Page 52 of Roguefinder
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He stopped before one of the gates. Moisture gleamed on the black wood, which looked so old it might as well have been stone. Jesse flipped the cover on a tiny keypad I hadn’t noticed, the shiny steel aggressively modern on the hushed street.
He punched in a code, and the gate swung wide on silent hinges. More cobblestones opened onto a cool, still courtyard lined with potted lemon trees. Somewhere, a fountain splashed. Smooth columns supported ornate arches that led to glittering windows.
But I barely saw any of it, my attention riveted on the car in the center. Glossy black, it crouched low to the ground like a predator about to pounce. Exhaust pipes flared at the rear. The body looked sculpted by hand, every angle screaming speed.
It took me a second to realize my jaw was hanging open.
“Is that a…?”
“Lamborghini,” Jesse said, warm and smug beside me.
“Whose is it?”
“Ours for right now.”
I looked at him. “You rented it?”
“I did.”
“To go for a run in the woods.”
“We need to leave the city first.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather take the bus?”
Protests leapt onto my tongue. I swung back to the car before he could change his mind, and I walked a slow circle around it, excitement like jet fuel in my veins. Through the windshield, charcoal-colored leather stretched over seats stitched with bright red.
“Can I drive it?” I asked, aware I sounded like I’d just ripped a golden ticket out of a chocolate bar.
Jesse went to the driver’s side and opened the door. “When we’re outside the city. Roman traffic will eat you alive.”
“Deal.”
I popped my door and slid into the passenger seat. Leather gave me a welcome hug, and the smell of new car and serious money hit my nose. The dashboard gleamed with a spread of screens and switches that probably cost more than three generations of Lawson family wealth. A charging bull pawed the center of the steering wheel.
“Jesse,” I said as he settled behind the wheel.
“Yeah?”
“I love this car.”
He winked—and I immediately cataloged a new favorite Jesse Expression. “Hold onto something.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I gripped the edges of my seat.
He started the engine. Power charged up my spine and settled between my thighs, a bajillion cylinders of Italian horsepower humming around my dick.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, squeezing the leather.
Jesse chuckled as he eased us through the gate and onto the narrow street. Light from the sconces slid over the hood in little bursts of amber.
We plunged into the heart of Rome, and Jesse navigated the tangled, twisting streets like he’d done it every day for a century. Vespas wove around us trailing their high-pitched whines. A cab driver cut us off, and Jesse didn’t flinch, just dropped a gear and let the engine roar its displeasure.
Monuments and statues flashed past. Tourists in coats and hats crowded the sidewalks. A damp, slate-gray sky hung over everything, but it didn’t diminish the city’s beauty. Or maybe I just viewed it through an upgraded lens. Everything looked better from inside a Lamborghini.
