“Too many for me to count.” She laughs and shakes her head, her hair rubbing against the soft Italian cream-colored leather. “He had an entire shop built to store them all. Most of them are vintage American classics mixed with a few Italian vehicles—homage to my mother’s family.”

“Nice.” I pull out into traffic, shifting the car into gear as I slow down, and turn right. “I have a garage filled with the cars I’ve collected over the years. I started collecting when I was twenty-one.”

“Really? How many do you have?”

I’m sort of blown away that we’re having a normal conversation like normal people. No snarky remarks or rude comments. And that we actually have something in common—it’s one of my favorite things to talk about, fast and expensive cars. “I have some in storage too. I think—yeah, I have close to one hundred cars in my collection so far.”

“Wow. I know my dad had more than one hundred at one point, but I’m afraid he’s sold quite a few of them.” She nibbles on her lower lip, looking worried. “It makes him sad to lose them, but it needed to be done.”

I can’t imagine having to sell even one of my cars because times were tough. I’d do it if I had to but . . . I wouldn’t want to. I feel for her father.

I also feel like an asshole. I want to buy property from her father for a steal, so I can turn it around and make a profit. Plus, I’m dating his daughter in the hopes I can get closer to him.

Though, really I like her. A lot. I’m not with her just so I can have an in with Scott Knight. I’m with Marina because I want to be.

“I’d love to see what remains of his collection some time.” I would. Not just because I could get an in with him, but I’m genuinely interested. What if he has my dream car in his shop? Not that I have a particular car I’m yearning for, but hey, it could happen.

“Um, yeah.” She fidgets in her seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “You know I still live at home, right?”

I’m shocked. I hadn’t a clue. “You do? How old are you?”

She glares at me. Uh oh. Here we go, right into “let’s-see-how-out-of-hand-we-can-get-before-we-start-calling-each-other-names.” “I’m twenty-three,” she sniffs, all haughty Italian princess-like. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised. I glance at her to find she looks surprised too. “I thought you were older.”

“How much older?” Shit, do I look old? I’m tempted to check myself out in the rearview mirror, but I resist the urge.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, glances out the window. “Early thirties?”

“You like older men?” I tease.

She turns to glare at me again. “Not at all. I usually date men more my age.” Her comment is pointed. Now she’s really making me feel like a dirty, lecherous old man.

“I’m not even thirty,” I mutter, shaking my head. Maybe we should quit talking. I never know what’s going on in Marina’s head. Our banter feels pretty comfortable at the moment, but we could slip into argument mode in a hot second. And I don’t want us fighting before we get to the restaurant. Ivy will pick up on the tension rumbling between us and want to know what’s going on. So would Archer probably, though he’s pretty damn oblivious when it comes to that stuff.

Marina remains quiet, too; her hands curled in her lap, her head turned away, so she can stare out the window and watch the passing scenery. So I remain silent, sneaking the occasional glance at her hair, loving the multiple shades of blonde and brown mixed, knowing without a doubt that she’s a natural blonde, now that I’ve seen her na**d.

Thinking of her na**d sends my thoughts into other directions. Dangerous, dirty, and unnecessary directions that I shouldn’t be focusing on at the moment. Thinking of the two of us together leaves me feeling needy. Vulnerable.

Hungry. Starving, more like it. All for her.

Fuck.

“Can I ask you a question?” I gotta break the tension and talk about something else before I lose it and attack her.

She turns to look at me. “Go for it,” she says warily.

“You’re a blonde.”

A smile teases the corner of her lips. “That’s not a question.”

“I thought Italians weren’t normally blonde,” I say lamely, feeling like a jackass. I’m trying to make conversation, and I feel like an idiot. This woman just makes me so damn . . . nervous. I can’t explain it.

“I’m not one hundred percent Italian, you know. My dad is what he calls a mutt,” she says, her voice light. She seems to like talking about her family, and I like it too. Any tidbit I can get on Scott Knight, I can turn around and use later.

