eyebrows at me through the rearview mirror.
I glance toward the stop. Two women stand one facing us, the other with her back turned. The sea breeze pulls the floral-patterned sundress she’s wearing snug and I can’t help but notice the very nice ass she’s sporting. I give her an appreciative once over. She’s wearing a huge hat on top of a long dark, curling mane of hair that moves with the wind. I get a flash of Deja vu. But it’s gone as quickly as it came and next to me Carol fidgets. “It’s full already,”
I’m glad she said it so I’m not the one who sounds like an asshole. The driver ignores her.
He flings the door open and jogs down the short staircase. “Buenos noches, Señoritas. You were told about our occupancy issue, correct?” His voice is booming, and theatrical.
“Yes, we know. It’s fine,” one of the women responds in a much more subdued tone. I pick up a hint of a French accent in her English.
He claps and jogs back up the upstairs, calling to the women over his shoulder, “Thenclimb aboard and pick a lap. You will find several willing. Am I right?” The four men on board, including the previously mute Eric, all give their fervent agreement. His chuckle is diabolical as he takes his seat again.
I’m glad they’re so eager.
The last thing I need is to have a sweaty stranger’s ass on my lap. No matter how nice it looks in her very pretty sundress.
The odds of escape aren’t in my favor.
I’m the biggest man on the cart, and closest to the door. One of them could sit down before the four eager beavers even get to make their offer.
Recoiling in dread, I pull my hat down over my eyes and slump in my seat as they climb up the short staircase. I hold my breath and pray they walk past me.
“Thank you for stopping,” the other woman, who’s accent is one of those that is free of identifying inflections. Not Southern, not east coast, not cali, not midwest. Just… perfect diction. The likes of which I’ve only encountered once before.
My heart skips a beat, and everything freezes.
I haven’t heard it in fifteen years, but I know, as sure as I breathe that voice belongs to Regan Wilde.
And there’s no way in hell she’s sitting on anyone’s lap but mine. I straighten lift my cap up and put an arm out to stop her just as she’s about to pass me. “You can sit with me.” I use my arm as a barrier that keeps her from going any further.
I peer at her from under the rim of my hat, her full lips her flat, but with her eyes obscured by her sunglasses, it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking.
Until she huffs in annoyance and turns toward the driver. Her husky voice, pained voice full of dismay. “The dispatch said one of us would have to sit on each other’s lap. Not a total stranger’s.”
“No offense,” she adds with an apologetic smile in our general direction. “Could you send another shuttle for us? We’ll wait. We don’t want to inconvenience you all. ”
“This is the last shuttle. You can get you a taxi,” the driver says.
The seconds that pass before she answers feel like hours. I hold my breath and try to decide what I’ll do if she gets off. I think I’ll get off, too.
Her friend groans, behind her. “Oh, come on, Reggie. It’s fine, it’s late and we’re all going to the same place. I’m exhausted and I don’t want to try to find a cab right now.”
Regan bites her lip and looks around the shuttle.
She glances back out at the street and then sighs in resignation. “Fine.” She draws her back and turns to face me. “Thank you for offering your lap. It’s very kind,” she says with all the dignity of a duchess.
“No problem. Make yourself comfortable.” I pitch my voice an octave lower than my normal baritone. I don’t know why I’m disguising it. It’s not like she’s heard my voice before. At least, not this version of it.
The brush of fabric against my bare knees and a muffled curse are the only warning I have before a body with distinctly soft feminine swells lands in my lap
My hands instinctively come up to grab her hips. The force of her fall pushes me back into my seat. Her thick cascade of hair covers my face like a pillow. I’m assailed