Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,5

soon enough, too.”

“Wear me down?” I ask, my voice nearly squeaking.

He ignores me. “And I guess I’ll just have to call you Sally until I found out your true name.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Sally?”

Dark eyes crinkle in their corners as his smile widens and turns wicked. There are not butterflies in my belly right now. There aren’t. Maybe an annoying locust swarm, but definitely not butterflies.

“Ya know. Ride, Sally, Ride,” he croons.

And those not-butterflies take flight at the innuendo. Still, I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Clever.”

“Thought so. What can I say? I’m kind of a gearhead.”

Dammit. Why do my insides go all twisty over a man who’s into cars? I just nod as if it’s whatever. “Cool.”

“I can see you’re impressed,” he says, the sarcasm evident in his tone. “All right, Sally.”

“Don’t call me Sally!” I exclaim, punching the leather beside my leg. “That’s a horrible name.”

He gasps in mock horror. “No, it isn’t. It’s a beautiful name. In fact, it’s my grandmother’s.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” I rush out. But when his eyes flash with mischief, I’m pretty sure he’s lying.

“Now that you’ve insulted me, it’s only fair for you to give me your name,” he insists.

I fold my arms and glare at him. This is becoming routine. “That’s not your grandmother’s name, is it?”

His answering smile tells me all I need to know. “Okay, Sally it is. If you’re interested…”

“I’m not.”

He continues as if I hadn’t said a word. “I’m staying here for the summer across the lake. At the old Schaffer place.”

I know the house he’s talking about—one of the biggest on the lake, with the best views. After Mr. Schaffer passed away, his kids couldn’t agree on who’d take it over, so it ended up on the auctioneer’s block in disrepair. I wonder if he’s staying there alone, or with a family.

Or a woman…

I shake the thought out of my head.

It doesn’t matter.

I’m not interested.

“So, yeah. I’ll see you around,” he says. “Stay safe in this weather, okay?”

“Um. Okay. Thanks. You, too.”

We’re locked in a stare down, me waiting for him to leave, him waiting for…who knows what. I squirm under his unnerving scrutiny, and just as I’m about to break the silence, he tosses me an easygoing grin.

“And hey, listen, I really didn’t mean to creep you out, but now, I can see why you’d be uneasy.

“It’s fine,” I respond, surprised that I actually kind of mean it.

“Good. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around this summer, so let’s start over. Next time I see you, I’ll approach. You don’t want that, just tell me and I’ll back off.” He leans in close, and my gaze drifts down to full lips that look oh so good for kissing.

Damn. It’s been too long since I’ve been this immediately attracted to a man. Why does it have to be this one?

Before I can say a word, the man gives me a small squeeze on my bare thigh. The touch elicits chills that shoot straight down to the tips of my toes. But then he pops the door open and hops out, gone before I can even feign outrage that he dared to touch me.

That was the longest conversation I’ve had in what feels like weeks. Now that he’s gone, the car suddenly feels empty. Just like my life’s been ever since Robert dumped me. Ever since my parents died.

Why the hell did I come back here?

Oh yeah. Grams insisted.

Something from that exchange stirs within me. I place my hands on my steering wheel and tighten my fingers around the leather. Half of me is grateful for the distraction. The deterrence, even if it only delayed going back into a home filled with so many memories for mere moments.

The other half is annoyed. Not necessarily at him—more at myself for the way I felt attracted to the guy, no matter how infuriating or initially terrifying I thought he was.

I could definitely use a distraction to make it through this summer.

Then again, I’ve met men like him. Cocky, arrogant, expects every woman to fall at his feet, then throws a fit if she doesn’t. So maybe he’s not the distraction I need.

Fine by me.

The door opens once more, and the man ducks his head back into the car, his lips split open in a grin that doesn’t make my insides swim.

When did I start lying to myself?

“By the way, sweet ride. Babe.”

I glare even though the endearment brings heat to my cheeks. His laughter’s muted when he