Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
He smiles wide and adopts an affected English accent. “I’m your driver, Lady Brenna. Varg Hall awaits. Let us away posthaste so we may indulge in decadent revelries.”
I roll my eyes but smile. “I hired a car. You didn’t have to come all this way.” I ignore the small—tiny—pang that Whip is the one here and not…No. Nope. I’m not thinking about him.
“A hired car?” Whip makes a noise of disdain. “So you can be stuck with a stranger and spend the entire drive with your nose in your phone?”
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“It is.” He points to a set of pale pink bags coming around the carousel. “Those are yours, right?”
“I am horrified that you know my luggage.”
Whip gives me a sidelong glance. “Custom-made Gucci luggage has a way of making a lasting impression, Bren.”
My cheeks warm. “Yeah, well, blame Scottie. They were a gift from him for my twenty-first birthday.” The guys took me out drinking, and I got a killer hangover in return. Scottie gave me luggage. Is there any wonder why he’s my secret favorite?
Whip chuckles and retrieves the luggage. “I know. You know what he gave me for my twenty-first? Mutual funds for my retirement years.”
I stumble a step. “He did not!”
“Yep,” he says cheerfully. “Those fuckers have already made me a ton of money too.”
We both laugh and head for the parking lot. Whip leads me to his car, and I halt. “You thought this would be preferable to lounging in the back of a Range Rover?”
“Hey.” Whip smooths a hand over the hood of the car. “This baby is a blast to drive.”
The “baby” in question is a vintage ruby-red ‘70s Austin Mini with white racing stripes. It’s been lovingly restored. But it’s tiny. “I don’t think my luggage will even fit.”
“It’ll fit. My kit fits, so…” He shrugs.
“You brought your drum kit?” I shake my head. “Uncle Xander will love that.”
“Not to Varg Hall,” he says as if I’m daft. “I dropped it off at my place in London. I’m going to spend some time there after the party.”
“Ah.” With that, I get into the tiny car. And somehow, Whip manages to fit my bags in the back. The Mini isn’t what I expected. It’s not just restored but a custom job, with modern cream leather seats, a stereo, and probably dozens of other upgrades under the hood.
Whip confirms this when he gets in and gives the glossy wood grain dashboard a loving pat. “This little sweetie has been soundproofed, given an upgraded suspension and drive train.” He starts in on engine specs, and I hold up a hand.
“You’re speaking gibberish at this point. Can you simply assure me that you won’t drive like a complete maniac?”
He’s too quick to grin. “I promise I won’t be a complete maniac.”
I’m in trouble.
Twenty minutes later, we’re flying down the M40, and I’m clutching my seat. “When you’re no longer driving, remind me to thank you again for picking me up.”
He chuckles. “What, so you can kick my ass? No way. I’m running for it as soon as we park.”
“Good idea.” I try to relax against the seat and take in the few glimpses of the countryside that we streak past.
Whip turns on the radio, and Ella Fitzgerald croons Christmas songs with her smooth-honey voice.
“God, I love Ella,” Whip says wistfully. “If I lived back in her day, I’d have begged for a date.”
Chuckling, I turn my body a little in the cramped space to face him. He’s almost too tall for the car. While he’s not huge like Rye, he’s six feet tall, and his seat is pushed all the way back. But he doesn’t seem to mind and handles the car with efficiency.
“I have a weakness for women with beautiful voices.” Whip flashes a quick, secretive smile. “Don’t tell Killian, but the first time I heard Libby sing, I got a mini crush on her.”
“No!” Killian would have flipped. Like me, he’s a bit of a hothead, though well-intentioned.
“Yep. But she was Killian’s girl, so I ignored it.”
“Good idea.”
Whip nods, his eyes on the road. “Once had a crush on you too.”
“What?” I sit up straight, shocked. And a little unnerved.
He huffs a sound of amusement. “Don’t freak. It was back when you were eighteen and I was twenty. Lasted about a week, if that.”
“Well…that’s…Okay, it’s a shock but kind of funny too.”
Whip shrugs. “You’re smart, pretty, and fun. And we hung out all the time. Seems inevitable that feelings might build. I might have tried something, but I knew you were Rye’s girl.”
He sucker-punched me. Right here in this tiny car. I breathe in sharply, and Whip glances over. “It’s true, and you know it.”
“Whip.” It’s a warning.
He ignores it with a stubborn tilt to his chin. “I told him to take the risk.”