But I also like learning more about her. I’m curious. I want to know. Usually I run the other direction when a woman wants to tell me her life story. So many of them do, going on and on about their past, their family, their friends. It all starts to sound like monotonous noise after a while.

Not with this woman. She offers these glimpses of her personal life so rarely, I cherish every tidbit I learn. Which is f**king crazy, truly. I shouldn’t be that wrapped up in her, wanting to learn more, everything about her, wanting to kiss her . . .

“A mutt, huh?” I don’t even know what to say to that for fear I’ll mistakenly insult her father and piss her off.

She offers me a secretive smile, the sight of it sending a zing straight to my heart—and my cock. This woman twists me up into such complete knots, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unwind myself from them—or her. “My mother is Sicilian. There are a lot of blonde, blue- and green-eyed Sicilians out there. I happen to be one of them.”

A beautiful one, too. She’s so beautiful just looking at her hurts.

Not having her in front of me to look at hurts too.

Which means at the mere age of twenty-eight, I am completely ruined for any other woman. And I don’t even care. I want to revel in the ruin.

My brain on overload, I drive the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence, taking the curves at high speed, enjoying the way the tires stick to the road, the squeal of rubber on asphalt making me smile. I downshift, the whine of the engine like music to my ears, and the faster I drive, the more I get into it.

“You’re crazy,” she whispers as I gain speed, going close to one hundred on a straightaway a few miles from the restaurant.

I roll down the windows, let the cool night air wash over my heated skin. Her hair blows everywhere, even restrained by the ponytail, and a long blonde strand hits me in the face, causing me to push it away. I chance a look at her, see that she’s gripping the edge of her seat, her body on edge, her expression full of . . . excitement?

Really?

“You like it,” I say, my tone practically a dare. “You’re literally sitting on the edge of your seat.”

“I do like it,” she quietly admits, her wild eyes meeting mine. A shaky exhalation leaves her, and she nods toward me. “Go faster.”

My foot presses on the gas pedal, picking up speed. She’s watching me; I can feel her gaze on me, and I reach toward her, pushing all that sexy, wind-blown hair away from her face. Before I can drop my hand, she leans her cheek into my palm, then turns and presses a hot, wet kiss to my flesh, her tongue darting out for a quick lick.

I swear.

Ah, hell. I grow instantly hard, letting my hand fall from her cheek, but she wraps her fingers around my wrist, bringing my hand to her mouth and drawing my index finger deep inside her mouth, dragging her wet, lush lips along the length before she releases it, her eyes never leaving mine.

Easing my foot off the gas, I swallow hard. She’s going to kill me. I tear my gaze from hers, keeping my attention on the road. It’s dark, it feels like we’re virtually alone, and I’m tempted. So tempted to pull over, kiss her until she’s gasping my name, and then f**k her in the back seat just like I first envisioned.

I chance a glance at her, see the flushed cheeks, the parted lips. I recognize that look from last night. She’s aroused.

Hell, yeah. So am I.

Downshifting, I pull over. I throw the car into park and lean over the center console at the exact time she moves toward me. We attack each other, lips searching, hands wandering, clinging, fighting to draw our bodies closer, but the awkward space makes it difficult.

“I want you,” she whispers against my mouth before she sucks my lower lip between hers. “Please.”

“Seriously?” I’m in absolute shock. She acted like ha**g s*x with me was the biggest mistake of her life. But here she is leaning into my hands as I curve them around her breasts, her breaths coming out in sharp pants as she rests her hands over mine, making me squeeze her br**sts together.

Damn, she’s hot.

“Seriously.” Her voice tinged with amusement, she withdraws from my touch, moving closer to the passenger side door. Slowly she reaches for the hem of her shirt and tugs it up, then off, tossing it onto the back seat. Her bra is black, smooth satin and my mouth waters as she reaches behind her, unclasping it and tearing it off so it falls from her fingertips onto the floorboard.

