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  “Don’t you want me to get undressed, Alec?” Molly asked

  “Sure I do.” His voice was husky, his gaze hot and intense. “But you could have had the decency to wait until I was here to watch.”

  “Oh.” Molly’s breasts tingled. Well, of course she should let him watch. Obviously she still had a few things to learn about being a wild woman. “All right, then. Pay attention. I’m going to take off my skirt now.”

  And she proceeded to take off the garment an inch at a time, making sure her breasts shimmied with every movement. “Enjoying this?” she asked.

  Alec looked down at his straining sex, a wry grin on his face. “Obviously.”

  “Tell you what.” She wiggled again, nearly free of the material.

  “What?” He was almost fully erect, and it was an impressive sight.

  “When I finish this little chore, there might be something else I can do for you….”

  She paused, letting the anticipation build. “Do you remember telling me that I had a perfect mouth?” At his dumbfounded nod, Molly slowly ran her tongue over her lips. “Well, what do you say we take it for a test-drive…?”

  Dear Reader,

  Being chauffeured is a rush, at least for me. Thanks to Harlequin’s promotional events, I’ve had the privilege several times, but one instance in particular stands out. I’d been invited to a reader event at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, the same place they filmed Pretty Woman. Mark Williamson, who met me at LAX, was moonlighting as a chauffeur while waiting for his big break in music. So far, he’d recorded many commercials and one album.

  I mentioned Mark to the Harlequin people orchestrating the event, and they hired him for the weekend. On one outing he took us on a tour of Beverly Hills, admitting some time into it that he really didn’t know where the stars lived. We didn’t care. We listened to his album on the CD player and enjoyed his company. I lost track of Mark after that weekend, but I’ve always hoped he got the big break he was looking for.

  Ever since that experience, I thought a chauffeur would make a terrific hero, and at last Alec Masterson showed up to handle the job. If all chauffeurs looked like Alec, women would burn their driver’s licenses. Come along for the ride as Alec does his best (and his best is awesome) to drive Molly Drake wild.

  Warmly,

  P.S. If you’re online, drop by my Web site at www.vickilewisthompson.com and say hello!

  Books by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  826—EVERY WOMAN’S FANTASY

  853—THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  881—DOUBLE EXPOSURE

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  1—NOTORIOUS

  21—ACTING ON IMPULSE

  52—TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  DRIVE ME WILD

  For Mark Williamson, who had dreams as big as mine.

  I’m still hoping that someday you’ll write the score for my movie!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  1

  AS LONG AS Alec Masterson kept driving down the Connecticut Turnpike, he’d pick up his client exactly on time. That meant ignoring the ancient silver Caddy listing to one side on the shoulder up ahead. Now was not the time to play Good Samaritan.

  Then a frail old man climbed from behind the wheel and tottered back to the shredded rear tire. Alec groaned and glanced at the clock set into the Lincoln Town Car’s leather dash. Nope, couldn’t stop. He slowed down, though, hoping somebody else would get out of the Caddy, a teenage grandson, maybe.

  If Alec was late, Molly would miss her train into New York, and she’d already told him this trip was important. She hadn’t told him why, of course. Molly liked to keep her secrets. His buddy Josh was convinced she starred in X-rated videos. Josh had a wild imagination, but his theory would explain her constant trips to L.A., and she did have an incredible body.

  Alec was damn curious but he didn’t pry. He was the guy she requested whenever she called the car service, so she must like him. He liked her, too. Lusted after her, in point of fact.

  Her red-gold hair seemed designed to fan out on a pillow and her green eyes flashed the kind of fire that gave guys wet dreams. Nevertheless, there was a sweetness, an almost innocent quality to her. If Josh was right about her profession, she was one hell of an actor.

  If Alec had met Molly any other way than being her chauffeur, he probably would have asked her out. He had to say probably because he really shouldn’t take time for a girlfriend right now, and when it came to Molly, he couldn’t imagine stopping with one date. But he was her chauffeur, and he couldn’t risk losing his job with Red Carpet Limousine.

  He’d been playing student for more than ten years, testing out premed, electrical engineering, architecture, accounting. Law school was his last-ditch attempt to find something he loved, and he was determined to finish. The chauffeur’s job was perfect—decent money and flexible hours. Plus he could study while he waited for a client.

  As Alec passed the Caddy, he checked in the rearview mirror, still hoping to see some able-bodied passenger get out of the car to help the old guy. But no, a tiny, white-haired woman in a pink dress appeared and wobbled to the back of the car. She wore white shoes and carried a white pocketbook. Alec knew that women of her generation called them pocketbooks instead of purses because that was the word his granny used.

  Oh, hell. He pulled to the side of the road and backed down the shoulder until he was a couple of yards in front of the Caddy. So he would be late.

