"Why don't you sit in it? Get the feel of it?" Encouraged by her laugh, he took her arm and tugged her toward the driver's side. "It only has about twenty thousand miles on it."
Murphy had warned him that bringing back a new car would be as foolish as spitting into the wind.
Willing to humor him, Brianna climbed in and set her hands on the wheel. "Very nice. It feels just like a car."
"But do you like it?" He propped his elbows on the base of the window and grinned at her.
"It's a fine car, Gray, and I'm sure you'll enjoy the driving of it."
"It's yours."
"Mine? What do you mean it's mine?"
"That old crate of yours is going to junkyard heaven. Murphy and I agreed it was hopeless, so I bought you this."
He yelped when she jerked open the door and caught him smartly on the shin. "Well, you can just take it back where it came from." Her voice was ominously cool as he rubbed his throbbing shin. "I'm not ready to buy a new car, and when I am I'll decide for myself."
"You're not buying it. I'm buying it. I bought it." He straightened and faced the ice with what he was certain was sheer reason. "You needed reliable transportation, and I've provided it. Now stop being so stiff-necked."
"Stiff-necked, is it? Well, 'tis you who's being arrogant, Grayson Thane. Going out and buying a car without a by-your-leave. I won't have such decisions taken out of my hands, and I don't need to be tended to like a child."
She wanted to shout. He could see she was fighting the urge with every breath, covering raging temper with an icy dignity that made him want to smile. Being a wise man, he kept his expression sober.
"It's a gift, Brianna."
"A box of chocolates is a gift."
"A box of chocolates is a cliche," he corrected, then backtracked. "Let's just say this is my version of a box of chocolates." He shifted, cleverly trapping her between his body and the side of the car. "Do you want me worried about you every time you drive off to the village?"
"There's no need for you to worry."
"Of course there is." Before she could evade, he slipped his arms around her. "I visualize you tottering back up the road with nothing more than a steering wheel in your hand."
"It's your imagination that's to blame for that." She turned her head, but his lips managed to brush her neck. "Stop it. You won't get around me that way."
Oh, but he thought he would. "Do you really have a hundred pounds to toss away on a lost cause, my practical Brianna? And do you really want to ask poor Murphy to tinker with that useless heap every other day just so you can keep your pride?"
She started to snarl, but he covered her lips firmly with his. "You know you don't," he murmured. "It's just a car, Brianna. Just a thing."
Her head was starting to spin. "I can't accept such a thing from you. Will you stop nuzzling me! I've guests in the parlor."
"I've been waiting all day to nuzzle you. Actually, I've been waiting all day to get you back in bed. You smell wonderful."
"It's the rosemary from the herb bed. Stop this. I can't think."
"Don't think. Just kiss me. Just once." If her head hadn't been reeling, she would have known better. But his lips were already on .hers, and hers were softening, parting. Welcoming.
He took it slow, deepening the kiss degree by lazy degree, savoring her gradual warming, the delicate scent of
the herbs that clung to the hands she lifted to his face, the gentle, almost reluctant yielding of her body to his.
For a moment he forgot the move had been one of persuasion, and simply enjoyed.
"You have such a wonderful mouth, Brianna." He nibbled at it, pleasing himself. "I wonder how I managed to stay away from it for so long."
"You're trying to distract me."
"I have distracted you. And myself." He drew her back to arm's length, marveling that what he'd intended to be a playful kiss had set his heart thundering. "Let's forget practicality, and all the other intellectual reasons I was going to use to convince you to take the damn car. I want to do this for you. It's important to me. It would make me happy if you'd accept it."
She could have stood firm against the practical, ignored the reason of the intellect. But how could she refuse this quiet request, or hold back from the steady look in his eyes?
" Tisn't fair to use my heart," she murmured.
"I know that." He swore impatiently. "I know it. I should walk away from you right now, Brianna. Pack up, move out and get gone." He swore again as she kept her eyes level. "There'll probably come a time you'll wish I had."
"No, I won't." She folded her hands together, afraid if she touched him she might cling. "Why did you buy me this car, Grayson?"
"Because you needed it," he tossed out, then steadied himself. "Because I needed to do something for you. It's not that big a deal, Brie. The money's nothing to me."
Her brow quirked. "Oh, I know it. You're rolling in pound notes, aren't you? Do you think all your fine money matters to me, Grayson? That I care for you because you can buy me new cars?"
He opened his mouth, closed it again, oddly humbled. "No, I don't. I don't think it matters to you in the least." "Well, then, we understand that." He was so needy, she thought, and didn't even know. The gift had been as much for himself as it was for her. And that, she could accept. She turned around to take another look at the car. "This was a kind thing you did, and I haven't been properly grateful-not for the thought or the deed."
He felt oddly like a small boy about to be forgiven for some careless bit of mischief. "So, you'll keep it." "Aye." She turned back, kissed him. "And thank you." His grin broke out. "Murphy owes me five pounds." "Wagered on me, did you?" Amusement colored her voice. It was so typical. "His idea."
"Mmm. Well, why don't I go in and see if my guests are happy, then we can go for a little drive."
He came to her that night, as she'd hoped he would, and again the night after, as guests slept peacefully upstairs. Her inn was full, as she liked it best. When she sat down with her accounts, it was with a light heart. She was nearly ready to buy her material for the greenhouse.
He found her at her little desk, bundled in her robe, tapping a pen against her lips, her eyes dreamy.
"Are you thinking of me?" he murmured, bending down to nuzzle her neck.
"Actually, I was thinking of southern exposure and treated glass."