the expensive shoes on my feet. I blush a little as I brush past him.
“You can’t argue with the name ‘Duchess’ now,” he says to me before he shuts my door. I wait until he’s in the driver’s seat to ask why. “Because you look like a million dollars.”
It’s the oldest line in the book. Probably because it still works. I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face.
“So,” Jameson pauses as if he’s struggling to get something out. “Do you trust me yet?”
I only have to consider for a moment. “Yes.”
“Thank God because I wouldn’t take you where we’re headed if you didn’t.” I gulp at the underlying threat in his words. “I’m really sorry about this,” he continues. “If there were any other way ...”
“Maybe I should stay home,” I say slowly.
“You probably should, but I want to spend the day with you.” If he feels sorry there’s no regret in his voice. Instead he casts a devious grin at me. I shiver under his wolfish gaze. I’m not used to how he makes me feel yet, and I don’t think I ever want to be.
But the thought that I might not get to spend the day with him makes me want to pout, but I reign in that impulse. “Look, if you have something better to do ...”
“No,” he says, quickly. “But it is unfortunately something I can’t get out of.”
“Fine,” I say before he can overthink our plans. “I’m in.”
He doesn’t wait for me to ask any more questions before he throws the car in reverse and speeds out of my neighborhood. “So where are we going?”
“To the airport.”
“Are you supposed to leave the state?” I ask, before I consider an even more dangerous problem, “And I need to be back by curfew.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” he says, tacking on, “this time.” He takes the exit for the Las Vegas private airfield. We're cleared through security, and Jameson zooms toward this small outcrop of buildings that oversee the private runways high rollers use when they come to visit.
“My mom sends her jet here to pick me up for my summer trip.” I tell him.
“What summer trip?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“I stay with her in Palm Springs over summer vacation.” I don’t miss how his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel as he processes this information. “I only go for a week.”
The rigid tension in his shoulders doesn’t dissipate. “Good to know. My mom’s finally getting in. I don't trust a car service not to spill the details on her arrival. The last thing she needs to deal with is the press hounding her, so I need to pick her up and take her to our house on Mt. Charleston.”
“I’m meeting your mom?”
“Is that a problem?”
It shouldn’t be, but given the fragility of our connection, I hadn’t expected to meet parents yet. Plus, we've known each other for a whole week. It's not like I'm buying bridal magazines, but I keep this to myself. If he wants me to meet his mom, it shouldn't be a big deal. “We just haven’t had a real date yet.”
“By my count, we’ve had several, Duchess.” His mood lightens as he teases me, “But you say the word and I’ll get us tickets to Blue Man Group.”
I groan and bat him on the arm. “Don’t you dare.”
“Britney Spears?” he suggests.
“Getting colder.”
“I hear Elton John might be coming to town.” This time he’s serious. He glances at me for approval, and I tap my nose and nod enthusiastically. “I’ll look into tickets, but if we’re not officially dating, then maybe I shouldn’t be knocking on your bedroom window.”
“That was a matter of survival. Neither of us were going to be able to fall asleep.” At least that’s how I sold that poor decision to myself. I bite my lip, remembering the dreamless peace I’d found thanks to his presence and the note waiting on my pillow in the morning.
“Sorry I had to sneak out like that,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind. “But I didn’t want your dad to catch me.”
“Probably smart,” I agree. The shop has more than a few shotguns in its inventory.
“So are we officially dating or not?”
“Can I get back to you on that one?” I hedge. He doesn’t say a word, but I see the muscle in his jaw twitch. A shadow descends over us as moody Jameson returns.
When the car is parked, he circles around to my side. As soon as I’m