his eyes off the road to look at her. "It's possible but I doubt it. His actions tonight appeared to be more of the spur-of-theâmoment kind. Besides the police already have all the letters. If they are from Ian, they'll find out."
Â
"Glad to hear it." She stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. Damn, she looked good. Forcibly he brought his attention back to the road. The rain had stopped and traffic was calm, making for an easy drive. "Do you remember him from university?"
Â
"What? No. I don't." Ian had been so upset in his rant, it'd been difficult to look directly at him, let alone try to figure out if he knew him from somewhere. "You do?"
Â
"Yes, he asked me out several times. But he always gave me the creeps and I tried to avoid him whenever I could." She hesitated, then added, "He was in the same pub as we were that last night."
Â
"Really? I donât remember much about that night. Honestly."
Â
An uncomfortable silence filled the car and he bit back a groan. That wasn't at all what he meant. "Let me clarify. I barely remember the pub, but what happened afterwardâ¦yeah, I remember every single minute of that."
Â
He gave her a warm smile, relief flowing over him as she returned it.
Â
As for the Ian mess⦠"I really don't think we'll ever hear from Ian again."
Â
She slipped off her shoes and turned towards him, tucking her folded legs underneath her. The dusky interior just barely gave form to the dainty feet resting on the edge of the seat. Her knees were inches from his thighs. Her perfume surrounded him in the tiny space. Heavy and aromatic, it hinted at sultry nights of passion. Memories flooded his thoughts. Damn.
Â
"I understand you're getting ready to start another book."
Â
He forced his attention back to the conversation, hoping that would slow his pulse and reduce the painful tightness in his pants.
Â
"I'd like to, yes."
Â
"Is it hard for you?"
Â
"Not really. I start to crave writing if I'm away from it for too long." In the back of his mind, already half defined, was an outline for his next book. He loved writing. There was a sense of accomplishment in knowing that he'd actually created something that could help others. It made his work come alive.
Â
Ever since he was a young boy, he'd known he belonged in the world of words. He'd completed his Journalism degree and had even worked for a couple of papers, editing and writing for various dailies. It hadn't taken him long before he'd struck out on his own.
Â
He pulled up to the airport drop off. "We're here." He smiled at her in the shadowy interior. "I'll grab your bag."
Â
"Thanks." She smiled back.
Â
Outside, the sky was clear and full of stars. He removed her bag from the trunk and placed it on the sidewalk. She walked to the end of the car and stilled.
Â
He followed her gaze. That damn florist box was in the car.
Â
"Brian, would you mind opening up it up? You don't have to tell me who it's from, just tell me that it's not from him ."
Â
He leaned on the black roof and peered at her. "You actually think Ian is going to send me flowers? Really?"
Â
She shrugged, the gesture tinged with helplessness and anxiety.
Â
Silently, he reached into the backseat and pulled out the long box. He laid it gently on the shiny hood. He might as well do as she asked. Besides, he was more than a little curious, himself.
Â
He looked up at the duskiness of early evening that had started to lower itself onto the city. There was an alien feel to the world. The airport was normally unbelievably busy, but right now, everything was quietâtoo quiet. Silence reigned, out of sync with the rest of the world.
Â
"Okay, just for you." Without looking away from her, he removed the lid. The heavy aroma of the flowers wafted freely into the night.
Â
"Oh my God," she gasped in shock.
Â
That got his attention.
Â
A dozen black roses
Â
"Glad to hear it." She stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. Damn, she looked good. Forcibly he brought his attention back to the road. The rain had stopped and traffic was calm, making for an easy drive. "Do you remember him from university?"
Â
"What? No. I don't." Ian had been so upset in his rant, it'd been difficult to look directly at him, let alone try to figure out if he knew him from somewhere. "You do?"
Â
"Yes, he asked me out several times. But he always gave me the creeps and I tried to avoid him whenever I could." She hesitated, then added, "He was in the same pub as we were that last night."
Â
"Really? I donât remember much about that night. Honestly."
Â
An uncomfortable silence filled the car and he bit back a groan. That wasn't at all what he meant. "Let me clarify. I barely remember the pub, but what happened afterwardâ¦yeah, I remember every single minute of that."
Â
He gave her a warm smile, relief flowing over him as she returned it.
Â
As for the Ian mess⦠"I really don't think we'll ever hear from Ian again."
Â
She slipped off her shoes and turned towards him, tucking her folded legs underneath her. The dusky interior just barely gave form to the dainty feet resting on the edge of the seat. Her knees were inches from his thighs. Her perfume surrounded him in the tiny space. Heavy and aromatic, it hinted at sultry nights of passion. Memories flooded his thoughts. Damn.
Â
"I understand you're getting ready to start another book."
Â
He forced his attention back to the conversation, hoping that would slow his pulse and reduce the painful tightness in his pants.
Â
"I'd like to, yes."
Â
"Is it hard for you?"
Â
"Not really. I start to crave writing if I'm away from it for too long." In the back of his mind, already half defined, was an outline for his next book. He loved writing. There was a sense of accomplishment in knowing that he'd actually created something that could help others. It made his work come alive.
Â
Ever since he was a young boy, he'd known he belonged in the world of words. He'd completed his Journalism degree and had even worked for a couple of papers, editing and writing for various dailies. It hadn't taken him long before he'd struck out on his own.
Â
He pulled up to the airport drop off. "We're here." He smiled at her in the shadowy interior. "I'll grab your bag."
Â
"Thanks." She smiled back.
Â
Outside, the sky was clear and full of stars. He removed her bag from the trunk and placed it on the sidewalk. She walked to the end of the car and stilled.
Â
He followed her gaze. That damn florist box was in the car.
Â
"Brian, would you mind opening up it up? You don't have to tell me who it's from, just tell me that it's not from him ."
Â
He leaned on the black roof and peered at her. "You actually think Ian is going to send me flowers? Really?"
Â
She shrugged, the gesture tinged with helplessness and anxiety.
Â
Silently, he reached into the backseat and pulled out the long box. He laid it gently on the shiny hood. He might as well do as she asked. Besides, he was more than a little curious, himself.
Â
He looked up at the duskiness of early evening that had started to lower itself onto the city. There was an alien feel to the world. The airport was normally unbelievably busy, but right now, everything was quietâtoo quiet. Silence reigned, out of sync with the rest of the world.
Â
"Okay, just for you." Without looking away from her, he removed the lid. The heavy aroma of the flowers wafted freely into the night.
Â
"Oh my God," she gasped in shock.
Â
That got his attention.
Â
A dozen black roses
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