished good looking. Like, “country-club” handsome. They wear pressed, button up Brooke’s Brothers shirts and pleated pants. They’re clean, and manicured, and perfectly put together with three-hundred-dollar haircuts and even tans.
Rowan breaks the mold. He’s scruffy in a way that makes me quiver in places it shouldn’t. He’s dirty in a way that gets my pulse going and my skin tingling. He’s all muscles, brawn, and sexiness, and the more I stare at him, the more I squirm and clench my legs together. I seriously need to get ahold of myself.
We pull up to the garage, and I get out before Rowan backs the truck up to an empty bay. I watch while he unloads my car and then parks the truck out front before he steps back in.
“How long will this take?”
He looks at me with a mix of amusement and annoyance on his face. “I’m not a magician, sweetheart.”
“I thought I asked you not to call me that.”
He smiles roguishly. “Did you prefer brat?”
“I don’t know, do you prefer grubby asshole?” Rowan laughs deeply, and I scowl. “My name is Annabelle,” I huff. “So you can call me that.”
“Fine, Annabelle,” he says through a chuckle. “But I’m still not a magician. I’ll need to check out the car and let you know. What happened out on the road?”
“It died”
He sighs heavily. “I mean was there a loud noise? Did it just quit out on you or was it a slow break down?”
“I don’t know,” I snap. I know I’m acting like a bitch, but it’s like I can’t even help it. “I was driving, and then the car just turned off.”
“The radio go out first?”
I frown, thinking back. “Yeah, actually. It did.”
He nods. “Might be the alternator. I’m going to take a look though. If you want, my office is through there if you want to call anyone or whatever.”
I snort. “Your office, huh?”
He looks up at me with a quelling look on his face. “Are you on the spectrum?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you have a condition that makes it hard for you to speak to other humans?”
I scowl at him. “No?”
“Then quit acting like a spoiled little bitch,” he snaps. “My office is through there, or you can fuck right off wherever you want and check back later. Up to you.”
My jaw drops open as he turns back to my car and pops the hood. I’ve never once been spoken to like this. I’m incensed, but if we’re being honest, I’m also something else: turned on. I can feel my cheeks burning as I simmer under the sharpness of his words. Rowan ignores me as he ducks under the hood and starts to poke around. I’m staring at him, probably looking pissed. But on the inside, I’m burning up. I quickly shake it off, though.
“Fine,” I snap back. “I’ll be in your stupid office.”
“Don’t break anything.”
“I’m not going to touch anything,” I mutter.
Rowan just rolls his eyes when I turn and stomp off. I find his office without any trouble, and it’s actually pretty nice inside. It’s clean, and tidy, and missing the Playboy pinups on the walls that I imagined I’d find in here. A big steel framed window looks out behind the garage, where it looks like someone’s been doing some pretty serious gardening. And a bunch of plants hang in front of the window too.
I slump into his office chair and pull out my cellphone. I’ve been dreading this part since he’s going to think I’m bullshitting him. But I need to call my dad and let him know what’s going on. I dial his number and sink back in the chair as it rings.
“Annabelle?”
“Hey, dad.”
“Are you in L.A. already?”
I scrunch up my face and take a breath. “Not exactly?”
I hear him sigh heavily. “Where are you, honey?”