Reeves’s grin lingered in the dim light from the dashboard, his question hanging in the air like smoke. She flicked a glance at him, then the steering wheel, then out the darkened window, where the yellow glow of streetlamps painted the street in long, thin stripes.
“What happens to starting in the car?” she asked in a much lower voice than she intended.
It was an odd question, one that sent a strange heat through her belly. There was no need for pretending. She knew what he was asking.
Reeves raised an eyebrow at her, amusement curdling into something darker and sharper in his expression. He didn’t reply, didn’t answer her question, only watched as she reached across the center console, crossing the short distance between them.
Her forearm bumped against the gearshift as she leaned o
