with.”
“Right.”
Carlotta turned off the lights, then grabbed her purse and
careful y reset the alarm before stepping into the garage.
Jack fol owed and pul ed the door closed behind him,
sweeping his gaze over the structure that was finished
with details nicer than most home interiors. Carlotta
depressed the button for the garage-door opener. As the
door rose, it ushered in morning light that bounced off the
mirror finish of the sleek little two-seater sports car.
Jack caught her eye and grinned. “I could take the Porsche
if you’d feel safer driving the sedan.”
“Nice try. Just don’t rear-end me.”
“Gee, you didn’t mind the other day,” he said, waggling his
eyebrows.
Carlotta glared at him, then opened the door and swung
into the Porsche, admittedly nervous. As she adjusted the
seat to accommodate her shorter legs, her pulse tripped
higher. What if she did do something to Peter’s car?
She put her hands on the steering wheel and forced
herself to relax. As long as she was careful and drove
slowly, what could go wrong? She was allowing the luxury
of the car—of Peter’s life—to intimidate her. Which was
ironic, considering that if she’d married him, she’d
probably have a fleet of luxury vehicles to choose from on
any given day. Feeling more confident, she pressed the
button to lower the convertible top, determined to enjoy
the car to its fullest.
She turned over the engine and held her breath as she
slowly backed out of the garage into the circular driveway.
Beautiful y shaped pavers surrounded a tall concrete
fountain that dropped sheets of crystal-clear water into a
tulip-shaped basin. She glanced in the rearview mirror at
Jack sitting in his sedan, waiting to pul out behind her. He
gave her a wry little wave. She exhaled and shifted into
Drive. So far so good. The engine purred around her like a
vibrator set on low speed. The distinctive hood sloped
down and away from her. She felt sexy and powerful,
wrapped in leather, a light breeze lifting her ponytail. She
lowered her sunglasses and sighed. She was meant for this
life. Carlotta pressed the gas pedal and the car surged
forward as if it had been let out of its cage. She knew how
it felt.
Suddenly a screeching noise sounded and a blob of
scratching, snarling fur landed in her lap. Terrified, she
yanked the wheel and tried to hit the brake, but wound up
hitting the gas instead. The car lurched forward.
Into something hard enough to stop it cold.
The cat, meanwhile, acted as if it was possessed and
climbed her shoulder, emitting humanlike screams.
Carlotta flailed at it with her hands, but it sunk its claws
into her scalp. She shrieked as pain shot through her head.
Then suddenly, the attack ceased. She glanced up to see
that Jack had removed the deranged cat.
“Scat! Get out of here!” he shouted. “Carlotta, are you
okay?”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and was struck with
horror—she had plowed the left side of the Porsche into
the fountain. She nodded, then burst into tears. “Peter’s
going to kil me.”
Jack sighed. “He’s not going to kil you. It’s just a scratch
down the side. Come on, let’s get you out of there.”
He reached in to help her slide to the passenger side, then
she heard him curse and felt herself being ripped out of
the seat. A horrific crash sounded, fol owed by the
splintering of glass.
When Jack set her on her feet, she turned around. The top
of the concrete fountain had fallen through the windshield
of the Porsche and was now resting in the driver’s seat
among torn metal and leather, exactly where she’d been
sitting. Water from the broken fountain gushed into the
open convertible.
Jack made a rueful noise. “Okay, now Peter’s going to kil
you.”
7
Carlotta waved as Peter drove away in his SUV.
“Ashford took it better than I would have,” Jack admitted
as he held open the door for her at the midtown
“Right.”
Carlotta turned off the lights, then grabbed her purse and
careful y reset the alarm before stepping into the garage.
Jack fol owed and pul ed the door closed behind him,
sweeping his gaze over the structure that was finished
with details nicer than most home interiors. Carlotta
depressed the button for the garage-door opener. As the
door rose, it ushered in morning light that bounced off the
mirror finish of the sleek little two-seater sports car.
Jack caught her eye and grinned. “I could take the Porsche
if you’d feel safer driving the sedan.”
“Nice try. Just don’t rear-end me.”
“Gee, you didn’t mind the other day,” he said, waggling his
eyebrows.
Carlotta glared at him, then opened the door and swung
into the Porsche, admittedly nervous. As she adjusted the
seat to accommodate her shorter legs, her pulse tripped
higher. What if she did do something to Peter’s car?
She put her hands on the steering wheel and forced
herself to relax. As long as she was careful and drove
slowly, what could go wrong? She was allowing the luxury
of the car—of Peter’s life—to intimidate her. Which was
ironic, considering that if she’d married him, she’d
probably have a fleet of luxury vehicles to choose from on
any given day. Feeling more confident, she pressed the
button to lower the convertible top, determined to enjoy
the car to its fullest.
She turned over the engine and held her breath as she
slowly backed out of the garage into the circular driveway.
Beautiful y shaped pavers surrounded a tall concrete
fountain that dropped sheets of crystal-clear water into a
tulip-shaped basin. She glanced in the rearview mirror at
Jack sitting in his sedan, waiting to pul out behind her. He
gave her a wry little wave. She exhaled and shifted into
Drive. So far so good. The engine purred around her like a
vibrator set on low speed. The distinctive hood sloped
down and away from her. She felt sexy and powerful,
wrapped in leather, a light breeze lifting her ponytail. She
lowered her sunglasses and sighed. She was meant for this
life. Carlotta pressed the gas pedal and the car surged
forward as if it had been let out of its cage. She knew how
it felt.
Suddenly a screeching noise sounded and a blob of
scratching, snarling fur landed in her lap. Terrified, she
yanked the wheel and tried to hit the brake, but wound up
hitting the gas instead. The car lurched forward.
Into something hard enough to stop it cold.
The cat, meanwhile, acted as if it was possessed and
climbed her shoulder, emitting humanlike screams.
Carlotta flailed at it with her hands, but it sunk its claws
into her scalp. She shrieked as pain shot through her head.
Then suddenly, the attack ceased. She glanced up to see
that Jack had removed the deranged cat.
“Scat! Get out of here!” he shouted. “Carlotta, are you
okay?”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and was struck with
horror—she had plowed the left side of the Porsche into
the fountain. She nodded, then burst into tears. “Peter’s
going to kil me.”
Jack sighed. “He’s not going to kil you. It’s just a scratch
down the side. Come on, let’s get you out of there.”
He reached in to help her slide to the passenger side, then
she heard him curse and felt herself being ripped out of
the seat. A horrific crash sounded, fol owed by the
splintering of glass.
When Jack set her on her feet, she turned around. The top
of the concrete fountain had fallen through the windshield
of the Porsche and was now resting in the driver’s seat
among torn metal and leather, exactly where she’d been
sitting. Water from the broken fountain gushed into the
open convertible.
Jack made a rueful noise. “Okay, now Peter’s going to kil
you.”
7
Carlotta waved as Peter drove away in his SUV.
“Ashford took it better than I would have,” Jack admitted
as he held open the door for her at the midtown
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