cushioned seat, except it had lost any semblance of comfortable long before she’d bought it off the used car lot. Still, she was off her feet, and that was all that really mattered.
She inserted the key and turned it.
Nothing.
Not even a chugga-chugga.
She let off, counted to five, then turned it again.
Nothing.
This was so not happening.
She turned the key again and heard the soft purr of an engine. No chugga-chugga? Had her car miraculously healed itself? Cool. She frowned. Except the dash lights hadn’t come on.
She looked up. There was a sleek black convertible sitting beside her car—Rogar was behind the wheel. A Jaguar, no less. Her dream car. The one she’d cut out of a magazine and put on her vision board that hung on the wall in her bedroom.
Rogar smiled.
She quite possibly hated him. He’d had the nerve to take the last of her money, then flaunt his fancy clothes and expensive car? Her some-day-in-the-distant-future car! She glared at him, but it didn’t seem to faze him. All she wanted to do was leave, forget about him. She turned the key one more time.
Nothing happened.
Great, just freaking great. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and opened her door, slamming it closed after she got out. She didn’t look at his high-dollar car or at him, but instead, marched past with her head held high.
A car door opened and closed, then his hand was on her arm, effectively stopping her. She turned and glared at him.
“Go away.”
“You need a ride home.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Why not?”
She stopped and stared at him. He really didn’t get it. “Because I don’t like you.”
He frowned. “Really?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
A mental picture of how he’d worked with Sheba formed. What he’d done had taken courage. Rogar had probably saved that boy’s life. “Okay, maybe not liking you is too strong—” she conceded, “but I don’t care to be in your company.”
“Then don’t, but at least let me take you home.”
She sighed. “But I’ll still need to get my car at some point.”
“I’ll take care of that, too.”
She didn’t want to accept his offer. What she wanted to do was sit in the middle of the parking lot and bawl. Would she ever catch a decent break?
“Let me be your hero,” he spoke softly, his words like a warm breeze drifting over her.
“I don’t want a hero.” She hated that her bottom lip trembled.
“But you do need saving right now. At least, let me do that.”
What choice did she have? “Okay, you can take me home, but that’s all.”
He smiled.
Why did she feel as though he’d played her just as much as he’d played Sheba this afternoon? But then, what choice did she have? Right now, she really did need a hero.
They walked back to his car, and she slid into the passenger seat. Black leather cupped her body in pure luxury. This was what a real car felt like. God, it was almost an orgasmic experience.
Rogar got in on the driver’s side and started the car. It purred to life. She could almost feel the car’s energy, the sheer power under the hood.
He clutched and shifted, grinding the engine. She flinched.
“You do know how to drive, don’t you?”
“Your vehicles are antiquated compared to those on New Symtaria, but I’m sure it won’t take me long to have everything down.”
“Well, la-te-dah.”
He glanced in her direction. “We push a button and our mode of transportation takes us where we want to go.”
“That sounds like loads of fun,” she mumbled. Superior her foot. He didn’t even realize what he was driving. The Jag was unsurpassed by any other vehicle as far as she was concerned. This was the car that made her drool, and he was grinding gears.
He pulled out of the employee parking lot, not even bothering to stop at the Stop sign.
“You do know how to read English, don’t you?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Of course.”
“You just ran a Stop sign.”
His
She inserted the key and turned it.
Nothing.
Not even a chugga-chugga.
She let off, counted to five, then turned it again.
Nothing.
This was so not happening.
She turned the key again and heard the soft purr of an engine. No chugga-chugga? Had her car miraculously healed itself? Cool. She frowned. Except the dash lights hadn’t come on.
She looked up. There was a sleek black convertible sitting beside her car—Rogar was behind the wheel. A Jaguar, no less. Her dream car. The one she’d cut out of a magazine and put on her vision board that hung on the wall in her bedroom.
Rogar smiled.
She quite possibly hated him. He’d had the nerve to take the last of her money, then flaunt his fancy clothes and expensive car? Her some-day-in-the-distant-future car! She glared at him, but it didn’t seem to faze him. All she wanted to do was leave, forget about him. She turned the key one more time.
Nothing happened.
Great, just freaking great. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and opened her door, slamming it closed after she got out. She didn’t look at his high-dollar car or at him, but instead, marched past with her head held high.
A car door opened and closed, then his hand was on her arm, effectively stopping her. She turned and glared at him.
“Go away.”
“You need a ride home.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Why not?”
She stopped and stared at him. He really didn’t get it. “Because I don’t like you.”
He frowned. “Really?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
A mental picture of how he’d worked with Sheba formed. What he’d done had taken courage. Rogar had probably saved that boy’s life. “Okay, maybe not liking you is too strong—” she conceded, “but I don’t care to be in your company.”
“Then don’t, but at least let me take you home.”
She sighed. “But I’ll still need to get my car at some point.”
“I’ll take care of that, too.”
She didn’t want to accept his offer. What she wanted to do was sit in the middle of the parking lot and bawl. Would she ever catch a decent break?
“Let me be your hero,” he spoke softly, his words like a warm breeze drifting over her.
“I don’t want a hero.” She hated that her bottom lip trembled.
“But you do need saving right now. At least, let me do that.”
What choice did she have? “Okay, you can take me home, but that’s all.”
He smiled.
Why did she feel as though he’d played her just as much as he’d played Sheba this afternoon? But then, what choice did she have? Right now, she really did need a hero.
They walked back to his car, and she slid into the passenger seat. Black leather cupped her body in pure luxury. This was what a real car felt like. God, it was almost an orgasmic experience.
Rogar got in on the driver’s side and started the car. It purred to life. She could almost feel the car’s energy, the sheer power under the hood.
He clutched and shifted, grinding the engine. She flinched.
“You do know how to drive, don’t you?”
“Your vehicles are antiquated compared to those on New Symtaria, but I’m sure it won’t take me long to have everything down.”
“Well, la-te-dah.”
He glanced in her direction. “We push a button and our mode of transportation takes us where we want to go.”
“That sounds like loads of fun,” she mumbled. Superior her foot. He didn’t even realize what he was driving. The Jag was unsurpassed by any other vehicle as far as she was concerned. This was the car that made her drool, and he was grinding gears.
He pulled out of the employee parking lot, not even bothering to stop at the Stop sign.
“You do know how to read English, don’t you?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Of course.”
“You just ran a Stop sign.”
His
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