“Do? When?” Emma asked. It didn’t help her bewilderment that she was looking him full in the face again, especially since this time she was closer to him. He was good-looking—extremely, the most effortlessly handsome man she’d seen in her life—but it wasn’t his handsomeness that was setting her off balance. Or at least she didn’t think so. She’d never been that shallow or giddy in the past around a good-looking guy. It was his eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from looking straight into them even though doing it made her feel light-headed, like the air pressure had just changed drastically. The light, iridescent color of them contrasted appealingly with arched, thick eyebrows, eyelashes, and short sideburns.

“Before I showed up,” he explained. “Were you going to call someone for help with the car?”

She whipped her brain into focusing. “Oh . . . yeah,” she said, realizing he must have seen her phone in her hand as she sat in the car earlier. “I was.”

“Who?”

She stared, tongue-tied.

“Roadside assistance?” he prompted, leaning his head down slightly. On her anxious inhale, she thought she caught a scent of him—a subtle waft of spicy aftershave and the residue of peppermint chewing gum and . . . motor oil?

“Your sister? Your boyfriend?” he prodded pointedly.

“My boyfriend,” Emma admitted in a croaking voice, stepping away from him. The word had never felt so hollow for her. She cleared her throat, struggling for her composure. Of course the word boyfriend wasn’t meaningless. It meant Colin, a living, breathing, wonderful guy. “I was feeling guilty about it, actually, because Colin—that’s his name—has been especially tired lately. New job and all. Hasn’t gotten used to the schedule yet.”

He didn’t reply to her rambling. His angular, whiskered jaw worked in a subtle circular motion in the uncomfortable silence that followed. His thin goatee looked very sleek, the way it encircled his mouth distracting her. How could his lips look so hard and firm, and yet so soft and shapely at the same time?

He turned and walked away.

“Get in,” he said gruffly, nodding toward a shiny little dark blue roadster that probably cost ten times as much as Emma made in a year. It was a convertible. A strange feeling fluttered in her stomach as she peered inside the dream car, seeing supple caramel-colored leather seats.

She got in. She glanced sideways as he got in on the driver’s side, holding her breath for some reason. His large body fit into the small confines of the car like a puzzle piece sliding home. Had the space been made specifically for him?

He twisted his wrist, and the car hummed to life. She continued to hold her breath as the engine vibrated into her body, the feeling smooth and restrained, but undeniably powerful. He twisted the wheel hard. A thrill coursed through when they surged forward in the path between the two cars.

Montand must have touched some switch, because two large metal doors eased back, creating an opening in the bluff. They zoomed onto a dark drive. This road ran parallel from the one her car was parked on, Emma realized. They had to travel down it before it met up with the other road.

A minute later he deftly maneuvered the sports car next to her vehicle and applied the brake. He popped the hood and flipped open the car door in preparation to get out, at first not noticing her wide-eyed, stunned state in the passenger seat. His head turned when she didn’t move. He did a double take.

“You really know how to drive,” burst out of her throat. Her laugh rang out into the humid air. She couldn’t help it, even when he gave her a slightly bewildered glance. He seemed to have no hint of how exciting even that short ride had been for her—the plunge into the dark night, the powerful car . . . his effortless handling of it. She hastened to explain her strange behavior. “I’ve never been inside a car like this. It’s amazing. What kind is it?”

“A 750 XG.”

“Is it a Montand car?”

He nodded.

“Did you have anything to do with designing it?” she asked, glancing around with admiration at the swift, badass little car.

“Yes.” He leaned forward slightly, hands gripping the wheel, looking at her as if he’d never seen a female in his life. The overhead lights had come on when he’d opened his door, allowing her to see his lips curve slowly into a smile. It wasn’t the grim one she’d seen on him in the past. This grin unsettled her even more than his former mirthless one had.

“Do you know much about cars?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” she managed to get out despite that deadly smile of his. “But you really don’t have to know much to appreciate it, do you? You can feel it.”

His smile faded. “What do you feel?”

She swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of his stare on her face.

“It’s like it’s alive. It’s like . . . riding a creature or something.”

“It’s true,” he said soberly after a taut moment. “A car like this can be dangerous. The power of it can go straight to your head. If you don’t watch it, you can find yourself doing something stupid.”

Something flickered in her belly like a dozen moths trying to escape a rising flame.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

His sensual lips twisted slightly. “I’ve had some experience with fast cars.”

Disappointment went through her when he pushed back his door. She blinked guiltily, hastening to follow him out of the car. What was wrong with her? She was here because her battery was dead, not to flirt in a sexy car with an even sexier, unattainable man.

Although her original intention had been to help him somehow, Emma knew better by that time than to get in the way of his easy mastery. The only thing she was required to do was turn the key in the ignition. It took him about three seconds flat to get her car purring with life again. She got out of the driver’s side door.

“You could be one of those guys in the . . . what are they called? The pits? At car races?” she said with a grin as he disconnected the cables and slammed shut her hood.

She saw his mouth quirk in the headlights of her now-running car. “I have my share of experience in the pits, too.”

“Really?”

His shrug looked a little weary. “I told you I was a gearhead.”

She smiled. “Well I’m thankful for it. This is all my fault, really. The car’s been due to be serviced forever, I just never have the—”

“Do you work tomorrow?” he interrupted.

“Yes,” she said, watching as he recoiled the cables by clutching one end and looping them around his bent elbow. Every movement he made struck her as knowing. Masterful.

“What time?” he asked, dropping his arm, his hand gripping the recoiled cable.

“Three to eleven. That’s my shift.”

“If you leave your car unlocked and the keys under the front seat, I’ll service it for you while you work.”

She stared at him for a few seconds. Aloof billionaire Michael Montand was going to service her car instead of one of a dozen interchangeable mechanics down at the FastOil where she usually went? It seemed highly improbable, like the idea of the president volunteering to clean her bathroom.

“That’s okay. Thank you for the offer, but you’ve already done enough. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”

“I wouldn’t want you not to show up for work because your car didn’t start. Leave the keys.”

Lightning lit up the night sky and thunder answered. A storm was about to break. She could feel it churning in the sky just behind her, just like her mind spun desperately to think of a way out of accepting his hospitality. She wasn’t sure why, but the prospect intimidated her out of proportion to his offer. It thrilled her, too, which made her all that much more wary.

“Why are you so hesitant? What else have you heard about me besides the family business?” he demanded suddenly.