Finally after taking in a deep breath, she nods slightly, just a jerk of her chin. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine, but can we go? I’d really like that ride now.”

I grab her hand and we melt into the crowd.

Tipping my head in the direction of the table Brooke’s friends are at, I let them know we’re getting out of here while she stays close to my side. It’s a brief farewell. Brooke tugging on my hand has me getting her out of there before any of them have a chance to ask us what happened. She clearly doesn’t want to linger. I’m not interested in making her stay. Besides, I’d rather have her alone.

We’re out the door, her small hand in mine as we walk along the footpath. The sky is free of clouds, a clear blue scene speckled with stars and a bold moon hanging low.

Brooke pulls her hand back after a few seconds and wraps her arms around herself.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

The air has a slight chill to it, but I think it’s tolerable. She’s not wearing much, though. Her arms could be cold.

She shakes her head, keeping her gaze in front of her.

“I’m just up here on the left.” I tug my keys from my pocket. “The white Denali.”

“Asshole.”

“What’s that?” I turn my head, staring at her rigid profile.

“That guy. Paul. Calling me a whore because I only wanted to hook-up with him.” She breathes a laugh. “Seriously? It’s a fucking double standard. Just because I’m a woman who loves sex I’m automatically labeled a whore? What about men?”

I open the passenger door for her and she climbs inside, securing her seatbelt.

“Men can fuck anything with a pulse and women will actually find that attractive. The whole player vibe. It’s hot. It gets them so much ass,” she continues after I get in on the driver’s side. “But if a woman enjoys sex and goes out to get laid, she’s a whore. Why? What the hell is the difference?”

I run a hand through my hair after starting up the car. My fingers quickly dial down the volume on the stereo. I only want to hear her.

“Well?” She angles her body in the seat, waiting for my response.

I rub my jaw. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to answer that question, Brooke.”

“Why not? You’re a man.”

“Yeah, but I’m not running around sticking my cock into everything with a pulse.” I catch her smile as I glance over before pulling out onto the street. “I think you’re right, though. You should be able to do what or who you want.”

“Exactly.”

“He was wrong . . . saying that to you. I’m sorry that happened.”

I’m sorry I didn’t knock him on his arse before he said it a second time.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brooke watching me as I drive us into the city.

“Were you going to punch him? You looked ready to punch him.”

“I felt ready to punch him.” My hand curls around the wheel.

“Have you ever hit anyone? You don’t really seem like the violent type. Yoga master who uses organic toothpaste. You probably recycle too.”

I turn my head. She shrugs impassively, twirling the ends of her hair around her finger.

“Well, I’m usually not threatening to toss people through windows,” I chuckle. “But, I did get into a few brawls when I was younger. Nothing major. Some neighborhood kids pissed me off and I went after them.”

“Majahhh. I love how you say certain words.”

I give her a quick wink.

“Why did you go after those kids?” she asks, her voice lifting to a mischievous pitch.

Even in the dark, I know this little devil is smiling.

“Did they steal your koala?”

I gape at her. Her quiet laugh fills the car. “Is that what you Americans think? That we keep those nasty little buggers as pets? They’ll claw your eyes out the second you get close enough.”

“Would they? But they’re so cuddly looking.” She hugs herself. “And so, so cute.”

“Cute. Right. Real bloody cute. I had one nearly take my head off when I was trying to pet it at the zoo once. I was only eight. That mangy bastard scarred me for life.”

“Oh, so it’s just your opinion that they’d make horrible pets,” Brooke chuckles again. “Look at you. Giving those sweet things a bad name over here. I bet you were just a little wanker and pissed him off.”

She smiles, all big and clever, clearly pleased with herself for using that word correctly.

I relax against my seat. It feels good talking to her like this. Easy, unhurried conversation. The delightful sound of her laugh. Her sweet dimpled face against the backdrop of the city.

I want this drive to last all night.

“Was there a bunch of you? Maybe the cute, gentle, completely innocent and non-threatening koala didn’t like crowds.”

We stop at a red-light. I shrug, looking over at her.

“The zoo was crowded, yeah. It was me and my mates, a few others gathered around. I don’t know. I’ve tried to forget about the day a koala went psychotic on me. I had nightmares for months. Surprised I didn’t need therapy after that.”

She slaps at my arm. I grab her hand before she can pull away and lace my fingers through hers, resting our joined hands together on the console. I haven’t held her like this yet. I’ve wanted to all night, in my studio, on the footpath that first day. My hand practically engulfs hers. She feels a bit tense. Her nails, dark as the night, tap restlessly against my skin.

She stares down between us, biting at her bottom lip.

“So . . . I’m guessing you aren’t a fan of kangaroos either? Did one chase you down the street or something? Kick you around a little?”

I grin, giving a gentle squeeze to her hand. She’s not pulling away.

Bit of a shock. I was expecting some resistance.

I press down on the accelerator and ease through the intersection.

“Nah. I never had a problem with kangaroos. Although, there have been some cases of rogue ones attacking people. The mums can be vicious.”

She laughs softly, gazing out the window.

“Have you always lived here?” I ask her, smiling when her fingers relax against the back of my hand. I turn us onto a side street, avoiding the pile up of traffic ahead.

“Mm. Yeah. Born and raised Chicago girl. I thought about moving to the beach a few years back but . . .” Brooke jolts upright, leaning forward in her seat and staring out the window. She tugs her hand free and braces it on the dash. “Uh, Mason. You’re going down a one-way street right now.”

“What?”

“One-way street. Shit! There’s cars coming! Pull over! Quick! Get off the road!”

My eyes sweep the small alley I’ve turned down.

“Fucking hell.”

I was so focused on not crushing Brooke’s hand with mine, on the feel of Brooke’s hand, on Brooke, I hadn’t noticed the well-lit street signs posted in warning, indicating that I have indeed turned down a one-way street.

Cars are parked along either side, leaving me with little room to pull off as head-lights loom closer.

I tap the brakes.

“Shit,” she whispers, squirming in her seat, her head whipping left, then right, then behind her. “Can you back up or something? Quickly, like floor it?”

I glance in the rear-view mirror, then ahead of me once more. “It’s all right. Look up there. I can pull off a bit in front of that motorbike until they get by.”

“That’s not going to give them enough room to pass you.”

“It might.”

She groans, covering her face with her hands.

I pull ahead and squeeze as close to the motorbike and the car parked in front of it as I can get without knocking into one.

Damn. This is going to be tight.

I shift into park. “Right. See? It’s all good, gorgeous. No worries.”

A blaring horn pulls my attention off Brooke.

I roll my window down as the car at the front of the line heading our direction inches past me at a snail’s pace. Their side mirror nearly strips my door of paint.

“This is a one-way street, you idiot!” the man yells up at me, shaking his fist as he slows to a stop.