Joy Ride
Then the noise comes. A long, sexy howl of ecstasy.
Of falling apart.
“Max,” she moans, and my name is the sound of her bliss.
That trips the switch in me, and my own orgasm rattles loose, tearing through me as if it’s redefining the very notion of momentum itself.
And when we’re nothing but sated, tired, drugged-out sex hounds, I toss away the condom then scoop her up and carry her to the couch. I grab a warm, wet hand towel from the bathroom and clean her, then settle in with this naked beauty in my arms.
She’s smiling, all limbs and soft hair.
Like a lovely foal.
Like a happy little clam.
She closes her eyes and wiggles against me. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” I say, bringing her closer. “You should go.”
31
Henley’s To-Do List
* * *
—Leave.
32
She snuggles closer as if she’s trying to press every inch of her warm skin to mine.
I feel like I’m living in some alternate state. There’s nothing else in New York City but us and the twinkling lights beyond the glass. She reaches for the blanket, the same one I covered her with after the ferry trip. She tugs it up to her breasts, then under her arms, making sure I’m beneath it with her.
I spoon her, kissing her neck as she burrows into my sofa like a little animal, making a couch-nest for the night.
“I really should go,” she murmurs as she brushes her fingertips along my forearm, outlining the veins.
“You absolutely should leave,” I say as I rope my arm tighter around her.
“Staying would be bad.”
“It would be awful.”
Heat from her body radiates into mine. I pull her closer. I want to press every inch of my skin against hers.
“If I stayed we’d probably talk,” she says softly.
“About all sorts of things. Like how much you love girlie stuff.”
“I do,” she says, her laugh a soft jingle.
“You like sparkles and unicorns,” I say, tracing lazy lines along her belly.
“You’ve caught me. It’s true.”
“Why?”
“They’re the antidote to my grease-monkey days.”
“Ah. I had a feeling.”
“I spend all day long in this hyper-masculine field. I’m surrounded by guys and testosterone, and when I leave the cars behind, I want to be a woman again.”
“So that’s why you turn to dancing at night?”
“Dancing, and hot chocolate, and Belinda Carlisle blasting in my ears, and wishing upon shooting stars.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“Wishing on a star?”
I shake my head, as I draw a line down her back. “Being a woman in our field.”
She nods vigorously. “Um, yeah. You know exactly how I feel about that.”
I draw a sharp breath, recalling the words she flung at me before she left five years ago. “I do.”
“You didn’t move me up because I was a woman,” she says, like this is part of the public record of our work breakup.
I sigh. “No, Henley. That’s not it.”
She swivels around in my arms, spreading her palms over my chest. “It kind of was.”
I don’t want to go down the path of ancient history. The present has been hard enough. This is the first occasion since the ferry ride that we’ve managed time together without breaking out our ninja stars and nunchucks. “I swear, tiger. I was a cruel bastard, but not a sexist one. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m amazed at what you’ve done. You’ll open your own shop in no time.”
She clears her throat like that surprises her. “You think so?”
“Hell yeah. You’re fantastic. You’re fast, creative, and focused. You’re sharp and clever. I can see you running your business. Can’t you?”
She stares at my hair. “I hope so.”
I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Bet on it. Next year at this time.”
“Ha.”
“You’ll kick my ass.”
Her hand darts around my waist and squeezes my butt. “Damn straight.”
“With that attitude, you’ll be hanging up your shingle sooner. Maybe even sooner than a year.”
She smiles faintly but looks away. Her breath hitches. She’s silent, and it seems as if she’s alternating between fiery and melancholy.
“Hey,” I say, turning her shoulder so she faces me fully. “Are you sad about something?”
She drops her face into her hands and grumbles. “Ugh.”
Worry jolts through me. “What’s wrong, Henley?”
She talks into her hands. “I want to be taken seriously, but look what I did. I slept with you. Twice.”
I pry her hands from her face and raise her chin. “Newsflash. We’re not blasting this across the trade mags. I’m not putting it on Snapchat. I’m not even on Snapchat.”
She huffs. “Someone will know. I’ll look like a harlot going into work. Someone will look at me and whisper . . .” She deepens her voice. “Hey, isn’t that the chick who bangs Summers?”
“That’s not how you’ll be known in this business.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ll get pats on the back for nailing the chick builder on top of the Dodge Challenger,” she says, and I wince.
When she puts it like that, she’s right to some degree. Unfortunately. I wish she weren’t, but there’s still a boys’ club mentality when it comes to getting laid. For better or worse, banging the hottest woman under the sun on top of a muscle car is brag worthy. But I’m not that guy. My private life is just that—private. “We’re not broadcasting this. What’s between you and me is between you and me.”
“Thank you. And look, I’m not saying we should sneak around and be all cloak and dagger. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
I nod. “Nothing wrong at all, but we’ll be cautious and careful.”
“And we won’t lie,” she adds, and I’m grinning because clearly we’re not out of each other’s system. But I’m also impressed that she’s so level-headed, especially since I know how hotheaded she can be. “I can live with your terms.”
“Ha. Glad you approve. I’ve been working on my negotiation skills.” Then her tone shifts. She sighs heavily. “I’ve tried hard to not get involved with anyone in the business. Ever. The only time . . .”
My ears prick. “The only time what?”
She swallows as if she’s chewed something hard and painful. “The only time . . . is now.”
Her statement sounds off, as if she’s hiding something. But considering how long it took for her to fess up and tell me she danced at night, I’m not keen to push her on whether she once was involved with someone else in this business.
She presses her hand against my chest, her fingertips outlining my ink. “I appreciate you keeping this quiet. And I probably sound ridiculous since we screwed in your shop. How can I say I want respect and then do that with you? But . . .”
“But what?”
She flashes a naughty little grin. “You were impossible to resist.”
My chest is a sunburst. “Good. And clearly, I could say the same for you.”
“But the point is still this. I want respect. I want to set an example, too, for the other women in this field, like Karen. I’ve worked hard to make it as a woman in a male-centric field. Getting my engineering degree was key. Getting a job with you when I graduated was another. You were the best, and I wanted to learn from the best. That’s why I pursued work with you. Remember when I tracked you down at the car show years ago?’’