I should have waited until I could see.
We rocketed down the street. Well, I think it was a street. Adrenaline kept pace with acceleration. I clawed at the coat over my face in literal blind panic, which gave way to clear-sighted panic when I emerged into light and air just in time to narrowly miss a parked Volvo.
The street looped in a U-turn.
Rosemary’s car didn’t.
We jolted up over the curb and passed through a neat, little hedge, winter-bare branches flying in all directions. A porch loomed into view.
A porch?
I cranked the wheel. The car bucked the turn. I knew why. My foot was on the gas but I couldn’t seem to do anything about it. Grass and twigs sprayed in a graceful arc as the bushes that fronted the porch scraped the full length of Rosemary’s car. I wailed my dismay as the car blasted through the hedge on the other side of the yard, then lurched across the driveway in the narrow space between a parked station wagon and a tree.
Though concerned with my own plight, I was still aware of my unexpected passenger. Impossible not to be aware of him when he was using my nose as leverage for his foot. The other foot was still sticking out the sunroof. Part of his mid-section was draped over the gear shift severely hampering my efforts to steer around trees, garbage cans, and bicycles.
I heard him gasp when the car bounced down the curb. I wanted to help him out—or off—but my brain still wasn’t getting through to my foot. Instead of slowing, the car picked up speed until the headlights illuminated a red stop sign. Habit took over from there. The car shrieked in protest. My brain echoed the shriek when my head bounced off the steering wheel a couple of times. We slued left, then right. The ring of stars circling my head did the same, only opposite.
Car and stars stopped. The car was resting against the curb next to the stop sign. The stars settled into my head and became a crown of ouch.
My first feeling was relief.
I wasn’t dead.
Rosemary’s car was okay.
My passenger took his shoe out of my nose and climbed off the gear shift, bringing my attention back to the fact that I wasn’t alone. I was sharing car space with a man someone had been shooting at. Rosemary’s passion for this car was directly related to how much her ex had hated to lose it in the divorce settlement, so retreat was not an option, and I had no weapon. I did take a self-defense course once. All I could remember now was a distractingly cute instructor and something about defensive posture and making a lot of noise. I couldn’t see how noise would help, so I straightened my shoulders into something I hoped looked defensive. It hurt.
“You all right?” he asked.
He didn’t sound dangerous. Careful about what I moved, because I don’t do pain well, I looked at my sun-roof diver. The light wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t too bad to look at. Cute in a classy, upwardly mobile, dazed yuppie kind of way, I couldn’t see his eyes because he was grimacing as he straightened his body into the standard, upright position in the seat. The hair was good, both in cut and color. The streetlight found some blond highlights buried in brown and illuminated them to a pleasing glow. He had to be at least six feet tall because he sat higher in the seat than me and I was five-nine in my stocking feet. His coat-covered shoulders filled all available space, while a heady male scent tightened my chest and turned my breathing almost languorous. Practically a romance novel moment. Perhaps some mental note taking was in order, just in case I survived the encounter?
He sighed, relaxing the grim straightness of his mouth to a weary pout that warmed my insides like gourmet hot chocolate. This was a dangerous man, I realized with an un-Baptist-like thrill. Unease quivered in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t scared and I should be. I should be very scared.
“Get out.” I sounded so firm I startled myself.
He brushed his hair back off the broad, proud expanse of his forehead, seemed surprised to find hand and head still there. With another grimace, he turned and showed me his eyes.
I wasn’t ready for them. Or him. Every nerve ending in my body came to attention. I think some of them saluted. Was that a hallelujah chorus I heard? I jerked my gaze off him and stared out the windshield. A pity I couldn’t resist the urge to peek…
He pushed his hair back again. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but we’ve got to get away from here. Now.”
His voice sent shivers down my spine. His words loosed a horde of questions in my head. Get away from what? I took another peek and found him looking at me like I was the dangerous one. That killed the chorus or at least muted it.
“I have a better idea. Why don't you just get out here—” I made the mistake of turning to glare at him and found my nose almost touching his nose. Like his other parts, it was nice. His eyes were a bright, cool blue and framed by sinfully long lashes. Sounded tame, but his eyes weren’t tame. They were wild, with the kind of cool that burned straight down to the quivering hearts and souls of innocents. He probably walked through life on broken hearts strewn in his path by virgins. Vestal and non-Vestal. No one, no man should be allowed to have eyes so…so…so and spaced just right for maximum impact. His skin was smooth and firm and clean and smelled good, like a TV commercial. Then he had the nerve, the gall, to smile at me. He had this dimple in his right cheek, just the right distance from his mouth to rubberize the hardiest knees.
“Please?” The mouth I was studying
