Taste (Take It Off #9)(9)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He grinned. “That just like this car, I’m American-made and full of horsepower.”

I laughed even as the excitement in my blood skyrocketed.

“Come on,” he said, giving me another of his heart-stopping grins, and pulled open the passenger-side door. I slid in without a second thought.

The interior was gray leather and it was just as spotless as the outside. It smelled like him in here, musky and deep. It wasn’t an overpowering scent, though. It was relaxed. I liked it.

Hell, I liked everything about Spencer.

Before he climbed in, the black jacket he was wearing flew past my face and landed in the backseat. Then he folded himself into the driver’s seat, his long legs eating up most of the floor space. He started up the engine and adjusted the vents so cool air blew over me and then proceeded to roll up his sleeves to his elbows. He had strong-looking forearms.

“Ready?” he said when he was done, looking across the closed-in space.

I nodded.

He drove like he’d been doing it his entire life. He was completely comfortable behind the wheel, navigating the traffic-laden streets of downtown D.C. with barely any effort at all.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

My stomach twisted at the thought of my townhouse. It just didn’t feel like a safe place anymore. It felt like somewhere I was caged and on display, somewhere that unseemly people could watch me.

“I don’t want to go there.”

I felt his eyes slide over to me, but he didn’t say anything else. A few minutes later, he said, “Have you eaten anything?”

“Oh, um, no.” I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner last night.

His lips pulled down in a frown. Next thing I knew, he was gliding the Mustang between two sedans on the side of a busy street. I have no idea how he managed to park like this. I couldn’t parallel park to save my life. If it had been me, I’d have had to park three blocks over and walk to the coffee shop we were sitting in front of.

“Stay here,” he said, getting out.

Even if I wanted to argue, I wouldn’t have had the chance. He was striding through the glass doors of the café before I even thought of a rebuke. I didn’t want to go in there anyway; there was a crowd of people. I just wanted quiet. I wanted to feel safe, like I wasn’t being threatened or watched.

The cool interior of this Mustang was the closest I’d felt to safe since last night. No one would expect me to be in this car. No one would expect me not to be at work. My car was still there at the White House, so as far as everyone knew I was, too.

I leaned my head back against the buttery leather and closed my eyes. Spencer was in the line of the shop, I could see the top of his dirty-blond head. He was talking to someone easily, and the person was smiling.

He was too entirely likable.

I couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Spencer. He probably had a million girlfriends.

I turned off those thoughts and shut my eyes and thought about Jack. I imagined him laughing at the monkeys’ antics right now.

The next thing I knew, a car door was slamming and I jerked up, my body tensing. “It’s me,” he said gently, slipping two large paper cups into the center console.

I sagged back against the seat, rolling my head toward him. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He dropped the brown paper sack in his lap and looked at me, pushing his sunglasses up atop his head. Golden eyes raked over me and he leaned in, running a thumb beneath my eyes where I knew there were dark circles. “Rough night, huh?”

“You have no idea,” I said, relishing the brief contact. I realized then that I couldn’t remember the last time someone touched me. Someone other than Jack, that is.

“Don’t wanna go home, huh?”

I shook my head and bit my lower lip.

Spencer handed me a coffee and then pulled out into traffic. I took a sip of the hot liquid, realizing how thirsty I was. The coffee was sweet and creamy, and oh so good.

“Thanks for this,” I said between sips. I was partially afraid to drink it as fast as I wanted for fear my stomach would revolt.

Spencer didn’t say anything, but I did note the way his hand flexed over the gearshift as he moved through the streets.

Several minutes later, we pulled up to the National Mall. Usually, parking here was a nightmare, but Spencer seemed to not be plagued with that as he located and slid into a spot in mere minutes. The National Mall was two miles of open grassy space that was filled with history. Not only did it boast open spaces for biking, running, or walking your dog, but it had grand architecture.

Monuments such as the Lincoln Memorial, U.S. Capitol, and various other memorial parks. It was a popular place for tourists but also for locals.

Before climbing out of the car, Spencer handed me the paper sack. “I got you a muffin. You should eat something.”

“Okay,” I said, taking the bag but having no interest in actually eating.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing up his coffee and getting out of the car.

Part of me was really nervous about being out here in the open. Anyone looking for me could easily find me. But then I reminded myself that everyone thought I was supposed to be at work. It didn’t help me relax completely, but I no longer felt like hiding behind every trashcan we passed.

“Okay, spill,” he said.

I blew out a breath. “I don’t even know where to start.”

He stopped and swung around abruptly to face me. “Is your boyfriend knocking you around?”

I stopped. He thought I had a boyfriend? “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Thank fuck,” he muttered, dropping the glasses back down over his eyes.

“You thought I was seeing someone?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. For someone who thought I was single, he sure did do a lot of flirting. Of course, to some guys, flirting was just their natural way.

“Actually, I didn’t. Everyone said you were single.” His words faltered, and my eyes shot up to his.

“You asked around about me?” I don’t know why, but this made me extremely giddy.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It’s my job to know about the people who work in the White House.”

“Oh,” I said, a little let down. Okay, I was a lot let down. He only wanted to know about my personal life because of his job.

“But what else could it be?” He went on. “You come to work with bruises and injuries, shaking like a leaf and jumping at every sound you hear. Your car doesn’t have a scratch, so you weren’t in an accident, and you refused to let me take you home, making me think there was some asshole there waiting who would be pissed off if he saw us together.”