very glad he hadn’t. She was still trying to erase the memory of the last one.
She managed to get herself buckled, then leaned her head back against the seat and tried to ignore the fact that she was in a car that had to have cost a cool quarter million pounds if it’d been a hundred quid. She couldn’t say she was up on too many current events—it wasn’t her preferred century, after all—but she did love cars, and she had found over the years of teaching that a little knowledge of what a college-aged boy might be interested in had tended to earn her a few brownie points.
The question was, how had John de Piaget possibly afforded the kind of car she was riding in?
And how was it he was driving as easily as if he’d been doing it his entire adult life?
She looked out the window, watching the dark gray of the morning give way to something only slightly less gloomy. She waited until John had stopped outside the station, then put on her most polite, uninterested expression.
“Thank you very much,” she said, not caring that it sounded rather more prim than it should have. “I appreciate the rescue.”
He looked at his hands on the wheel. “My business will take a good part of the day,” he said slowly, “but I’ll ferry you home, if you like.”
“Peaches can come get me,” she said, then she stopped when she realized that wasn’t true. Her sister was booked again for the whole of the afternoon and into the evening with more client consultations. The perils of doing business with people living eight hours behind her.
Well, it didn’t matter. She would call a cab, or take a bus, or walk. If worst came to worst, she could hike across country and get home as the crow flew. She didn’t have to allow the man sitting next to her to give her any help.
All in keeping with her determination to avoid him at all costs, of course.
He pulled out his wallet, removed a card from it, then wrote something on the back. He looked at it for several excruciatingly long moments, then held it out toward her, not looking at her.
“If you wrap up your business early and are up for a bit of explore, come find me here,” he said. “If all goes well, I’ll be finished about three. My mobile number’s on the front. “
“Are you in class?” she asked, taking the card as if it had been a live thing.
“Something like that,” he said abruptly. He turned away and immediately got out of the car.
Well, he obviously wasn’t much for personal questions. She didn’t bother to wonder why not because the answer was staring her fully in the face. Beyond reason, beyond any sane rationalization, beyond anything reasonable, she was having her door currently opened by a man who she absolutely knew wasn’t what he was pretending to be.
He held out his hand to help her out of the car.
And time stopped.
She wasn’t one to indulge in thoughts of magical moments or slices of time where Karma was doing what she did, but she was left with no choice but to acknowledge that she was, unwillingly and with a good deal of unease, facing one of those moments. The world had gone still and quiet, as if it along with time held its breath for something monumental to happen.
Tess didn’t dare look at John to see if he was wrapped up in the same bit of stardusty sort of stuff she was. She simply took a very careful breath and put her hand into his.
As if she’d done it a million unthinking, unremarkable times before.
Only she hadn’t.
Time sighed.
She took a deep breath, then allowed John de Piaget to help her from the car. And as she did so, she reminded herself that she wasn’t unaccustomed to dating powerful, intelligent, or important men. She was equally practiced in encountering on a business level extremely intimidating, brilliant, and famous men. If she could handle all that, she could surely deal with the touch of John’s hand. It didn’t have to mean anything.
A pity that, despite her protests, it did.
She pulled her hand
She managed to get herself buckled, then leaned her head back against the seat and tried to ignore the fact that she was in a car that had to have cost a cool quarter million pounds if it’d been a hundred quid. She couldn’t say she was up on too many current events—it wasn’t her preferred century, after all—but she did love cars, and she had found over the years of teaching that a little knowledge of what a college-aged boy might be interested in had tended to earn her a few brownie points.
The question was, how had John de Piaget possibly afforded the kind of car she was riding in?
And how was it he was driving as easily as if he’d been doing it his entire adult life?
She looked out the window, watching the dark gray of the morning give way to something only slightly less gloomy. She waited until John had stopped outside the station, then put on her most polite, uninterested expression.
“Thank you very much,” she said, not caring that it sounded rather more prim than it should have. “I appreciate the rescue.”
He looked at his hands on the wheel. “My business will take a good part of the day,” he said slowly, “but I’ll ferry you home, if you like.”
“Peaches can come get me,” she said, then she stopped when she realized that wasn’t true. Her sister was booked again for the whole of the afternoon and into the evening with more client consultations. The perils of doing business with people living eight hours behind her.
Well, it didn’t matter. She would call a cab, or take a bus, or walk. If worst came to worst, she could hike across country and get home as the crow flew. She didn’t have to allow the man sitting next to her to give her any help.
All in keeping with her determination to avoid him at all costs, of course.
He pulled out his wallet, removed a card from it, then wrote something on the back. He looked at it for several excruciatingly long moments, then held it out toward her, not looking at her.
“If you wrap up your business early and are up for a bit of explore, come find me here,” he said. “If all goes well, I’ll be finished about three. My mobile number’s on the front. “
“Are you in class?” she asked, taking the card as if it had been a live thing.
“Something like that,” he said abruptly. He turned away and immediately got out of the car.
Well, he obviously wasn’t much for personal questions. She didn’t bother to wonder why not because the answer was staring her fully in the face. Beyond reason, beyond any sane rationalization, beyond anything reasonable, she was having her door currently opened by a man who she absolutely knew wasn’t what he was pretending to be.
He held out his hand to help her out of the car.
And time stopped.
She wasn’t one to indulge in thoughts of magical moments or slices of time where Karma was doing what she did, but she was left with no choice but to acknowledge that she was, unwillingly and with a good deal of unease, facing one of those moments. The world had gone still and quiet, as if it along with time held its breath for something monumental to happen.
Tess didn’t dare look at John to see if he was wrapped up in the same bit of stardusty sort of stuff she was. She simply took a very careful breath and put her hand into his.
As if she’d done it a million unthinking, unremarkable times before.
Only she hadn’t.
Time sighed.
She took a deep breath, then allowed John de Piaget to help her from the car. And as she did so, she reminded herself that she wasn’t unaccustomed to dating powerful, intelligent, or important men. She was equally practiced in encountering on a business level extremely intimidating, brilliant, and famous men. If she could handle all that, she could surely deal with the touch of John’s hand. It didn’t have to mean anything.
A pity that, despite her protests, it did.
She pulled her hand
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