Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Her brothers relaxed their stances somewhat but their eyes remained hostile. Her father was practically bristling with fury. Smith kept that infuriatingly insouciant smile on his lips.
Beth and Fern were watching the unfolding scene with a comically similar expressions of wide-eyed fascination and horror. Or at least it would be comical if it weren’t so damned humiliating.
She moved determinedly toward Smith and stretched out her hand, palm up. He gave it an amused glance before shrugging and digging the car keys from his pocket, handing them to her without argument.
He enjoyed driving and rarely used a driver to get around. Kenny wasn’t too fond of driving but she was competent enough behind the wheel. The drive home would be stress free enough this time of night.
She exchanged hugs with her family while Smith waited impatiently at the door. She did notice him giving Beth a warm smile and nod of thanks, but he ignored the male members of her family entirely.
“We need to talk,” Cade murmured in her ear and he pressed her close for a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
She offered him a nod and a weak smile in return. Cade rarely wanted to talk. He was the quietest of her three brothers, but his loyalty and staunch support of his younger siblings were unquestionable.
She and Smith finally exited the small house and silently made their way toward Smith’s classic, rugged—currently mud-colored—black Land Rover Defender. She hesitated for a moment and glared at it. She hated being a passenger in the damned thing—likely why he’d chosen to use it tonight, considering his mood—but had never driven it
It’s just a car, she prodded herself impatiently and determinedly strode toward it.
Smith, who usually opened car doors for her, went straight to the passenger side and climbed inside. He was already belted in, arms folded across his chest and his gaze directed to the front, by the time she opened the driver’s door.
It was a stick shift, of course, but like many drivers in South Africa, she was used to that. And the only reason the gears ground when she put it into first was because she was rusty.
She tried to ignore his wince at the terrible grating sound and braced herself for some kind comment about it.
She relaxed marginally when—despite his volatile and unpredictable mood—he chose not to belittle her driving just because he was angry.
“Sorry,” she muttered when the gears ground again after she shifted into second. “Out of practice.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” he offered, surprising her with the insight. “Your muscle memory will kick in long before we hit the highway.”
With that, he stretched his long legs out as far as they could go, tilted his seat back and shut his eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”
She knew he’d done so only because he realized that she would be more nervous with him watching her and was grateful for the consideration even as her temper, which she’d held banked throughout the evening, began to slowly simmer.
The drive to their home in the beach town of Noordhoek was forty minutes long and it gave her plenty of time to stew about both his awful behavior tonight as well as everything that he’d said to her before they’d left home.
By the time she pulled his filthy, overly large car into their driveway she’d worked up a nice head of steam. He was properly asleep by now, head lolling, his face slack, mouth slightly agape. She turned in her seat to glare at him. The cessation of movement and the sudden silence didn’t wake him and her glare turned into a full-on glower.
Right now, even his good looks annoyed her. That strong jaw with the red-blond stubble, thick lashes of the same color, that beautiful sensuous mouth with its wickedly curved full lower lip. Perfect jaw, perfect nose, perfect bone structure…perfect bastard.
And as she stared into that irritatingly perfect face she was tempted to leave him asleep in the car. Better than having to deal with the tension and turmoil of the conversation that would inevitably follow when he woke up.
She stared at him for a long, uncertain moment before folding her middle finger beneath the tip of her thumb and releasing it with a hard flick against his cheek. The thwip echoed around the cab of the Land Rover and he snorted and jerked awake with a muffled curse.
Oops. That may have landed a little harder than she’d intended.
His hand snapped up to his cheek and he glared at her, his affront clear to see in the light provided by their driveway security beams.
“The fuck you do that for?” He sounded like a sulky teen.
“We’re home.”
“Not an excuse for assault and battery,” he grumped.
“Oh, let me guess, you’d have preferred a gentle kiss instead?” Her voice was scathing.