mouth. “I’m surprised you actually let me drive it.”
“No more than I, believe me.” When he’d led her into the garage, she’d headed straight for the classic red Ferrari, admiring it with such reverence that when she finally turned to ask for the keys, Dorian swore there were tears in her eyes.
There was no way he could’ve turned her down. Not about the car. Not about anything.
And that, frankly, scared the hell out of him.
Dorian opened his eyes as the engine whined, Charlotte waiting until the last possible second to shift into fifth gear.
“This car is unbelievable,” she said. “So responsive. I feel like I could drive it with my eyes closed.”
“I’d really prefer you didn’t.” Dorian’s heart rate skyrocketed as they glided into another curve, the sun-dappled road cutting through a swath of eastern red cedars and paper birch trees. The power in the engine was unmistakable, and when Charlotte flashed him another smile, her whole face lit up.
He’d never seen anything so pure, so radiant.
They reached a long straightaway, and Charlotte gave it more gas. The car wasn’t built with a speedometer, but from the blur of scenery along the road, Dorian guessed they’d hit eighty.
“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Redthorne?” she asked.
As nervous as Dorian was, Charlotte's enthusiasm was contagious. He couldn’t help but appreciate her skill. She handled the car with such ease, such unrestrained joy, it was as if she’d been born driving it.
Not only that, but every time she wrapped her hand around the gearshift, a bolt of heat shot straight to his cock.
“No,” Dorian said, forcing himself to relax. He curled his hand around the back of her neck, stroking her earlobe with his thumb. “Apparently, I trust you.”
“How much longer? I mean, until we get there, not until you stop trusting me.”
“The turnoff is round the next bend.” He trailed his fingers down her arm, then down along her thigh, wishing she’d worn a dress instead of the tight leggings. Still, there was something soft and sweet about her casual clothing, her messy hair, her makeup-free face. It was another facet of what he now understood was a deeply complex, contradictory woman—one he wanted to know. To care for. To keep safe, just like he’d vowed last night.
“Right here, love.” He pointed at the nearly hidden turnoff up ahead. “Make the right at the tree trunk, then drive all the way to the end.”
Charlotte downshifted, navigating them onto the rough road. A few moments later, they arrived at the end, no more than a small dirt clearing among the trees.
They were, as he knew they would be, alone.
“Dorian, this is incredible.” Charlotte stepped out of the car and walked a few dozen yards to the edge, a rocky ridge that sloped down into the valley a hundred feet below. Beyond, the Catskill Mountain range stretched out before them, red and gold in the autumn morning light.
“Why do I recognize this place?” She turned, hitting him full on with that bright, copper-eyed gaze. “It’s like a painting come to life.”
“Precisely.” He pointed at a rocky outcropping several feet away. “That’s where Cole Diamante sat to paint—”
“Fall of Secrets! Of course! I’ve seen that painting a hundred times at the Met. It was Diamante’s last landscape. After that, he moved on to portraiture, but he never achieved the same level of critical acclaim before his death. Too bad, really. His portraits are exquisite too.”
Dorian laughed at her exuberance. “Is there anything about art you don’t know?”
“I didn’t know this place was here.”
“Well, there is something else you don’t know about Cole Diamante, but if I share this secret, you must promise not to tell a soul.”
“I swear it.” She made an X over her heart, her eyes sparkling.
“Cole hasn’t passed on—he’s only retreated from the public eye.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Quite. He owns this land, and he’s a former associate of mine, though he doesn’t venture out much anymore.”
“But that would make him over a hundred and fifty years old!” She narrowed her eyes. “Vampire?”
“Wolf shifter, actually.”
“Seriously? So wolf shifters are a thing?”
“Yes, though they’re increasingly rare. They mostly travel in packs and stick to their own kind, generally preferring the forests to the city. Cole is a lone wolf—always has been.”
“I can see why he likes it out here. It’s beautiful.”
The breeze picked up, blowing her hair into a wild frenzy around her head.
Charlotte didn’t squeal, didn’t try to smooth her hair back into place. She only laughed, throwing her arms out and