Rhett dangled the car keys in front of my face, a grin curling his lips. We stood on the curb in front of my shiny, new-to-me Chevy sedan. It wasn’t flashy or fancy like his Porsche, but it would serve the purpose. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. When I told Dad and Jo I was buying a car, my father had cursed, and my sister had said nothing, the frown on her face expressing her feelings on the matter. This time, however, I’d let their disapproval roll off my back, confident in my ability to learn something new.

“Don’t be nervous,” Rhett said before pressing a kiss to my forehead. We’d been together almost a month, but I still got butterflies when his lips touched me. “You’ll be fine.”

Carter had delivered the car a week earlier. He’d taken it as security on a failed bond from one of his clients and sold it to me for pennies on the dollar. Yesterday, I’d driven it around the parking lot of an abandoned factory. Today would be my first time on the road.

“Easy for you to say,” I replied, wiping my damp palms on my skirt.

“If anyone should be nervous, it would be me. You almost killed us yesterday.”

“I did not. Not even close.”

“I’m teasing you.” He chucked me under the chin and opened the passenger door for me to slide inside. Although the worst of my OCD behaviors had subsided, I still didn’t always comprehend innuendo, subtext, or sarcasm and probably never would.

We headed toward the country with Rhett driving. Once we left the city, where I could drive without the interference of heavy traffic, we changed places, and I took the wheel.

“Left foot on the clutch. Right foot on the gas,” Rhett said. “Now ease out with your left foot.”

I pressed the pedals. The Chevy lurched, hopped, and jerked to a stop. “Shit.”

“It’s okay. Try it again.”

After a deep breath, I gave it another go. Rhett braced a hand against the roof of the car, swearing under his breath. The vehicle jumped forward, slamming both of us back against our seats. I smothered a giggle. My foot slipped off the clutch, and the engine died.

After the third attempt, I managed to drive us to the next stop sign. We were out in the middle of nowhere. Rolling pastures surrounded us. The road stretched on into infinity.

“Again. Not so hard on the gas this time.” Rhett gripped the dash, his knuckles white and straining.

“I’m not touching the gas,” I said.

“Yes, you are. I can see your feet.” Rhett leaned toward me, glancing down at the pedals. A wave of his cologne drifted past my nose. I inhaled, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second, to enjoy his fresh, clean scent. “Shit! Bronte!”

My eyes flew open as the car veered toward the ditch. I yanked the wheel, overcorrecting, sending the vehicle into a slow skid. I hit the brake.

“No, not the brake. Downshift. Clutch! Clutch!” Rhett shouted, but it was too late. The car shuddered and stalled.

“Oh, man.” I drew in a deep breath and turned the key.

“No. Put it in gear.” His mouth turned down. Judging by the tension in his voice, his patience had worn thin. “More gas. You keep forgetting the clutch.”

“Stop yelling at me. Why are you yelling?” My hands shook as I tried to force the car into gear. A horrific grinding noise scalded my ears.

“I’m not yelling. I’m being informative.”

“I can’t do this. It’s too many things at once.” My brain whirled with his commands.

He must have heard my panic, because he put his hand over mine, the one gripping the gearshift. “Hey, hey. You’re doing fine.” When I glanced up at him, his eyes sparkled with humor. “Take a deep breath.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” I said, still frustrated. His laughter reverberated through the car. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Angel, I’m not making fun of you. I’m laughing because you’re right. I suck at this. I am a bad teacher.” The smooth glide of his fingertips over my cheekbone distracted me from an impending breakdown. “And Carter’s a dick for getting a five-speed instead of an automatic.”

“Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I should stick to public transportation.” I searched his eyes, filled with uncertainty.

“We can sell it and get something else.” Rhett smiled at me, his profile sharpened by the sunshine.

“No. I don’t want to give up. Not yet.” I drew in a deep breath, unwilling to accept defeat. “If can recite the periodic table, surely I can drive this thing.”

“You can get this. We both just need to calm down.” He drew my face to his and pressed his mouth to mine, forcing my lips apart with gentle pressure. His tongue probed, sweeping and dancing. A thrill of desire washed over me. I forgot to worry about the car or the gears or the freaking clutch. I buried my fingers in his hair and tilted my head to one side so he could go deeper. When we pulled apart, the car filled with the sound of our heavy breathing.

