I bet Sloane’s marrying the O’Donnell guy for the money, but banging this Thor dude on the side.
I hate to admit it, but it’s a good plan.
“Nice to meet you, too. What’s your name?”
“Spider.”
I make a face. “Spider? No. Your mother didn’t name you that. What’s your real name?”
There’s a beat of silence where it looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Homer.”
“Really? That’s cool! I’ve never met anyone named after an ancient Greek poet.”
He lowers his head and examines my expression with such intensity, I’m taken aback.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Your sister said exactly the same thing to me about my name when we met. Verbatim.”
“Oh. Huh. Weird.”
“Aye.”
Oh my god, people from Ireland actually say “aye.” That’s so hot. Stop looking at his crotch.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Spider, though. Most of the lads don’t know my real name.”
My ears prick at the mention of “lads.”
If there are more Spiders wherever we’re headed, I’m extending this vacation indefinitely.
“Sure. You can count on me not to spill the beans. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
I grin at him. He gives me an indecipherable look, then turns to take my bag from a worker carrying it over from the plane.
Spider throws the bag into the back of the SUV, opens the rear door for me, and waits for me to climb in. Then he slams the door shut behind me and slides behind the wheel.
We peel out with such force, I’m thrown back against the seat.
“Are we in a car chase I don’t know about?”
“No. Why?”
The SUV careens around a corner, tires squealing. Now I’m thrown sideways, nearly banging my head on the window.
“Oh, no reason. It’s just that a skull fracture isn’t on my itinerary.”
Glancing at me in the rearview mirror, he frowns. Then he takes another corner so fast, I have to cling to the door handle so I don’t smash through the rear window and rocket off into space.
“Dude, will you please cool it? I’m getting tossed around back here like a beach ball at the Electric Daisy Carnival!”
I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn’t get the reference. But he does slow down to under a thousand miles per hour, so I guess he understands the general idea that I’m not one for aggressive shows of speed.
“Thank you. Sheesh.”
We drive for a while without exchanging more conversation. I resist the urge to pester him with questions, mostly because I’m afraid his Irish accent will make my panties go up in smoke.
After Spider has glanced curiously at me in the rearview mirror about four hundred times, I sigh heavily and adjust my glasses. “I know. My sister and I don’t look alike.”
“Same cheek, though.”
“Cheek?”
“Sass. Confidence.”
“Ha! Nobody on earth has Sloane’s self-confidence.”
He chuckles. “Aye. Except maybe her man.”
I wasn’t going to ask questions but curiosity gets the better of me. “You mean her fiancé? The rich and elderly Mr. O’Donnell?”
He glowers. “Forty-two is hardly elderly, lass.”
Okay, two things. First: he’s right. Though it’s quite a bit older than Sloane, forty-two isn’t elderly.
More importantly, being called “lass” is my new favorite kink.
I drape myself over the back of the passenger seat and stare at Spider’s beautiful profile.
After a moment, he flashes me a quizzical look.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to imagine what it must be like to walk around looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know.” I wave a hand to indicate his general luminosity. “That.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Bizarrely, he seems sincere. His expression is one of genuine confusion. But how is that possible? If I were gorgeous, I’m sure I’d know it.
Like Sloane does.
It occurs to me that maybe Spider’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. I might need to clarify things for him.
“What I’m saying is that you’re very good-looking.”
I’m astonished when his cheeks turn bright red.
He sputters some kind of nonsensical denial, adjusts his tie, and stares straight ahead out the windshield, blinking comically.