  MOLLY DRAKE PACED the worn oak floor while keeping an eye on the antique wall clock. Alec was never late, so why now, when this meeting with her agent could mean a new beginning for her? If she missed her eleven-thirty appointment, she wouldn’t get in to see Benjamin today. He was a busy man, and she wasn’t high enough on the food chain to think he’d squeeze her in somewhere else.

  Damn it, where was Alec? She should have learned to drive when she moved to Connecticut. She’d intended to, but Dana had insisted now was not the time, when she was in an unfamiliar place. More protective than Molly’s own mother, Dana paid for the car service and told Molly to use it whenever she needed a ride. Privately Molly had planned to learn to drive, anyway, but then Red Carpet Limousine had sent her Alec. Getting a license would have meant giving up Alec, and that was totally unacceptable.

  She was positive she wouldn’t have written the lust-filled novel sitting on her agent’s desk if Alec hadn’t come into her life. He’d inspired her to fantasize a grand sexual adventure in which her heroine, Krysta, explored her sensual urges in the primitive jungle setting of Brazil. Molly hadn’t ever combed her fingers through Alec’s thick brown hair, but Krysta had. Krysta had gazed into his brown eyes while she slowly unbuttoned his silk shirt and rubbed her hands over his muscular chest.

  And if he didn’t show up in the next two minutes, Molly was going to wring his gorgeous neck. The appointment with Benjamin meant the end of waiting for his reaction to her book. She’d mailed it to him three months ago—three of the most agonizing months of her life. Then last week, his assistant had called to set up this meeting to talk about the book.

  Molly was prepared for Benjamin to say he couldn’t get her a big advance. Big advances went to Hollywood stars like Dana Kyle, who had astounded Tinseltown by writing a series of clever mysteries. That’s what P
ublishers Weekly called them—clever and well plotted.

  Molly devoured each review and mailed copies to her parents in L.A. They were the only people besides Benjamin who knew that Molly had ghost-written every word of those mysteries for her dear friend Dana. Dana was thrilled with the recognition, and Molly was happy for her.

  But the more famous Dana became, the more she craved participation in the creative process, including face-to-face “brainstorming sessions” with Molly. Molly’s brain felt stormed, all right. Dana’s ideas were mostly terrible, and Molly had to find diplomatic ways to get out of using them. The process was exhausting, and ended with Dana’s name huge on the cover and Molly still invisible. It was time for Molly Drake to appear in print.

  Missing this meeting wouldn’t be a good beginning. Maybe if Benjamin thought the manuscript was a block-buster, he might forgive her. She’d had fantasies of that kind of success, of course, but she tried not to get carried away.

  Finally she gave in to her impatience, grabbed her large shoulder bag and went outside to wait on the porch. She’d save a couple of minutes if Alec didn’t have to knock on the door. She locked up, to save another minute, and sat on the porch swing Grandma Nell used to love so much.

  This cottage in Old Saybrook felt more like home than the Beverly Hills mansion where she’d grown up. Even so, she hadn’t accepted her grandma’s offer of coming to live here because the one-bedroom cottage was so obviously suited for one person and crowded with two.

  Maybe she should have come anyway and slept on the couch. At least then she could have spent more time with Grandma Nell before she died. That thought still brought a lump to Molly’s throat, but she could think about her grandmother without crying now. The first week she’d lived here, she’d nearly moved away because of the teary spells, but the flood had eased, and now she loved being surrounded by her grandma’s antiques, chintz and lace.

  Molly nudged the porch floor with her foot and set the swing to moving while she listened for the sound of an engine. Keeping her eye on the spot in the winding road where she’d first be able to see the Town Car’s pewter hood, she hoped nothing had happened to Alec. Damn, that hadn’t occurred to her until now, and the worry made her stomach twist.

  Late was one thing. An accident—well, she didn’t even want to think about that. It was a good thing the Town Car was heavy. She’d given her hero a Lincoln, but of course her hero actually owned it, whereas Alec only drove one for Red Carpet. Alec owned an old Blazer, although she’d never seen it.

  She willed the Town Car to shove its elegant nose around the bend in the tree-lined road. No such luck. She stopped pumping the swing when she realized how fast she was doing it, as if swinging harder would make him show up. Dreading to see the time, she finally peeked at her watch and panicked. No way would they make it to the station, but that was the least of her worries. Alec wouldn’t be this late unless something had happened.

  When the phone rang inside the house, she leaped from the swing so fast that it banged against the white clapboard siding. She fumbled in her purse for the key. Finally she located it, unlocked the door and dashed to the phone, a corded model that sat on a little stand in the hall. Her answering machine picked up right as she got there.

  She shut the recorder off and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Molly, I know I’m late, but—”

  “Alec! Are you all right?”

  “I’m on my way. Listen, you can’t make the train now, so I’ll drive you to New York. I’ll be at your house in five minutes.”

  “But you’re okay, right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” He sounded puzzled. “Why would you think I wasn’t?”

  “I just…was afraid you might have had an accident or something.”

