Page 92 of Bourbon Kingdom
The sweet tone in his voice was compensating for the dominant demand he was handing out, and damn it if it didn’t turn me on. Would he always be able to do that to me? Control my emotions with his words?
Most likely. He knew me too well.
We walked hand in hand across the park, toward his car, where the man with the keys stood in front of the Aston Martin, protecting it. The whole scene was absolutely absurd, but Jett protected his cars like he protected his girls—guess I couldn’t blame him for that.
The keys were tossed to Jett, who caught them in the air and then held them out to me. I looked down at his palm in shock and then back up at him. He was smiling brightly at me, as if he was offering me the world.
Oh, fuck my heart, he was slowly killing me, one smile at a time.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Of course, I would let you do anything, Goldie.”
“My, my, my, you would do just about anything to get in my pants.”
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulled me in tight and said, “No, actually, I would do just about anything to get into that beautiful heart of yours.”
Like second nature, I ran my hand up his chest and gripped the lapels of his shirt. I brought him closer and spoke softly.
“You’re in there already, Jett. You just need to take up a permanent residence now.”
“That’s my goal.”
Lightly, he kissed my forehead and helped me into the driver’s seat. The smooth leather welcomed me as I checked out the polished steering wheel. I really couldn’t believe Jett was going to let me drive his precious car, but hell if I was going to miss out on this opportunity.
Jett got into the passenger side and started giving me instructions, but once I started the car and felt the rumble of the engine underneath me, I blocked out what Jett was saying and took off, letting the wind whip through my hair and the man next to me grip onto the handles for dear life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I Bet My Life”
JETT
I sat in my car, staring out the windshield, trying to recollect the last ten minutes that just flew by me as Goldie whipped around New Orleans, cutting in and out of one-way streets and traffic from the festival. Pretty sure I lost a few years of my life from her “driving.”
“Oh, my God, that was so much fun,” Goldie cooed, as she put the car in park and turned to face me. “I know why you love driving this car so much. You barely have to press down on the gas pedal. Did you see me zip through those streets? It was like we were in some kind of super-speed, time machine thing. You know what I mean? It seemed like you enjoyed yourself, you weren’t even saying anything, just taking in the sights. Hey, are you okay? You look a little strange,” she asked, as she pressed her hand against my cheek. “You’re all clammy; are you going to be sick?”
I shook my head no and gulped as I looked over at her. “No offense, but you’re an awful driver.”
Insult crossed her face. “I am not! I’m a damn fine driver. If I was a bad driver, I would have hit somebody.”
“We almost took out a street performer! He jumped out of the way before you could flatten him.”
“Jett Colby!” she practically shouted. “I’m not a bad driver.”
Nodding my head, I got out of the car, but not before I pulled the keys out of the ignition and pocketed them. I didn’t have to turn around to hear her stomping behind me and slamming the driver’s side door shut. I lit the fire, and I was about to be burned.
“I’m not a bad driver,” she repeated herself. “I have just as good of driving skills as fucking Jeff Gordon, maybe even better. Hey, I’m talking to you,” she stomped behind me.
Her little finger poked my back as I opened the back door to Diego’s apartment for her. She didn’t proceed inside. Instead, she continued to poke me.
“Say it, say I’m a good driver.”
“Goldie, you’re a terrible driver.”
“How can you say that?” she said in complete outrage.
“You drove on the sidewalk!”
