“Okay.” But her fingers remained tight on the wheel. “I’d like—sometime—for us to talk about it.”

“Sometime.” Damn it, didn’t she realize he didn’t want to talk about the other men who’d been part of her life? He didn’t want to think about them. Especially now, now that he was in love, and he knew what it was like to be with her.

He knew the sound of that little sigh she made when she turned toward him in the night. The way her eyes stayed unfocused and heavy, long after she awakened in the morning. He knew she liked her showers too hot and too long. And that she smelled so good because she rubbed some fragrant cream all over before she’d even dried off.

She was always losing things. An earring, a scribbled note, money. She never counted her change, and she always overtipped.

He knew those things, was coming to treasure them. Why should he talk about other men who had come to know them?

“Turn here.”

“Hmm?”

“I said turn…” He trailed off with a huff of breath as she breezed by the exit. “Okay, take the next one, and we’ll double back.”

“The next what?”

“Turn, McNee.” He reached over and gave her hair a quick tug. “Take the next turn, which means you have to get over in the right lane.”

“Oh.” She did, punching the gas and handily cutting off another car. At the rude blast of its horn, she only lifted a hand and waved.

“He wasn’t being friendly,” Alex pointed out—after he took his hands from in front of his eyes.

“I know. But that’s no reason for me to be rude, too.”

“Some people consider cutting off another driver rude.”

“No. That’s an adventure.”

Somehow they made it without mishap. But the moment she’d squeezed into a parking place two doors down from his parents’ row house, he held out his hand. “Keys.”

Sulking, she jingled them in her hand. “I didn’t get a ticket.”

“Probably because there wasn’t a traffic cop brave enough to pull you over. Let’s have them, McNee. I’ve had enough adventure for one day.”

“You just want to drive.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It’s a man thing.”

“It’s a survival thing.” He plucked them from her hand. “I just want to live.” Not that he was going to object to handling the natty little Mercedes. But he decided against bringing that up as they climbed out of opposite doors.

“Pretty neighborhood,” she commented, taking in the trees and freshly painted house trim and flowering plants, the scatter of kids riding over the uneven sidewalk on bikes and skateboards.

A few of them called out to Alex. Bess found herself being given the once-over by a group of teenage boys before they sent hoots and whistles and thumbs-up signs in Alex’s direction.

“Ah, the first stamp of approval.” But she rubbed her damp palm surreptitiously against her skirt before taking his hand. “Did you used to ride bikes along the sidewalk?”