  “Oh.” There was a brief silence.

  In the space of that silence it came to her that maybe she shouldn’t have sounded quite so concerned. She’d have to be careful or he might figure out that he was more to her than a chauffeur. And she didn’t have time for a real boyfriend. The fantasy kind was much easier to fit into her complicated life.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll be right there. ’Bye, Molly.”

  “’Bye.” She disconnected the line and stood with the receiver in her hand. His tone had been different at the end, softer, more intimate. Damn it. Sure, she’d flirted with him in the past six months he’d been driving for her, and he’d flirted back. A smart chauffeur would do that to increase his tips, but Molly thought the chemistry between them was real enough. She just didn’t want it to get out of hand.

  Back in L.A., most of the car services had a policy against dating clients. She knew that because once when she’d been chauffeured to a premiere of her dad’s latest movie, the driver had said he’d quit his job if she’d agree to go out with him. Maybe things were different in Connecticut, but she doubted it.

  Alec couldn’t afford to quit. Besides, he probably didn’t have time for a girlfriend any more than she had time for a boyfriend. He was either working or studying. She was either ghost-writing for Dana or stealing hours for her own story.

  Okay, that was settled, then. Even if Alec suspected she liked him a lot, and even if he kind of liked her, too, nothing would come of it. The timing was off for both of them.

  “Molly?”

  She turned to find him standing in the open doorway. She’d dashed inside to answer the phone without closing the door. He had a smudge of grease on his cheek and another one on the front of his white knit shirt with the Red Carpet logo on the breast pocket. His brown eyes held a tenderness that she hadn’t seen there before.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “This old couple had a flat tire, and I stopped to help them change it. But you’ll still get to your appointment if we leave now, because I can take you right to the door and you won’t have to mess around with a taxi at the train station.”

  She didn’t have a lot of choice. “All right. I’ll take you up on that.” Whenever she saw him her tummy tickled, but this morning that look in his eyes caused the tingling to move a little lower. Good grief, he was turning her on just with a look.

  “Good,” he said. “Then let’s go.”

  “Right.” She put the phone back in its cradle. Her front-door key was still in her right hand, but she had no clue what she’d done with her purse. She glanced around.

  “You left it by the front door.”

  “Oh.” She’d been so distracted about Alec that she must have dropped the bag the minute she’d found the house key. “Then I’ll just get it and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I left the car running and the air on.”

  “Great.”

  He stepped aside and she walked out onto the porch. Sure enough, her purse was lying beside the door, and fortunately nothing had spilled out of it. She locked the cottage door and picked up her bag by the leather strap.

  Alec stood at the end of the flagstone walk holding the passenger door open for her, as he’d done countless times before. Long ago they’d dispensed with the tradition of her riding in the back seat. Today Molly wondered if that had been wise. For their own good, they needed to maintain their distance.

  But she couldn’t very well change the rules now without making things awkward. “Thanks.” She slipped into the cool interior of the Town Car, tugging at her short skirt to keep it in place as she avoided his gaze.

  She needed to cut way back on the flirtation factor. Deliberately showing a little leg if she happened to be wearing a short skirt or looking into his eyes as she thanked him for holding the door had become second nature. She’d laughed a little too brightly at his jokes and flashed her smile far more than necessary.

  Today she could see that behavior had been a mistake. Alec was much too aware of her, and she was absolutely drooling over him. How could she resist a man who was rumpled and late because he’d helped an old couple change a flat tire?

  “You’re welcome.” He swept a gl
ance over her. “Watch your purse strap.”

  She thought he’d noticed more than the strap, which dangled next to her ankle an inch or so from the door. She pulled it out of the way and he closed the door with a firm thrust.

  Firm thrust, indeed. Leave it to her to make closing a car door sexual. It was a habit she might not be able to break—assigning sexual meaning to everything Alec did. That was how she’d been able to imagine him in bed, where firm thrusting would definitely be welcome.

  He rounded the hood and opened the driver’s door. “How long do you plan to be in the city?”

  “Not too long. Why?”

  “I could park in a garage and then drive you home.” He climbed into the car and closed the door.

  “You don’t need to do that.” Now he was really behaving more like a boyfriend than a chauffeur, and she was enjoying it, unfortunately.

  After picking up his sunglasses from the dash and putting them on, he backed out of her small driveway and headed toward the turnpike. “Up to you, but I don’t have any other clients today and I’ll charge you the same as if you took the train home.”

  “In that case, sure.” She knew he always needed money, and if taking her to New York and back would help him financially, she wouldn’t hesitate. “Do you have your books in the trunk?”

  He gave her a quick grin. “Always. And I’d much rather have company on the ride back, anyway.”

  If only he wouldn’t smile like that and make her tummy quiver. Until the moment when she’d begun worrying that he’d been in an accident, her emotions regarding him had been under control. But that concern seemed to have eaten away her defenses, and now every move he made created little shock waves in her system.