When we pull into his driveway, I hug Brianna tightly, promising to see her tomorrow. She heads inside to get ready for bed, then I turn toward my car.
“Leaving already?” Worth calls after me.
“Yeah. It’s a work night. I shouldn’t be out late,” I joke.
He joins me beside my car, eyeing it critically. “We need to get you something new.”
“We absolutely do not,” I protest. “My car is fine.”
Worth circles the vehicle. “You sure about that?”
He nudges a loose piece of metal with his shoe. It clatters to the ground, rusted clean through.
I gape at it. “Well, if you didn’t go around kicking my precious vehicle, maybe!”
Unbothered, he reaches into his pocket and presses a button on one of his key fobs. The garage door rolls open, and my jaw practically hits the pavement.
Inside sits a fleet of cars. Four of them. Plus two motorcycles.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Take your pick. Although I’m guessing you don’t ride bikes, so maybe steer clear of those.”
I drift closer, still stunned. “Who needs this many cars, Worth?”
He shrugs. “I used to have more. Sold a few. Figured six sports cars was excessive.”
“I am not taking one of your cars.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too much. And like I said: I’m not a charity case.”
He stops in front of me, expression serious now. “Mya. Just borrow one of the cars.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I can’t sleep comfortably at night knowing you’re driving that monstrosity. Please.”
I sigh. “Fine. Which one is the most normal?”
Worth lets out a low laugh. “Normalmight be a stretch.”
He steps closer, coming up behind me, and his scent wraps around me. I inhale deeply.
“How about the least flashy one?”
His chest brushes my back, close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. His mouth hovers near the shell of my ear, grazing it, and my skin prickles in anticipation.
“That one,” he says, nodding toward the sleek black car. “Porsche 911. Fast. Loud. Fun. But it attracts attention. And you don’t strike me as someone who enjoys being watched.”
My pulse skips as his knuckles skim my hip, goosebumps erupting all over my body.
Worth chuckles, darkly. “Unless you do. And I’ve been missing out,” he whispers.
“The red one over there,” he continues, voice lower now, “is the Ferrari Portofino. Beautiful, but impractical. You’d freeze half the year, and I don’t like the idea of you being uncomfortable.”
I swallow.