Page 89 of Feeding Hope
The way he touched her made her feel beautiful—unrushed, claimed in the gentlest way. His thick southern accent sent shivers straight down her spine, and the way his eyes lingered, unhurried and appreciative, stole her breath in the best possible way.
“Well…” She glanced at the clock, grounding herself. “I should probably get cleaned up so we can get to work on time. We have a door to get replaced and a mess to clean up.”
“Don’t,” Frost murmured, his mouth brushing her collarbone.
She tilted her head back, giving him access. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t wash me off.”
The request sent heat blooming across her cheeks. Could she really go into work knowing she still carried him on her skin?
“Do it for me.”
“I still need to put clothes on,” she said lightly. “Unless you want other men to see me naked.”
Frost stilled immediately, lifting his head. His expression sharpened. “That’s not funny.”
Constance smirked and swatted at him, laughter easing the tension. When he finally let her go, she sauntered back toward the bedroom to get dressed—trying, and failing, to wrap her head around the fact that she was sleeping with… maybe dating…
A biker.
Chapter Ten.
Constance scooped up the keys to her minivan then changed her mind. Hanging them up she grabbed the ones for the GTO. Picking up her purse she headed for the door and was surprised when Frost held out his hand for the keys.
“You gonna let me drive your car?”
“If you want to drive my car, I’ll let you.” She dropped the keys into his hand, “what about your bike?”
Frost looked at her. “You wanna ride my bike into town?”
“Does that mean drive?” She asked, looking at him quizzically.
Frost chuckled then gave her the run down on motorcycle verbiage. “You drive a car and ride a bike. You’re a rider on a bike and a driver in a car.”
“So, no, I don’t want to ride your bike into town while you drive my car. Not that I could.”
“Now that we have that decided, let’s see what this old junky car can do.”
Frost chuckled when Constance slapped him. “Go!” she told him.
He made sure to open the passenger door for her and make sure she was settled before he closed the door. His mama hadn’t raised no fool. A man always made sure his woman…shit, was put in the car before they got into the safety of the car.
Frost swore at himself as he moved around the hood of the car. Opening the driver’s door he slid in behind the wheel.Sliding the key into the ignition and turning the key. When the engine turned over, the deep, chest-thumping rumble sounded with a low, uneven lope that sounded like the car was breathing slowly and heavy through its nose.
Pressing gently on the gas the v8 engine idled with the feeling of the ground shaking beneath it. The muscular thrum-thrum-thrum could be felt in his rubs more than hearing it in his ears. With the mufflers Constance had on it, the car sounded straight old school, not choked to death. It sounded fat and throaty, not tiny.
He sat there enjoying the hollow bass that sounded like a drum being beat inside a steel barrel. Tapping the throttle again Frost smiled at the sharp confident bark then the rolling rumble. like it knew exactly how much power it was holding back.
Shifting into reverse he backed up then shifted into drive and pressed the gas as he drove the car down the driveway then turned onto the road. He looked at Constance and saw her smiling then she gave him the signal he could open her up.
The acceleration had the mufflers opening up, a roaring growl, smooth aggressive bass. Loud. Controlled. Dominant.Since he had her permission Frost put the GTO through its paces down the country roads all the way into town.
As they drove Constance thought about how little she asked him last night. “How old are you?” She asked, curious about it. Not that it mattered. At. All.
“How old are you?” Frost asked, turning the question back on her.
Constance cleared her throat, “I’m fifty-four.”
