Page 66 of Bend
His eyes flick over to mine, then back out to the sea. His looks first annoyed, then amused. “Is this a quiz?”
“I think I have a right to quiz you. After what you did.”
One dark eyebrow arches. “Terrible thing, loaning you money to buy a car. That’s basically what I did, you realize.” That and offer to pay you ten thousand dollars for a night on an island.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. You took advantage of me.”
“I wish you would stop saying that, Rojo.”
“I can’t pay for the fucking car! Broke people don’t buy cars.”
“How’d you get broke, Rojo?”
“Quit calling me that,” I say. “ It sounds like a man’s name, and the part that sticks out in my mind the most is ‘ho.’”
He smirks, and in that low voice of his, he says, “Are you a ho?”
I pinch my lips together to avoid a smile; his tone is clearly teasing. “No. I’m not a ho at all.”
A reluctant little half smile slips over his mouth, and my poor neglected vagina responds. I bite my lip to distract myself from the party in my jeans.
I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling a little weird about myself. This is hardly a normal response to finding out about the death of one’s grandmother. Then again, Gertrude was a total stranger. Her death is, for me, mainly just a disappointment. The end of some remote possibility that probably wasn’t ever possible at all.
I push my bangs over the top of my head, where they tend to stay, whipped back in the wind. Race’s lips twitch again, and I glare. “What?”
Why the hell am I feeling so warm and fuzzy? I’m like a high school freshman creaming my panties over the senior quarterback. I shouldn’t be so damn attracted to him—so I am. Of course I am. This is the way things go for me.
And then he tilts his head my way, gives me a full smile, and says, “You wanna steer?”
Total swoon land. Which is sad. So very, very pitiful.
I take a long, slow breath. “Are you being condescending?”
He shakes his head. Angles his body toward mine. In a low, scratchy voice that may just be the wind and my imagination, he murmurs, “Truth? I want to put my hands on you.”
Heat sings through me. “Did you really just say that?”
He grins, and I say, “You should keep your hands to yourself. I don’t need or want them.”
LIAR!
“If this is some kind of ploy,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “it won’t work. I’m not even attracted to you.”
If at all possible, his grin spreads wider, making him look wolfish. His eyes flit down the front of me, and before I can prepare myself, he reaches out and flicks my nipple gently. “Not attracted?”
Pleasure shoots in a direct line down to my pussy—so fierce I go all limp and almost lose my footing. I clamp an arm over my chest and laugh, because seriously, I cannot believe this asshole did that. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Believe it, baby.” Again, that smug smirk. “I don’t think you minded. In fact,” he says slowly, leaning so close his lips brush me near my ear, “I think you liked it.”
Before I can deny this, his arms are going around my waist, moving me in front of him, turning me toward the boat’s nose. I wait, lightheaded, for him to press my ass against his huge erection, and am dizzily disappointed when he simply places my hands on the wheel and wraps his hands around them.
He moves my sweaty fingers to a position that looks like nine and three. “Hold it here,” he purrs into my ear. He holds up one finger and disappears, moving toward the back of the boat.
I look into a little rear view mirror and see him pushing a button on the side of one of the motors. A few seconds later, their overpowering roar quiets a few notches. I look over my shoulder; the wind whips my hair across my face.
“What did you do?” I ask as he comes back to me.
“Shifted the motors to a different setting. Kind of like shifting down a gear.”
