Drive Me Wild. Gwynne Forster

you to, ma’am. If you tell me to do something, I’ll try my best to do it right.”

      She didn’t doubt that. She also knew that the shopping trip wasn’t her idea, but his. “I see from the logo that this is a Lincoln, Justin. Which Lincoln is it?”

      “A Town Car, ma’am.”

      “It’s very comfortable,” she said.

      Justin turned face forward and spoke softly to the driver. She locked her gaze on the back of his head, noticed that his hair was perfectly trimmed. She recalled that when she’d seen him lounging against the guard’s desk, she’d noticed her new driver’s grooming was impeccable.

      The car stopped, and Justin turned so that he could look at her. “This is the Cadillac dealer, ma’am. We’re right on time.” He got out, walked back and opened her door just as she reached for the handle. If he noticed that, he didn’t let on.

      “Will he wait for us?” she asked Justin as they entered the dealer’s office.

      “Yes, ma’am. We’ve hired him for four hours. I think that’s all we need.” A salesman approached them and spoke to Justin.

      “Mr. Whitehead? Glad to meet you.” He shook hands with Justin and then with her. “Thank you for your patronage, Ms. Harkness.” He smiled at Justin. “May I see your driver’s license?” Justin showed him the license. “This way, please. I suggest you take it up the Major Deegan, Mr. Whitehead,” the man said with such pride that one would have thought he engineered the automobile.

      Justin opened the back door for Gina, then seated himself behind the wheel. “Relax, and let’s see how comfortable this thing is. Wait a minute.” He got out, opened the door beside her and reached across her to fasten her seat belt.

      She noticed that he avoided looking at her when his hand brushed her thigh. At first, she expected him to apologize, but he didn’t, and it dawned on her that he didn’t want to call attention to what was evidently an accident. He seated himself behind the wheel and pulled out of the lot to the sound of Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp.

      “I take it you like Mozart’s music.”

      She opened her eyes and sat forward. “What did you say?” He repeated the question. “I love chamber music. It’s so peaceful.” She looked out of the window at the river beside them. Did you or the dealer choose that radio station?”

      “I did. Why?”

      “I thought for a minute that it was part of the dealer’s sales pitch. Thanks for selecting it.”

      “My pleasure, ma’am. What do you think so far?”

      “I can’t see the difference between this and the one you rented for us, but I’d like to test the other one.”

      “Then, we’ll take this one back. The Town Car dealer is also on Eleventh Avenue around Fifty-fifth Street.”

      “Well, what do you think?” the salesman asked when they returned the car.

      Justin made the thumbs-up sign. “As I told you, she wants to check out another model. You’ll know one way or the other this morning.” They thanked the man and left.

      “Gee, there’re three couples ahead of us,” she said as they entered the second dealership.

      “Not to worry, ma’am. They didn’t make an appointment, I did.” He showed the salesman his driver’s license, and they were soon once again driving north on the Major Deegan Expressway. “I thought we’d take the same route as we did in the Cadillac, go over the same bumps and around the same curves so you can make a proper comparison,” he said.

      “Smart thinking. If the service and the performance histories are the same or approximately the same, I think I’d like this one, but before I choose, I’d like your opinion,” she said.

      “Thank you, ma’am. If all things were equal, I’d take this one, but I’d like to check the ratings.”

      “Then, can we get some information on the performance and the ratings of these cars?”

      “I have it right here.”

      “Wonderful. Let’s stop somewhere and go over it.”

      “Good idea, ma’am. I suggest we return the car, get our driver and find a quiet coffee shop somewhere.”

      I wish he’d quit calling me ma’am. He could only be a few years older than me. Now, where did that thought come from?

      Twenty minutes later, the driver of the rented limousine stopped in front of a small, yet elegant café. Justin got out and opened the back door for Gina. He stood beside the door trying not to notice her long shapely legs as she maneuvered herself out of the car. Then she looked up at him and smiled. This is definitely not going to work. And as if she read his thoughts, she lowered her lashes and moved away.

      He held the chair for her, all the while wondering how he was going to get used to her paying the bill on the occasions when they had to eat together in restaurants.

      “I didn’t have any breakfast,” she said, “and I’ll bet you didn’t, either. I’d had about two swallows of coffee when the guard buzzed me. I’m going to have waffles and sausage with maple syrup, lots of it.”

      He stared at her. “You mean, you’re not worried about gaining weight?”

      She shook her head. “I get plenty of exercise. Order whatever you want. I’m starving.” She gave the waitress her order. “Could you bring some coffee now, please?”

      He ordered waffles with bacon fried to a crisp and coffee. “I don’t usually allow myself all these calories,” he told her, “but if you’ve got the nerve to do it, so have I.” She smiled when he said that, and her eyes shone with what he could only describe as merriment. He told himself to remember that he was a journalist working on a story, and that he couldn’t afford to let himself succumb to the spell she had begun to weave. If she were less considerate, he could at least manage not to like her. But she took great care not to treat him as a chauffeur in the presence of others. He corrected himself; she hadn’t treated him as an employee.

      Their waitress poured each of them a cup of hot coffee, and it didn’t escape him that she said “please” and “thank you” to the waitress. He’d give this woman high marks for good manners. She sipped the coffee, closed her eyes, and inhaled its aroma and sighed.

      He squirmed. Good Lord, this woman was sensuous. Suddenly, he wanted to know everything about her, everything she’d done and who she did it with. He wanted to reach out and touch her smooth brown face.

      “Damn,” he said to himself. “I’m way off.” He gulped down a swallow of coffee and wished he’d been more prudent when the liquid burned his throat. He opened the envelope that he’d placed in the chair beside him and put his mind on the business at hand.

      “Let’s eat first,” she said. “We’ve got time for that.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said as the waitress placed his food in front of him.

      To his amazement, she said grace. She continued to look at her plate and then, clearly having come to a decision, she said, “Justin, how old are you, if I may ask?”

      His eyebrows shot up, and he didn’t try to control his reaction. “I’m thirty-seven. Why do you ask?”

      This time, her eyebrows went up. “I’m thirty-four, which makes me too young to be your mother. So, would you please stop calling me ma’am. It’s getting on my nerves.”

      He didn’t laugh, although he’d have given anything for the right to let it out. Instead, he savored his meal for a minute, glanced up and saw that she hadn’t begun to eat.

      “Age doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he said. “It’s a matter of respect, and ma’am is shorter than saying Ms. Harkness all the