Page 48 of My Sexy Boss
“Who was it?” I asked as I handed him his jacket and took his extended hand.
“I couldn’t get a good look at him. I did get a couple numbers off his license plate though. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Do you think it’s anything, or are we both being paranoid?” I laughed.
Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t think we’re being paranoid. I do think it’s something. He’s watching you, but I don’t know why. You didn’t recognize the car? Is it a past boyfriend?”
We walked to the parking lot, the salty breeze blowing my hair in my face. “I’ve never seen it before last night. And I haven’t had a boyfriend in quite a while. None of them would stalk me, so I don’t have any idea who it is.”
“No worries. I’ll look into it. If you see the car again, call me.”
“I don’t have your number,” I said as I slipped into his car.
Taking my phone, he punched in his number and handed it back. “Now you do.”
I laughed and fastened the seat belt. “Do you want to go to your place to change?”
Putting on his sunglasses, he glanced at me. “No, I’m good.”
He wore his suit pants and dress shirt, and with his Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, he looked sexy as hell. I was used to men who lived in jeans and T-shirts outside of the workplace, so this was a welcome and enticing change.
When we got on Highway 101 North, he switched on the CD player and Bob Dylan’s voice filled the car. I stared at him.
“You have the same record I do?”
“No, I went out and bought it.”
Butterflies fluttered inside me and I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“What’s that for?” he asked as he looked in his rearview mirror.
“Just because.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we toured vineyards, tasted wine, dined on cheese, pâté, and French bread, and talked and laughed a lot. It was the perfect day, and it felt so comfortable being with him. I couldn’t remember having such a wonderful day until the farmers’ market popped into my head. The two best days I’d had in a very long time both involved Trace.
Take it slow, Cierra. You don’t want to fall in love with him.
And I didn’t, because I knew once he grew tired ofus, he’d move on to another woman. Just like he did with Kelsey. By his own admission, he’d told me earlier that day that he’d gone out with her for some fun, and he’d told her it wasn’t permanent. All the magazine articles I’d read about him screamed one thing—confirmed bachelor. Trace Prescott didn’t do relationships. Period. So I couldn’t risk my heart by falling in love with him; if I did, I wouldn’t be able to bear him walking out of my life.
“You’re quiet,” he said as we got in the car for the drive back to San Fran.
“Just enjoying your company. I had a wonderful time. Thank you.”
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”
I smiled. One thing that could be said about Trace Prescott was that he was the consummate gentleman.
“Let’s put the top down. You’re not one of those women who doesn’t want her hair blowing all around, are you?”
“Just the opposite. I love to feel the wind on my face.” I pulled out a hair tie from my purse and scooped my hair into a messy bun. Pushing my head back against the seat rest, I watched silhouettes of birds against the magenta sky and the last orange rays bathing the vineyards as we weaved along the small roads.
When we arrived in the city, the sun had already set and the city’s lights twinkled as cars raced between red lights. Instead of turning toward Nob Hill, Trace went straight and turned in the direction of Pacific Heights.
“Where’re we going?” I asked, expecting him to drop me off.
“My place. I want to get out of these clothes.”
I didn’t complain; I was dying to see his place ever since he’d told me he had floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view.
