Page 7 of Drive
“My sister was about to kill me,” she plowed on, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead. “I had no idea if I’d be able to reach you. Jacques, you are thebest!”
She remembered his name. It amazed him that she remembered his name. Most of his riders forgot it the moment they stepped into his car. He loved that she remembered it. Technically, he could leave now, but he wasn’t about to. Against all odds, he’d found her in the six-story hospital that likely held hundreds of people. He wasn’t about to walk away until he found out more abouther.
“So the books are for your sister?” he asked, nodding toward the cover. She looked down at the scandalous image, her cheeks went scarlet, and she burst outlaughing.
The sound, weightless and bright like a tambourine, fell around him. Hesmiled.
“Um, yeah. Historical romance isn’t really mything.”
“Oh.” Jacques wondered if she heard the disappointment in his voice. But he rallied. “Whatisyourthing?”
Her eyes rounded a little, and she tried to hold down her smile. “Um… suspense… romanticsuspense.”
He felt his brow arch. “Romantic suspense?” That sounded a lot more exciting than corsets andpetticoats.
“Yeah… books are… myescape.”
What do you need to escape?The question nearly leaped from his mouth, and he remembered the look of trauma she’d worn after the near miss they’d had in traffic. Did her life frighten her? Was she safe? The urge to stand closer to her, to shield her came out ofnowhere.
“Books are a good escape,” he ventured, testing the waters. “If your life’sintense.”
Her head drew back in surprise. “Intense? I don’t think anyone could say that about my life.” And as he watched, her cheeks colored again. She glanced down at the book and then back up at him. “Thank you so much for getting this back to me. If you wait right here, I’ll get my purse and giveyou—”
“Oh, no,” Jacques said, raising a hand. He couldn’t let her tip him. That would suck. “That’s not necessary.I—”
“I insist.” She put her hand on the door lever, and before she could push it, he covered it with hisown.
“No, really. That’s not—” He stalled, got a hold of himself, and asked for what he wanted. “What’s yourname?”
She blinked at him for a second. She looked down at their hands, hers completely hidden under his. Jacques let go. Then she met his eyesagain.
“Rainey,” she said softly. “RaineyReeves.”
Rainey Reeves. It sounded like music. He could write a song called “Rainey Reeves.” A damn goodone.
“That’s a pretty name. It sounds like a song,” he said,smiling.
Rainey rolled her hazel eyes, looking half-amused and half-annoyed. “Yeah, my dad’s a musician. I think he thought it wasfitting.”
Jacques frowned, the thought dawning on him too incredible to betrue.
Books, bags, and blues,Floyd hadsaid.
“Rainey Reeves? Is your dad… Is your dad Doc DylanReeves?”
Chapter 4
She couldn’t escapehim.
No matter what, living blues legend Doc Dylan Reeves commanded the spotlight — even from five hundred milesaway.
On a sigh, Rainey nodded. “Yep. That’s mydad.”
“He’s a genius,” he said. Then he shook his head. “I mean the blues aren’t reallymy thing, but what that man can do with a guitar…” His voice trailed off inawe.
Which was too bad. The Uber driver wascute. So cute. And the way he’d talked her down in the car when she was silently freaking out had been more than sweet. It had taken all the courage she could muster just to climb into his car and ride with a stranger across town in the first place. When that Durango asshole had nearly sideswiped them, Rainey had almost suffered a heartattack.
For what seemed like ages after, she hadn’t been in the Uber at all. She had been trapped behind the wheel of her old Jeep Wrangler, driving through her worst nightmare. The rain… the screech of tires… the sickening loss oftraction…
