As I come to, flashes of memory zip through my mind. Glasses exploding.
I blink.
Sprays of shards raining down.
I try to sit up.
Tendrils of smoke curling up from the bonnet.
My head pounds.
A huge body shielding me.
I try to sit up again but give up, burrowing into the leather seat. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth. "My poor car," I groan in a barely audible voice.
The man seated behind the wheel turns slate grey eyes to me.
His huge hand palms the back of my head and I start to reach up in protest when he runs his hand through my hair gently. "No concussion," he says in a smooth baritone, withdrawing his fingers while my face flames.
I drag in a breath and sit up. Then wish I hadn't.
The windshield is completely destroyed, the rowers broken clean at the hilts. I lean for
