Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,11

She scrunched her brow. ‘You know you’re only supposed to say the first letter, right?’

He ignored her sarcasm. ‘Pull in, I’m starving. Breakfast seems a very long time ago.’

Sadie had been starving for the last three days. ‘We’ve only been in the car for three hours,’ she pointed out.

‘I need snacks,’ he said. ‘And you can use the facilities.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ Sadie said rolling her eyes as she indicated left. ‘But my days of enforced toileting ended a long, long time ago. You may have women in your life with weak bladders but, I can assure you, mine is made of cast iron.’

‘So it’s just your stomach that’s weak?’ he enquired drily.

Sadie shot him a look as she prepared to park. ‘Really? You want to annoy me now? As I’m parking your tank in this itty-bitty car space?’

Kent assessed the one remaining, very narrow car space. She made a good point. ‘Nope.’

Sadie turned back to the job at hand as she nervously pulled the car into the middle of three parking bays. The heavy steering was fine for wide open spaces but it felt as if she was trying to grapple a huge metallic beast into a matchbox as she centred the vehicle.

It was gratifying to get a grunt of respect from Kent.

He flung his door open as soon as she killed the engine. ‘You coming?’

Sadie shook her head. ‘I’m good.’

‘You want something?’

She shook it again. ‘I brought some snacks with me.’

Sadie watched him stride to the sliding doors of the service station, pleased to be released from his company for a few minutes. His jeans gently hugged his bottom and the backs of his thighs without being skin tight. His T-shirt was loose enough for the breeze to blow it against the broad contours of his back. And his limp, barely discernible, added an extra edge to his rugged appeal.

A blonde woman with a baby on her hip coming out of the sliding door as Kent went in actually stood for a moment admiring the view. She seemed perplexed for a second after the closing glass doors snatched him away. As if she couldn’t remember why she was standing in the car park gawping at a closed door.

I hear ya, honey.

He was back in a few minutes loaded down with enough carbohydrates to exceed his recommended daily intake from now until the end of his days. She felt hyperglycaemic just looking at them.

‘Here,’ he said as he passed her a packet of Twisties. ‘I got one for you, too.’

Twisties? Dear God, he was going to eat Twisties—her one weakness—right in front of her. She passed them back.

‘Thanks, I’ve got these,’ she said, waving a celery stick at him.

Kent grimaced as he opened his packet. ‘You’re going to eat celery? On a road trip.’

He had a way of emphasising celery as if it were suet or tripe. ‘It’s healthy,’ she said defensively, and was about to launch into a spiel about the amazing properties of the wonder food when the aroma of carbohydrates wafted out to greet her like an old friend and she momentarily lost her train of thought.

How could that special blend of additives and preservatives smell so damn good? Her stomach growled.

Loudly.

Kent raised an eyebrow. ‘I think your stomach wants a say.’

Sadie stuffed the celery into her mouth and started the car to stop her from reaching over and lifting a lurid orange piece out and devouring it like the Cookie Monster. ‘It’s because I listen to my stomach too damn often that I’m as big as I am,’ she muttered testily as she reversed.

Kent eyed her critically as he buckled up, thinking she looked pretty damn good to him. He shook his head. Women in the western world amazed him. Their lives were so privileged they had nothing but trivialities to worry about. He really didn’t have the patience for it.

‘Please tell me you’re not going to eat celery for three days.’

Sadie gave him an exasperated glare. ‘What’s it matter to you?’

He bugged his eyes at her. To think less than two years ago he had been in the thick of a combat zone and now he was talking to a madwoman with a weak constitution but an apparently strong bladder about celery of all things.

‘I think it’s making you cranky.’

Sadie flicked her gaze to the road, then back at him. He had orange Twistie dust on the tips of his fingers and his lips, which just went to show perfection could be improved upon. She wondered