Death of a career in Hollywood came swift as the ax that beheaded Anya. If word got out that no one wanted me, then no one would risk offering me anything. It was like some horrible self-fulfilling prophecy of doom.
Hands cold and clammy on the steering wheel, I turned my attention back to driving and the man slumped in the seat next to me. The aviators he wore covered his eyes, but the steady rise and fall of his wide chest made it clear he’d fallen asleep. I stole another glance and smiled a little. Even in sleep his generous mouth was pinched and turned down at the corners, like he didn’t want to give in to peace.
My smile faded. Stubbornness aside, there was something heartbreaking about him being unable to fully relax in sleep. Was he in pain? Was that it? I wanted to reach out, smooth my hand over the strong line of his jaw, now shaded with stubble. But he wasn’t mine, and I would come off as a creeper.
So I drove. Soon enough, we were veering away from being directly next to the water. The highway became lined with turnoffs, industrial parks, and malls. I knew we were going to Montecito but didn’t know the exact location. When we neared an exit, I turned off and pulled into a fast-food restaurant.
Lucian stirred. It was clear by the way he jerked and then sat up straight that he hadn’t realized he’d dozed off. I suppressed a smile, knowing he was probably disgruntled by the fact. The poor guy had more than his fair share of pride. Just as clear was the fact that he’d been suffering a migraine earlier.
I knew the signs—the way he’d tried to shade his eyes from the light, the need for air, and the paling of his tanned skin. He’d been suffering but hadn’t been able to admit it. I hadn’t missed that he’d been suspicious about my sudden car sickness—and for good reason—but I was nothing if not an excellent actress. And if my act got him to rest and allowed me to drive us safely to our destination, then so be it. Not that I thought he’d risk it, but he had been struggling and obviously loathed to confess he couldn’t drive.
So then, problem solved.
Now, however, he looked around at the parking lot in confusion. “What’s wrong? You hungry?”
That he immediately worried about my comfort was cute. I put the pickup in park. It was a nice vehicle, well kept and clean. Given that he was renovating Amalie’s estate, I knew he didn’t drive it for show but for utility.
“Nothing’s wrong. I thought since we were close to Montecito, I’d let you drive us the rest of the way.”
The other thing I knew instinctively? He wouldn’t want his grandmother seeing us pull in with me at the wheel. A truth that stretched between us like sticky toffee, pulling and clinging. It made me nervous, and when I was nervous, I talked too much.
“That is if you’re feeling . . .” Shit. “Ah, I mean if it’s all right with you.”
The engine ticked as he stared at me, obviously hearing my slip.
Lucian grimaced but hid it by rubbing his big hand over his face. The rasp of his stubble sounded in the silence. “I’ll drive.”
But neither of us moved. We continued to stare each other down and then, as if by silent agreement, turned to open our respective doors and exit the truck. I walked around the front of the truck, only to halt when I met Lucian midway.
He was tall enough that he had to dip his chin to meet my gaze. Lord, but he was a big beautiful man. Wintergreen eyes stared at me with such intensity my skin flushed with heat. I couldn’t move or think under that stare.
“Were you really carsick?”
That hot-cream voice compelled me to tell the truth. I had to fight against it, and those damn eyes. I blinked up at him, all sweet innocence.
“Lucian, are you accusing me of lying?”
“Yep.”
Well then.
His granite expression didn’t change, but something glinted in his frosty gaze that told me he wasn’t angry so much as wanting to know the truth. Two could play it that way.
“Tell me, Brick. Would you have admitted you had a migraine if I asked?”
Firm lips twitched; the glint grew amused. “Eventually.”
“Hmm.”
His dark brows winged up at that. “Hmm? That’s your answer?”
I shrugged. “Why not? You use it often enough.”
The twitching corners of his mouth threatened to bloom into a full-fledged half smile. But he got it under control just in time. “Just so we understand each other.”
“I guess we do.” That should not have filled me with bubbles of anticipation. But it did. With a businesslike nod, I moved to pass him, but he halted me in my tracks by ducking down.
Though his lips didn’t touch my ear, I felt them there like a hot stroke to my skin. I nearly shivered when his voice rumbled out in a dark whisper. “Thank you, Emma, for saving me from my masculine pride.”
I couldn’t have hidden my answering smile if I’d tried; it fell over me like sunshine, warming me from the crests of my cheeks to the tips of my tingling toes. “You’re welcome, Lucian.”
He grunted—oh, how I loved the way this man grunted—and then took the driver’s seat.
We didn’t speak as he pulled out, but he turned the radio back on and appeared relaxed behind the wheel. I swore I caught a hint of vanilla emanating from him. Not the cakey sweetness of a scented candle but the dark floral note of true vanilla. I couldn’t imagine a guy like Lucian splashing on cologne, but it was so enticing I was tempted to lean in and give him a sniff.
That would go over like a lead balloon. The man was already cagey enough without me sticking my nose in his collar.
“Are we close?” I asked to distract myself.
“Yes.” He shot me a sidelong glance. “I apologize for falling asleep.”
“I have migraines from time to time. Sleep is the best thing for it.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re going to make me smile every time you hum, you know.”
Oh, but he drew so close to a smile just then. “And this is bad why?”
Did he know he was flirting? Did I?
It wasn’t smart, regardless. I would be here only for a while, and sleeping with the grandson of Granny Cynthia’s best friend was not only idiotic—it was asking for hurt. I didn’t do well with casual. And somehow I knew that Lucian wasn’t the type to stick. More likely, it would end with him avoiding me and me feeling like a fool.
Lost in thought, I almost missed when we turned off the highway, driving onto an extremely narrow road that wound through the countryside. I was suddenly glad I wasn’t driving this leg of the trip. It wouldn’t have done us any good if I got us lost while Lucian slept. I caught glimpses of the sparkling blue ocean through the trees. Here and there were rooftops of massive homes hidden behind gates. A lush and sunny Eden.
Lucian pulled up to a pair of wrought iron gates attached to an endless stretch of white stucco walls covered in wisteria and bougainvillea. A wrought iron arch spanned the gates, and the name Rosemont, done in gold letters, graced the middle.
“Welcome to Rosemont,” Lucian said without fanfare.
Under the shade of olive trees we drove up to the estate. We were going slow enough that I put down the window and let in the fresh air.
“God, I swear I smell lemons,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“You do. The estate has many different citrus trees.”