I can’t form words. She strips off each article of clothing until she’s completely na**d, coming at me like a woman possessed. I feel like a man possessed, obsessed with the feel of her soft skin beneath my palms, the taste of her. She climbs on top of me, pressing all that hot, wet deliciousness against my denim-covered cock, grinding against me like she’s trying to get off.

Shit. Maybe she is trying to get off.

But no. She wants to involve me in the action too. Her nimble fingers undo my button fly and she’s reaching inside my boxer briefs, sure fingers curling around the length of my cock. Knowing I’m about to blow, I lightly slap her hand away, reaching behind me to pull out my wallet and the condom nestled within.

I packed extra in the glove compartment earlier. I’m not an idiot.

“You make me crazy,” she whispers, snatching it out of my fingers. She tears into it, rolling the condom onto my c**k and then she’s on top of me, slowly sinking until I’m completely imbedded inside her.

A car drives by, the bright white lights flashing across her, offering me a glimpse of her swaying breasts, her h*ps as they slowly move up and down. I grasp her there, steadying her, keeping her slow, afraid I’ll ruin it by coming too fast.

Because holy shit, I’m ready to explode. I’m still fully clothed save for my open jeans and she’s deliciously na**d. All that fragrant, soft skin is wrapped around me, her br**sts in my face, ni**les teasing my lips. I draw one in deep, sucking, tonguing, teasing her until she’s tossing her head back, riding me relentlessly. I shift away from her, wanting to watch. She’s beautiful in her abandon, so lost as she races toward that delicious moment, and I want to mark this moment permanently in my brain.

“So good,” she breathes, tipping her head back down so she can press her forehead to mine. I tip my chin up, brush her mouth with mine and she devours me. The kiss hot, wet. Deep. I grip the end of her ponytail, tugging hard and she gasps.

Damn. She likes that too. If we didn’t hate each other so much, I’d believe she was made just for me.

“Harder, Gage,” she encourages, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Make me come.”

Ah, fuck. I can’t resist that. I increase my pace, thrusting hard, filling her again and again until she’s crying out my name, her body quivering, sobs falling from her lips as she collapses against me.

I hold her close, tracing circles on her back with my fingertips, making her shiver. Her grip around my neck is like a vice, her face buried into my neck. I feel her warm lips press sweet kisses to my flesh, and I squeeze her closer, our racing hearts in complete and total sync.

“You haven’t come yet,” she whispers against my throat, her tongue licking.

My c**k twitches. It’s more than aware of that. “I know.”

She lifts her head up, her arms loosely resting around my neck, her expression slumberous and full of satisfaction. “Let me make that up to you,” she murmurs as she slowly starts to grind against me.

I wrap my hands around her waist, guiding her, my gaze locked where our bodies meet. She’s moving on me slow and sure, little murmurs of pleasure escaping her, and I can’t look away. I’m entranced by the way she moves, the words she says, the way she looks at me.

What am I doing? What is she doing to me? I feel lost . . . gloriously, deliciously lost in my need to have her.

Only her.

I’m closer to the edge, unable to hold back, when she reaches between us and touches my cock, then her clit. The sight of her slender fingers playing down there sends me right over the edge, making me gasp as my h*ps buck against her. She smiles her encouragement, murmuring my name, and I grab hold of her ponytail pulling her face to mine so I can drown in her kiss.

Fuck. I’m wrecked. All because of this woman.

Chapter Nine

Marina

I ENTER THE building with my head held high, pretending I have everything completely under control, while inside I’m a confused mass of jumbled nerves and rapidly growing insecurities. Smoothing my hair back from my face, I glance toward Gage as he stops just beside me, tall and commanding, earning plenty of appreciative glances from the various women sitting in the lobby and waiting to be seated.

He finds me watching him and flashes me a dazzling smile, making my heart race. I remember what he looked like only minutes ago, dazed and fascinated with me as I rose above him, na**d and greedy and crazed with wanting him. Riding his thick c**k straight into oblivion.