Method - Kate Stewart Page 0,74
clean-smelling perfume and gloss my lips just as the doorbell rings.
Grabbing my purse, I make it to the door on the second knock.
An older man with a British accent greets me.
“Good evening, Madam,” he says cheerfully.
“Hello, there,” I say, locking the door behind me. “Is Paul off tonight?”
“Yes, he’s on vacation. I’m filling in.”
“Can’t imagine that grumpy ass sipping fruity drinks anywhere,” I grumble behind him as he walks toward the limo and opens the door. Paul is both Lucas’s bodyguard and driver but has a zero-personality side effect. Once inside, I shoot off a text.
Heads up, Hollywood! I’ll have you know I’ve just been kidnapped by a handsome older man with a very sexy accent.
Your well-hung man: Good. See you soon, beauty.
Will you give me a hint?
Your well-hung man: Nope.
How about a favor for favor exchange? I’ll throw in some incentive. Your cock, my tongue.
Your well-hung man: Behave.
Fine. X
A few minutes into the drive I decide to make polite conversation to disburse some of my nervous energy.
“Have you been a driver long?”
“No, just picked it up, actually. I’m retired and got bored.”
“Well, you’ll love working for Lucas,” I say, watching our route for any clue.
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a good man.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Not very, we’ve only been dating a few months.”
He eyes me in the rearview, turning left into the hills instead of right toward the main road. “Do you act?”
“Me,” I nearly snort. “God no, I would be horrible at it.”
“Must be hard to date someone so scrutinized by the public.”
“It’s been wonderful,” I say softly. “We haven’t outed ourselves just yet, he, we…” Just thinking about him makes me a grinning fool. I’m falling hard, and it’s wonderful and terrifying, and I’ve had to stop myself a few times from letting the words spill. “He’s making it easy.”
“You’re happy then?”
“Very,” I bob my head. “When you meet him, you’ll know why.”
“I look forward to it. Is he a good actor then?”
“You haven’t seen his movies?”
“No, I’m afraid my wife and I watch a lot of old classics if we watch the telly at all.”
“Oh, well, do yourself a favor and watch Takedown, it’s my favorite.”
“Will do.”
“It’s nice to have someone to talk to, his other driver is a bit of a mute. What’s your name?”
“Sean.”
“Lovely to meet you, Sean.”
“Pleasure.”
A few minutes later, we pull up to a well-lit ranch style home nestled in the hills and confusion sets in. “Oh, Lucas, what are you up to?”
Butterflies emerge and begin to circle in my chest as Sean offers his hand to escort me out of the limo.
“I hope to see you again.”
“Me too,” I say, studying the house. Does he expect me to just knock on the door?
“Problem, Miss?” Sean asks, his hand still outstretched before I take it. “I’m just kind of unsure what I’m doing here.”
I’m still trying to figure out where I am and gain my footing outside the limo when Sean’s thumb slides across my wrist before he lets go. All the air leaves me as I turn my head and meet Sean’s eyes, his light green eyes.
“What the fuc—Oh, my God, Lucas?!”
“Hey there, Dame,” he says, his wrinkled mouth pulling up into a satisfied smile.
My jaw drops as I try to grasp what just happened.
Pleased with himself, he slides his hands in his slacks. “So, Takedown, huh? That’s your favorite? Good to know.”
I’m too stunned to say anything as I study his face. Tentatively, I reach out a hand and run it along his jaw, snatching it back when I touch the latex. “It looks so real.”
He quirks his thick, bushy gray brows and chuckles. “That’s kind of the point.”
“I can’t even be mad right now. That was…” I narrow my eyes. “You were fishing big time.”
His grin grows. “Maybe.”
Still reeling with the aftershock, I shake my head. “You got me good.”
“Seems like it,” he says, milking my gushing to ‘Sean.’
“You’re an ass. If you want to know how I feel about you, just ask.”
“This was a lot more fun.”
“You want to tell me the point of this grand scheme?”
“After.”
“After what?”
“Enough with the questions.” He tugs at my hand closing the car door behind me. “Come on.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“An infuriatingly good man,” he says, tossing my words back at me with a smirk.
“That too.”
He pauses on the bottom step at the base of the porch and looks down at me. The air shifts as awareness pricks my spine and my pulse spikes. As different as he looks, I would know those eyes anywhere