“Nae.” He opens the driver's side door. I take a step, but he’s climbing in.
“I’m not chivalrous, lass. Hurry up before I leave yer ass too.” Brody flashes a wolfish grin, closing the door.
I grab the handle a second after the door locks. I jiggle the lever and slap my palm against the window. “This is my car!”
Brody cocks his head over his shoulder.
I round the rear and stop at the passenger side. The lock conveniently clicks upward when I extend my hand for it. This time, Brody has reached over and opened the door.
Head lowered, his eyes latch onto mine. “For ye, I’ll be an honorable motherfecker.”
“Oh, how thoughtful.” I climb inside, closing myself into the tiny space with the attractive anti-hero. This isn’t happening. This isn’t—
Brody fiddles with the radio. The old-school knob tracks various stations, ceasing on rock music. I slap a hand on the dial, silencing the space between us. His look slices through my heart. Momma didn’t raise no fool. He could backhand me through this window.
“You know what?” I play with the radio, return it to the godawful rock music and lower the volume. “You’re helping me, right? With Marcus, I mean.”
“Aye.”
“Then you can drop me off at my family home in Boston. Keep this crappy ass car.”
Brody grunts. “Nae. That’s not the way these things go, Justice.”
“Too bad. I offered nothing. No sex. Zilch, Brody. No offense if that wasn’t your aim.” Damn, the imaginary yellow tape across his solid chest hasn’t helped, and I need my own reminder. No sex!
“Nae offense taken. Ye hit the nail on the heid. Me fecking ye is inevitable.” His sexy lips twist up a beat. They flatten to his usual scowl. He fiddles with the lever on the left side of the driver seat, using the force of his weight to adjust it. A seatbelt should secure a ton, maybe more as determined by velocity or force or whatever, but Brody’s a million bricks, tossing his weight back.
“Stop!” I pop his arm. My palm is left stinging from his strength. “Hey, this is my car.”
A screech assaults my ear while the chair strains. Steel clashes. His hips thrust, and my thighs clamp together. Shit, years of celibacy later, and I’ve grown susceptible to anything. “I said, stop!”
“Ye offered me this hunk-oh-crap, remember?” Brody gives the seat another shove, and his long, muscular legs stretch out.
“Jesus, you are incorrigible.”
“Nae, Justice. I’m Brody fecking MacKenzie. Ye’re right. I don’t help ya out of the kindness of my heart. I ain’t got one. So, when ye decide to sit on my face, these here lips and this here beard will cushion yer pussy while ye ride.”
A raging tsunami starts at the outer walls of my sex, rippling through each fold. I contain the traitorous response and throw daggers his way. “You haven’t earned any favors from me. Got that?” The sharp curves of his face are chiseled in unreadable stone as I ask again, “You got that?”
The broody bastard ignores me, shifts into gear, and stomps the gas. I bet he expected a swift escape. The late-model Honda plods out of the parking spot. While he might break every rule in the game of life, my car drives the speed limit, and I have my own rules too.