But it was only a moment. The next second, he’d got into the car leaving me standing there staring into space, my heart beating unreasonably fast.
God, what was wrong with me? He was just a man. A rich man, yes, and powerful, but a man all the same. And I knew all about men. They were either stoic like my dad and my middle brother, Dev. Or they were cheeky and fun like my two older brothers, Jase and Justin. Or quiet like George, my youngest brother.
Or pretending to be nice and ending up a sleaze like Mark.
But Mr Evans didn’t fit into any of those categories. There was something burning inside him that none of the men I knew had, something that sparked and crackled like an arc welder melting metal.
I had no idea why that fascinated me or why I’d ended up standing there staring into space because he’d glanced at me...
It’s not static, remember?
But the thought was an uncomfortable one, so I pushed it away before it could settle, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side, getting back behind the wheel.
I reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the pair of them as I did so.
Mr Evans’s dark head was bent and he was whispering in the woman’s ear. She was sitting very close, half turned towards him, her hand spread on the broad expanse of his chest, and she gave a soft giggle.
Ugh. Were they going to carry on like that the whole way? Not that it was any of my business what they did and not that I was at all bothered by it. I’d seen worse over the years I’d been driving.
Ignoring my strangely hot cheeks, I jerked my gaze away from the mirror and stared out of the front windscreen instead.
‘Back to your hotel, Mr Evans?’ I tried to sound cheerful and professional and completely relaxed about what was happening behind me.
‘Yes,’ Mr Evans said.
His voice had gone even deeper and grittier, a thread of heat curling through it, and, despite myself, I glanced into the mirror again, drawn inexplicably by the sound.
He was watching me, a hot blue flame glowing in the depths of his eyes.
My mouth dried and my heart kicked in my chest, which was totally ridiculous, because him looking at me shouldn’t affect me like that. Not after Mark and the way he used to stare at me from behind his computer in the workshop. Making me feel as if I’d had a bath in a tub full of grease.
So there shouldn’t have been any reason why I felt restless and hot. Why the expression in Mr Evans’s eyes connected to something hungry inside me. Something he saw that I hadn’t realised was there.
Something I didn’t understand.
I looked away before I could stop myself and then felt instantly annoyed. As if I’d retreated somehow, which was a mistake when dealing with a guy like him.
Get it together, Little. You shouldn’t be playing games anyway.
I definitely shouldn’t, not that I was a game player anyway. But there was a reason I’d managed to manoeuvre my way into driving for him and it wasn’t because he’d turned out to be hot shit on a stick.
I had a mission and I had to keep that in mind.
Determined not to look again, I started the limo and pulled away from the kerb, concentrating squarely on driving and not on the man behind me.
Except I found the low rumble of his voice distracting. There was a velvety texture to it, a kind of huskiness that made me feel shivery.
The engines of the Pythons sounded like that. A deep purr, like a giant cat. I loved the sound of those engines, loved those cars, sleek and dangerous and powerful.
Taking one of them for a spin around the track was a huge rush, an adrenaline hit I’d craved right from the first moment I’d sat behind the wheel and the engine had turned over, throbbing like a giant heartbeat.
The rush of speed had been the perfect way to deal with all the messy teenage emotions I hadn’t known how to handle, the emotions that Dad hadn’t known how to handle either, and so I’d taken to the track to drive whenever I was feeling upset or needing an emotional release.
Speed was better than crying and there was nothing like hitting the gas hard and throwing a powerful car around a few corners.
Ever since then, the revving purr of a V8 engine had made me feel good. Made me feel reckless and powerful. And listening to Mr Evans talk, his voice thrumming through me like one of those engines, a deep vibrating rumble that I could feel in my chest and lower, in my sex, made me feel that same way.
What would it be like to drive him?