“You suck at teaching, but you’re absolutely the best kisser ever,” I said.

A blush pinked his cheeks. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, and I appreciated him more for it. I liked everything about this guy—the scent of his shampoo, the taste of salt on his skin, the sincerity in his smile. The more time I spent in his company, the more relaxed I became.

“Have you kissed many guys?” His eyes darkened and the smile fell from his lips.

“A few.” I ducked my head, attempting to avoid this topic.

“What’s that mean?” His tone had morphed from playful to irritated. “Like, two?”

“I don’t know.” Lying never came easily to me. I didn’t want to deceive him, but I didn’t want to admit that I’d been less than virtuous during my high school years. Although Walt had been my only sex partner, I’d made out with more than a few guys before adopting a life of celibacy.

“Yeah, you do. You’re a numbers girl.” He fell silent. The weight of his gaze swept over me. I stared out the windshield. After a dozen heartbeats, he shrugged. “There’s a car coming. We need to get going.”

“You’re angry with me,” I said.

“I’m not mad.” He sighed before shoving a hand through his hair and turning to stare out his window. “I’m jealous.”

“Really?” To my knowledge, no one had ever been jealous over me before. And if he was jealous, it meant he cared. I bit my lower lip to hold back a smile.

“Pull over up here.” He pointed to a dirt road ahead. It led to an abandoned barn surrounded by pasture. A screen of aged oaks and mulberries shielded the property from the road.

I shut off the motor and turned to face him. The heat in his eyes hit me in the pit of my stomach. “What are we doing?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

“Get over here, Bronte.”

I scrambled over the console to straddle him. His hands gripped my butt. We studied each other. Usually, his face carried hints of good humor in the curl of his lips and the corners of his eyes. I searched for traces to indicate he was playing but found nothing. I cupped his jaw and ran a finger over his soft, wide bottom lip. He nipped the tip of my thumb.

“You really are jealous,” I murmured.

“I don’t like the idea of anyone kissing you but me.”

“I haven’t kissed anyone but you in a very long time,” I said, continuing to trace the lines of his face with my hands. His features felt solid and masculine under my touch.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He shifted, pushing his hips upward. The thickness of his erection pressed against my panties. I’d worn a loose teal dress, a denim jacket, and cowboy boots—my favorite outfit. His hands slid beneath the hem of the dress and up my bare thighs.

“Does driving always turn you on like this?” I asked, palming his zipper.

“No, but you do.” One of his hands snaked out to cradle the back of my head. Our mouths snapped together. My fingers flew over his belt buckle and the button of his fly. The zipper growled as I drew it down. “Condom. Back pocket.”

While he lifted his hips, I drew out his wallet and found the foil packet. Our harsh breathing fogged the windows. He pulled the cotton panel of my panties to one side with an index finger. I sheathed him and two seconds later, he was deep, deep inside me. The sensations of fullness and pressure made my body crave more. More kisses. More sex. More Rhett. No matter how much time we spent together, I couldn’t get enough of him. We groaned. I dropped onto him again, taking control. He braced a hand on the ceiling.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “What are you doing to me?”

“Fucking you?” I replied, confused by his question. “I think this is called the cowgirl position.”

“I know that.” His words were clipped, spoken through gritted teeth, laced with a chuckle.

“Oh, that was rhetorical. I thought you were being literal.”

Outside the car, soft rain pattered on the roof. Tingles shot down my legs and into my toes. I rocked faster, lifting and sliding over his cock in long smooth strokes. The outside world faded away until it was just him and me.

“These need to go.” He jammed a finger into the fabric of my panties and with a quick twist of his wrist, tore them in two. This primal act stripped away my self-control. His big hands found my hips and pushed me down onto his erection. The warmth of his fingers, their strength, their gentleness—they were my undoing.

“I’m going to come,” I said as a precursory flutter seized my sex.

“Look at me, Bronte. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

I blinked up at him, unaware until then that I’d had my eyes squeezed shut. Something inside me broke loose at the naked lust in his gaze. I forgot about Walt and all the boys who’d come after him. Rhett became my present and future, consuming my body and mind, stealing my breath, and squeezing my heart.