thought just popped into her head, there, despite the fact that she warned herself not to think such ridiculous thoughts.
"Okay?" he asked.
She couldn't move, didn't want to move.
"Okay," she heard herself say.
She thought he'd let her go, even braced herself for it. But he kept his hands right where they were, his thumb drifting along her cheek—back and forth, back and forth, his fingers stroking her scalp. She almost closed her eyes, but something inside the depths of his own eyes held her, made her feel all warm and gooey.
Wow.
"Silly Sarah," he said softly.
"Silly Sarah," she murmured back.
And then she heard him take a deep breath, the pressure of his hands slowly easing. "C'mon," he said, his hands dropping back to his sides. "Let me show you inside."
CHAPTER SIX
He'd wanted to kiss her.
He couldn't believe how much he'd wanted to bend down and touch his lips to hers. But he didn't. He couldn't, he quickly amended. To do that would invite trouble and he didn't need trouble right now. As Sal said, he needed to focus, not lust after his new bus driver.
"This is unbelievable," she said after climbing into the coach, her hand on the back of the passenger seat as she stared around her, slack-jawed.
Bracing herself, he quickly amended, because if ever there was a more important reason why he shouldn't kiss her, it was because she'd obviously been overmedicated.
What the hell had Doc Brown given her?
"Wait," he said, eyeing her with concern. "You haven't seen nothin' yet. Sit down," he ordered, swiveling around the passenger seat because he didn't want her falling down. Lord knows, she was so loopy she might freak out.
"Comfy chair," she said.
"Yeah," he agreed, flicking a switch.
The coach rumbled. Sarah gasped. He shot her a reassuring look as air from the hydraulic system emitted a sharp hiss. And then, with a low-hummed vibration, the sliders began to push out.
She gasped.
He grinned. He couldn't help it, watching as both walls began to push outward, doubling the size of the coach with a simple flick of the finger.
"Wait," he said again, heading to the galley which was in the middle of the bus. From a cabinet designed specifically for them, he pulled out three black bar stools which he deposited beneath an S-shaped countertop—black—that he'd had specially designed to look like a waving race flag.
"What do you think now?" he asked.
Her mouth hung open. He saw her gaze drop to the checkerboard laminate floor which matched his bar, only the squares were bigger, and if he didn't miss his guess, it did something to her eyes because she got that bug-eyed look of optical confusion. She blinked a few times, shook her head again, and when she opened her eyes, it must have passed because she met his gaze again.
"It looks like someone from OPEC lives here."
"OPEC?"
"Yeah, you know, one of those Arab princes with eighty wives and more money than God."
"Are you saying my motor coach looks gaudy?"
"Well," she said, waving an arm, the motion causing her to momentarily lose her balance. She clutched the back of the chair again. "You must admit, the fiber optic lights are a bit much. I mean, do they really need to snake around the bottom of the floor like that? They do something to my eyes."
He just bet they did, he thought, suddenly feeling... miffed. He liked the inside of his coach. Loved to show it off to all his friends. And, hell, it wasn't half as gaudy as some of the rigs at the racetrack.
"What else bugs you?"
She looked around, her head swinging back wildly for a moment and he knew he'd get the absolute truth out of her. She was well and truly stoned. His pique faded as quickly as it'd come. Hell, this might be kind of fun.
"Well, the black leather couches are a bit bachelor pad-ish. I'm surprised you don't have zebra-striped throw pillows."
"Oh, yeah?" The couches had actually come with those pillows, but they'd clashed with his custom checkerboard bar and floor.
"And what's up with the
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