tightened. “A Scottish fly.”
“Enough making fun of me, woman. Put it on.”
Violet didn’t look like a fly in her gear. She looked adorable.
They hadn’t lain together since the night in Berkshire. Daniel had spent all the nights since reliving every moment of what they’d done. Every heated, erotic moment.
But Daniel had no intention of ruining what they’d begun by pushing her too hard. To that end, they had separate bedchambers in the Grande Hotel, filled their days working on the motorcar, and filled their nights showing Violet the splendors of Paris.
Daniel had Violet get the car moving forward again and guided her to the first gear, then to second. When they were moving along at a smooth pace, it was time for the top gear. “Ease in more on the throttle. More . . . more . . .
The motorcar sped up, then sped up some more. Violet fought the tiller—Daniel really needed to find a more efficient steering mechanism. The wheels skidded on the mud of the farm road, but Violet moved the tiller from side to side, naturally finding her way out of the spin.
The car kept moving. Fast and faster. Fields stark with winter rushed by on either side of them.
Violet flashed Daniel a triumphant look, then she laughed. Wind buffeted them, freezing and bracing.
“It’s like flying!” Violet shouted, and let out a whoop.
Violet embracing the world. A beautiful sight.
The road curved sharply to the right. Violet’s eyes widened as the bend zoomed up fast. Daniel had his hands with hers on the tiller as they pulled it around the bend, the wheels slipping and sliding under them.
The car went into a spin. Daniel was thrown back into his seat, but Violet set her face and hung on to the tiller, her tongue pushed between her teeth. She wrestled with the car, pulling and pushing the brakes and gears until the car came out of its wild skidding and moved in a straight line again.
Daniel thought she’d gear down and stop the car, but Violet gave him a look of wild glee and pushed the motorcar to go even faster. She leaned forward, the joy on her face wonderful to behold.
They were moving fast, faster than Daniel had thought the car would go. The best speed anyone in Europe or America was reaching at the moment was about fifteen to twenty miles per hour. Daniel and Violet had left twenty far behind. Forty was more like it. Or fifty.
Violet let out a wild noise. Every bit of fear in her was gone. She was free. And Daniel loved her.
Desire, liking, admiration, exasperation—all had rolled together to form purest, warmest love. He knew he needed this woman in his life. Always.
Violet threw back her head and laughed. Daniel laughed with her, and she looked over at him, a hot smile on her face.
The next bend made them stop laughing. Violet screamed, pumped the brakes, and worked the tiller. They hit a deep patch of mud, and the motorcar spun freely across the narrow road.
The back end of the car went all the way around, and kept going. Daniel saw the furrowed field coming at them before he grabbed Violet and dragged her down, throwing himself over her.
The back end of the car went up a bank, and the front end swung across loose dirt in a sickening wave. The rear wheels stuck fast, the engine stalled, coughed, and then died. The front wheels at last ceased their wild spinning and went still. A crow cawed as it sailed by them, and then all was silence.
Chapter 29
“Vi.” Daniel wrenched himself up, not liking how still Violet lay beneath him.
Violet blinked and stirred, and Daniel’s heart banged with relief. Her goggles were half off, and she pulled them from her face as Daniel hauled her up.
The car’s back end was mired in a furrow of rich black earth, the front end lifted a little off the ground. They were well and truly stuck.
Violet looked around, then her smile flashed. She let out another whoop and threw her arms around Daniel. “We were going so fast!”
Daniel grinned. “Not anymore.”
Violet didn’t appear to care. She pulled Daniel against her and tried to kiss him, but she banged into his goggles, and she laughed.
Daniel pulled off his goggles and dropped them behind the seat. He closed his arms around her, and their mouths met in a wild frenzy. Daniel was shaking, but not with cold.
The motorcar was a cramped space. But not so cramped Daniel couldn’t lay Violet down across the seat and keep kissing her. Her leather cap came off, her hair wild, and she kissed Daniel back with fervor.
Daniel reached down and slid Violet’s skirts upward. He expected her to break into panic, to push him away when he tugged at her drawers, his hardness heavy on her.
She didn’t. Violet kissed him, ran her hands up his back, pulled off his leather helmet to let it fall outside the car. She let him skim off her drawers, the lawn fluttering like a white flag.
In very little time, he was inside her, connected to her, as he’d been dreaming of for days. Violet’s eyes widened as he thrust, and again Daniel waited for her to dissolve into panic. But Violet lifted herself to him and pulled him close in frantic need.
It was awkward, rushed, crazy, freezing wind pouring over them. But the elation of the wild ride, the watery terror of the crash, the need they’d awakened in each other mixed and combusted.
Violet clung to Daniel as they rocked, he thrusting madly into her. The scent of newly turned earth, the scorched smell of the engine, and the scent of Violet and desire heightened the wild feeling of loving her.
Moments later, Violet’s face softened with the beautiful pleasure he’d taught her to enjoy. Daniel kept going, feeling himself start to release far, far too soon.
“Love. Love.” He scraped back her hair, his lips heavy on hers. He shuddered, burying himself as far as he could in her warmth, softness, scent.
“Love,” Daniel said one more time, his heart in the word. Violet touched his face as they both found the height of release, kissing, clutching, holding.
Daniel shuddered again as he wound down, their kisses softening into heat and languid joy. The frigid wind rushed around them, but the look in Violet’s eyes warmed him like a midsummer sun.
A farmer with a draft horse had to drag them out of the mud. How embarrassing. Violet stood by, her clothing restored, while Daniel chatted amiably with the farmer, drawing a smile from the dour-faced man. Charming the world as usual.
The car wouldn’t start again—mud in the fuel pump, Daniel said, and the driveshaft might be bent. The farmer had to pull them all the way back to where Simon waited with the cart to take the motorcar into Paris.
“Aye, well,” Daniel said, shrugging away the damage with his usual aplomb. “If I miss the Paris trial, I can have it fixed up for Nice. This sweetheart will do well on the hill-climb, I’m thinking.”
“I couldn’t stop it,” Violet said. She wondered in the next moment whether she meant the car or her grab at Daniel that had led to them making love.
That coupling had been rapid and raw. It should have frightened Violet into one of her attacks of hysterics, but it hadn’t.
Perhaps the amazing freedom of the speed she’d found, the crazed fear of the spin and crash, and Daniel’s body hard on top of hers had let loose a wildness inside her, pushing away fear.
The feeling of the car responding for her and her body connecting with it had been almost as heady as connecting with Daniel. She couldn’t stop her smiles at Daniel as they sat in the motorcar, now rolling behind the sturdy draft horse. Daniel’s dark amber eyes were warm as he smiled back. Violet wanted to wrap the day around her and keep it forever.
But that night Daniel said they needed to continue their hunt for Jacobi.
