Page 42 of The Kiss Connection

When the doors open to the parking garage, a chill tickles my bare legs, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm.

“We’ll be at the car soon,” he says, and he’s escorting me quickly through several rows of parked cars. In the distance, there’s a car with the engine already running. “That’s me.”

“You have auto start?”

“Of course.” He chuckles. “There’s an app that lets me start my car. Come on, let’s get you out of the cold.”

He’s got a gray two-seater Stingray convertible. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I try not to squeal, but I’m pretty sure it slips out.

“You okay?” Myles glances at me.

“Can I drive?”

“No.” He unlocks the doors, and I climb into the passenger side. The leather seats are warm, the air in the car already comfortable.

He hits the start button for the car, and there’s more heat pumping out now through the vents.

“If the seats aren’t warm enough, you can adjust them.” He shows me the button for the heated seats.

“Oh, they’re perfectly toasty. My butt is plenty happy.” I wince at my admission.

I hate Myles Dax.

What is happening right now?

“Where are we going tonight?” I ask, trying not to seem overly eager about our date.

This night could go either way. It could be complete hell or, well—it’s Myles. It’ll be hell. There isn’t a second option.

“You’ll see,” he says, completely cryptic.

I buckle my seatbelt, already a bit nervous. “Right. I paid for the deluxe package,” I joke, pointing the heat vents at myself. Anything to keep from looking at him.

He secures his seatbelt and shoots me a death glare before he hits the gas and we’re hightailing it out of the parking garage.

“A few rules for tonight,” Myles says, and I realize him driving us to wherever we’re going is dangerous. He could just drop me off in the freezing dead of winter, in the middle of nowhere.

“Rules?” My voice betrays me. I clear my throat. “Go on,” I say, trying to sound more confident.

“First, the only reason we’re going out tonight is because you won the auction. I wouldn’t even be doing it, but my publicist says we need to get some pictures after the fuck-up at the gala.”

“Your publicist,” I repeat slowly. “Wait, do you mean to tell me that after I spent twenty thousand, you were going to stand me up, again?”

My blood boils and I push the heat vents away from me.

The nerve of him!

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “What do you think?” His jaw clenches, and we pull up to a red light where he’s forced to stop.

“I figured we’d go out, have drinks, and then you’d drop me off,” I say. It’d be a short, quick date.

He glances at me. “Drinks? I hope you’re hungry.”

The light turns green and he floors it. Is he trying to impress me with his sweet little ride?

“Second rule for the evening, I choose when to end the night. You paid, but I’m the one in charge.”

I laugh under my breath.