Darius Spencer gunned the engine of his classic Chevrolet Camaro RS/SS (1969) and the rush of speed exploded through his veins.
He had built a billion-dollar luxury goods business by respecting his customers, his suppliers, his business partners, and his employees. After he’d learned the hard way as a kid how lies and cruelty could ruin a life, he’d worked like hell to turn his own around. Today, though his meeting was with a kid instead of a power player, he was just as intent on getting there on time.
And if that meant pushing the powerful car even faster, all the better.
Zion Adler’s letter to Darius had been scrawled on spiral notebook paper that looked like it had been ripped out of an elementary school binder. Having watched Darius’s clip on the TV show Hot Cars, Zion had written that he loved cars, had seen every movie and TV show ever made about cars, and begged to see Darius’s collection.
The boy’s longing had touched something in Darius that he couldn’t define. And only a total jerk would say no.
Powering into the turn off the freeway, his tires spat gravel while the back end held firm as he blew through the open gates of the municipal airport on the San Martin Gardens. The speed sent another rush through him—a rush that he’d always needed, lately more than ever.
Down the row of hangars, the two specks ahead coalesced into a woman and a young man, taller than she was and younger, too—a teen. The boy was bouncing on his feet with nervous energy.
Darius had been expecting an eight-year-old. Could this teenager be Zion? Darius took his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes, slowing as individual features came into focus. The two had similar bone structure, but where the teenager had brown hair, the woman was blond, and not out of a bottle, either.
Rolling to a stop beside them, Darius focused on her, the bump in his pulse having nothing to do with his earlier burst of speed. It was all about her—the lush lips, the blond hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, and the business suit that failed to disguise her sweet curves. She wasn’t dressed Saturday casual the way Darius was, but all straitlaced and buttoned up. The hair gave her away, though, flowing free and sexy in the breeze blowing off the bay.
“Mr. Spencer, Mr. Spencer!” The teen began waving his arms, practically jumping out of his sneakers. In one hand, he gripped an orange spiral notebook, shaking it wildly. It could very well have contained the torn-out page Darius had in his jeans pocket.
So this was Zion Adler. He had to be seventeen or eighteen, even though the printing in the letter had been, at best, at a third grade level, and the tone was the same, one of an exuberant child on a mission.
Darius climbed out of the restored white Challenger. The car was the reason he’d almost been late. He’d been up in San Martin that morning checking over a shipment of roe. An exclusive from Greece, he’d paid a fortune for it and had done the inspection himself. Driving the Chevrolet Camaro to this meeting had been a last-minute decision, and the Bay Area traffic had been bumper-to-bumper on the detour back to his home in Lyrcius Valley to pick up the car. Spring was here, and everyone seemed to be out for a drive on the first clear, sunny Saturday in weeks.
Fortunately, the excitement on the boy’s face as he raced around the car was worth the extra trouble.
“Wowowowow.” Zion spoke so fast it was almost one word.
“Zion, calm down,” the woman said, but she was smiling at the boy as she did so. Her voice was as smooth as the award-winning Japanese single malt whiskey Darius imported.
If Zion had been younger, she could have been his mother—the same nose, the same blue eyes. But at somewhere in her late twenties, she was far too young to be the mother of an eighteen-year-old.
“I’m Darius,” he said as he left Zion to his raptures over the car for a few moments and turned to focus his attention on her. “Darius Spencer.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”
She shook his hand and he was struck not only by the strength of her handshake, but also by how soft her skin was. So soft that he didn’t want to let go, especially when he caught the flicker of awareness—and heat—that sparked in her eyes when they touched.
“I’m Nathalie Adler.” She carefully drew her hand away from his. “My brother Zion is obviously too excited for a proper introduction.” She smiled fondly again at her brother, who was kneeling to study the rim on the right rear tire, lovingly running one finger over it. “I really appreciate your taking the time to show us your car collection. With your busy schedule, we don’t want to keep you too long.”
“First of all, call me Darius. And second, it’s my pleasure.” He hadn’t expected to meet a gorgeous woman—and single, judging by her bare left hand—here today. She had no idea just how great a pleasure this meeting had turned out to be.
But Darius knew firsthand that there was nothing simple about affection...and that it wasn’t necessarily a given between family members. Zion was very lucky indeed to have Nathalie as a sister.
“I’ve also seen the new Transformers: Age of Distinction.” Zion said the last word carefully and Darius didn’t have the heart to correct it to Extinction. “That chase with the evil bad cars was cool,” Zion enthused, his eyes wide.
Nathalie didn’t correct the movie title, either. Or maybe she didn’t know the difference, given that Darius didn’t see her as a Transformers fan. Besides, maybe distinction was a better word in this case, considering that Nathalie Adler was already a woman of distinction in Drake’s estimation—both because of how well she treated her brother and the way her natural beauty shone through despite the rather severe outfit.
“Was having the same last name as the star of Vanishing Point what got you started as a car enthusiast, Zion?”
“Cars are cool. I can’t drive, but if I could, I’d go fast fast fast.” Zion didn’t quite answer the
question, and again, there was that odd cadence in his speech.
“I like to go fast, too,” Darius agreed wholeheartedly.
There was nothing like speed to make you feel alive. Darius knew he’d never completely outrun his past, and that he’d always be his father’s son no matter how much he wished he wasn’t. Nonetheless, he’d worked long, hard years to put as much of his past behind him as he could, with all his focus, drive, and energy bent on taking control of his future.
For a good decade or more, success had been enough for him. Yet in the last few months, something had changed—a feeling of emptiness that working harder hadn’t been able to fix. When even millions in profits from a new product couldn’t get him excited, a fast ride was the only sure-fire way to get his blood pumping again.
Until now, at least, when Nathalie Adler was having the exact same impact on him.
“He’s always liked cars,” Nathalie answered for Zion. “I can’t say I feel the same way.” She offered an apologetic smile and politely said, “But the collection we saw on TV is impressive.”
Would she be equally polite in the bedroom? Mr. Spencer, could you please touch me here?
Jesus, that thought was hot. So hot that he forced himself to push it away, since they were standing in front of her brother.
“When you’re able to drive,” Darius said, turning back to Zion, “I’m sure you’ll want to obey all the traffic rules.” But his tone was tongue-in-cheek. At Zion’s age, he’d broken all the rules. Now he made his own.
Darius found himself wondering what kind of rules Nathalie had...and which ones she might be willing to break with him.
“I can’t drive.” Zion’s brow knit seriously. “Nathalie drives me. But she doesn’t like to go fast. Not like we do.” He nudged Darius’s arm with his elbow as if they were a conspiracy of two.
Nathalie smiled indulgently, and Darius could easily guess that Zion had told her to go faster one too many times. She didn’t offer an explanation as to why Zion couldn’t drive, but Darius had realized by now that while the boy might be in his late teens physically, his mental capacity hadn’t caught up for some reason.
She glanced at her watch. “In the interest of time, maybe we should look at the cars.”