"Taking you for a ride, angel!"
He pushed a cassette into the tape player, then settled back in his seat, right hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, left arm propped on the door frame. Harry Connick, Jr., blared out of the speakers-"Just Kiss Me. " The road stretched out before them like a ribbon, flat and snaking around canebrakes and copses of trees, skipping over fingers of Bayou Breaux. Driveways to plantations blinked past, and the countryside grew wilder with every second.
Laurel looked behind her, toward rapidly retreating civilization, and kicked herself mentally for taking such a ridiculous chance.
"I don't want to go for a ride! I want to go home!" she shouted, smacking Jack hard on the shoulder with a fist. "Turn this car around right now!"
"Can't!" he called back to her.
"The hell you can't!"
Jack started to shoot her another grin, but swallowed it as she reached into her purse and pulled out a gun.
"Jesus!"
"Stop the damn car!"
She looked mad enough to shoot him. Her dark brows were drawn together in a furious scowl, her mouth pressed into a thin white line. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, and the wind was tearing at her hair and making her blink, but none of that negated the fact that she had a stainless steel Lady Smith clutched between her dainty little hands.
He jerked his attention back to the road. They were coming up too fast on a sharp lefthand curve. He let off the gas and touched the brake, shifting down into fourth. The engine roared in protest, but the 'Vette came under control, rocking only slightly as it bent around the curve. They might have made it if it hadn't been for the alligator taking up half the road.
"Shit!"
"Aaaahhh!"
He swerved to miss the gator, but they missed the end of the curve, as well, right-side wheels hitting the shoulder and yanking the 'Vette off the road. Jack fought with the steering wheel to keep the car upright, swearing a blue streak through clenched teeth. Their momentum sent them crashing through the dense undergrowth, the 'Vette bucking and rocking like a spooked horse, brush and grass and cattails whipping at the windshield. They finally came to rest at the base of a sweetgum tree, just inches from smashing into the trunk. Just beyond the tree the land became water.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God," Laurel muttered over and over. She was shaking like a palsy victim. The gun lay at her feet, and she stared at it, grateful she hadn't taken the safety off.
Jack leaned over and caught her chin in his hand, turning her face toward him. "Are you okay? Are you all right?" he demanded, his voice harsh and low. He was breathing as hard as if he'd carried the car out here on his back.
Laurel looked at him, stunned, shaken. "You're bleeding."
"What?"
"You're bleeding."
Lifting a hand, she brushed at a line of red above his left eye, smearing it with her thumb. He caught her by the wrist and drew back to see the blood on her hand, then looked in the cockeyed rearview mirror to check out the wound himself.
"Must'a hit the windshield."
"You should have worn your seat belt," Laurel mumbled, still too shaken to be coherent. "You might have been killed."
"No one would'a missed me, sugar," he said darkly as he fought to get his door open. Swearing in French, he gave up and climbed over it to survey the damage to the car.
An ominous hiss sounded beneath the long, sleek hood; steam billowed out from under it. The paint job was shot, scratched all to hell by the bushes and saplings they had crashed through. The wheels would be out of alignment, and it would be a pure damn miracle if the undercarriage wasn't twisted.
"Oh, man, Savannah 's gonna have my ass."
"Not if I have it first," Laurel said, stepping across the console to crawl over Jack's door. Hers was operational, but too near the trunk of a willow to get open. With both feet planted on the squishy, oozy ground, she faced Jack, her hands jammed on her hips and fury lighting a fire in her eyes. "Of all the stupid, irresponsible-"
"Me?" He slapped his hands against his chest, incredulous. "You were the one pointing the gun!"
"-moronic, sophomoric, juvenile things to do. I can't believe anyone would-" She broke off as he started laughing. "What?"
He only laughed harder, wiping at his eyes, holding his stomach.
Laurel frowned. "I don't see the least little thing funny about this."
"Oh-yeah-you got a lawyer's sense of humor all right." Jack straightened and tried to compose himself. "The whole thing's ridiculous. Doncha see it? You, you prim little angel, pull a gun on me. We almost hit an alligator-" He broke off and started laughing again.
Laurel watched him, feeling her temper let go by degrees. They were safe. Savannah 's car was worse for wear, but no one had been hurt. As anger and fear subsided, she began to see the lunacy of the situation. How would they ever explain it? She put a hand to her mouth and giggled.
Jack caught the motion and the stifled sound. He looked at her, at the sparkle in her eyes and the shaking of her shoulders as laughter tried to escape, and he felt as though he'd been hit in the head all over again. On impulse he reached out and pulled her hand down, grinning like an idiot at the bright smile that lit up her face. Dieu, she was pretty…
"I don't know what I'm laughing about," she said, embarrassed.
"I don't care." He shook his head, stepping closer. "But you oughta do it more often, angel."
Her glasses were askew, and he took them off as he moved closer still. Laurel stopped laughing… stopped breathing. Her gaze was locked on his face. Her body was very aware of his nearness, responding to it in ways that were instinctive and fundamentally feminine-warming, melting. She was backed up against the side of the car, caught between an immovable object and an irresistible force. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, lowering his mouth toward hers inch by inch.
She should have moved. She should have stopped him. She didn't know much about this man, and what she did know was hardly good. He was-what had Savannah called him?-a writer, a rake, a rogue. He was a man with a reputation for seduction and a past that was probably shady, to say the very least. He had no business touching her, and she had no business wanting him to. She should have stopped him. But she didn't.
She shivered at the first touch of his lips, blinking as if the contact had given her a shock. He held her gaze, his eyes dark and intense, mesmerizing. Then he settled his mouth over hers, and thought ceased. Her eyes drifted shut. Her hands wound into the fabric of his shirt. Jack pulled her close, slanting his mouth across hers, taking possession of it. At the first intrusion of his tongue, she gasped a little, and he took full advantage, thrusting slowly, deeply, into the honeyed warmth of her mouth.
She tasted sweet, and she felt like heaven against him. Jack groaned deep in his chest and pressed closer. The scent of her filled his head. Not expensive perfume, but soap and baby powder. He spread his legs and inched closer, fire shooting through him as his thighs brushed the outside of hers and his groin nudged her belly.
The need was instantaneous and stronger than anything he'd known in a long time. Strong enough to make him think, something he generally avoided doing when he was enjoying a lady's charms. It was crazy to want like this.
Crazy… She'd had a breakdown. She was vulnerable, fragile. Like Evie had been.
Desire died like a flame that had been suddenly doused. Jesus, what kind of jerk was he? He didn't bother to answer that question. It was a matter of record. He was the kind of man who took what he wanted and never gave a thought to anyone else. Selfish, self-absorbed. He had no business touching her.
Laurel opened her eyes as Jack stepped away. She felt dizzy, weak, as shaken as she had been when the car had finally rolled to a halt. Like a woman in a daze, she lifted a hand and touched her fingers to her lips, lips that felt hot and swollen and thoroughly kissed. Her skin seemed to be melting-warm, wet-then she blinked and realized with no small amount of surprise that it had started to rain.
The sky that had shone in various shades of blue all day like a lovely sapphire had gone suddenly leaden. Weather in the Atchafalaya was always capricious. A perfect afternoon could yield to a hurricane by evening, or a tornado, or a shower. Showers could become torrential downpours in the blink of an eye.
"We should get the top up on the car," she said blankly, her body not receiving any of her brain's commands to move.