Free Staying On Top (Whitman University) by Lyla Payne Page B

glove box? My phone battery is shot.”
    He complied without argument, finding a map of Austria and the surrounding region, then directed me toward the best route to Slovenia in a quiet voice. A few hundred yards farther he reached over and put his hand over mine.
    Tingles soaked into my skin, raising hairs and goose bumps up my arm and neck that only had a little to do with his cold fingers. I jerked free. “What?”
    “You’re exhausted, Blair. Pull over and I’ll drive.”
    “No. If we get caught this way you can say I kidnapped you.” Despite my protest, the heaviness of my eyelids moved my foot from the gas to the brakes.
    Sam chuckled, the sound warm behind the chill of his touch. “Come on, gorgeous. No one’s going to believe you wrestled me into a stolen car, and you don’t have a weapon . . . do you?”
    “Not on me,” I said with a quick smile. 
    “Good to know.”
    I pulled up the parking brake, leaving the car in neutral and reaching for the door handle. Sam headed for the front of the car, so I crossed at the rear. My fatigue and guilt were making my body respond despite all of my self-righteous internal lectures about steering clear. Avoiding close proximity wasn’t an option, so my self-control needed to buck up.
    We settled back into the car and it felt good to let Sam take charge. The whir of the wheels against the pavement, the wind outside, and the sun climbing over the horizon tugged me toward sleep faster than I would have thought possible.
    It crossed my mind that Sam might drive us to the closest police station, but even that worry couldn’t keep me awake. He might not agree with my methods, but he wanted his money, and he was smart enough to know that I was the only way he’d ever see it again.
    He would keep driving. I could sleep the sleep of a girl who knew exactly what waited at our destination—an empty house on the side of a mountain.
    *
     
    “Hey, gorgeous. Time to wake up.”
    I left my eyes closed for a few seconds after my brain registered Sam’s request, until the situation in which I’d fallen asleep came back. It felt nice to wake up to a voice that sounded sorry to disturb me. Much better than the alarm clock on my phone that roused me for 8 a.m. classes. Not to mention what the huskiness and close proximity did to my heart.
    Sam Bradford possessed many, many assets that made girls around the world swoon in their tennis skirts—and climb out of them—but the rich quality of his voice, the way it gave me the ability to picture the look on his face, the expression in his eyes, ranked highest on my list.
    Of course, I hadn’t seen all of his assets.
    In that moment, in between the blessed nothingness of sleep and waking to the reality of this debacle, avoiding the inevitable seemed silly. The reaction between my legs at the mere thought of going to bed with him suggested that it wouldn’t be a disappointment.
    Shaking off sleep and, with it, pointless fantasizing, I opened my eyes and stretched the kinks out of my neck. My breath tasted like week-old anchovies. A package of mints in my purse helped, but I waited until the fuzziness of lust faded before trusting my voice. “Where are we?”
    “About three miles outside of Jesenice. Do you want to drive or give me directions?”
    A second later, I remembered this part of the con. Sheesh. Sleeping had erased half of my brain, it seemed, had made me think Sam and I were college kids on a tour of Europe with nothing to concern me but when we’d give in to the tension between us.
    The plan was to appear to be that couple on holiday, even though we weren’t that. One of us had to remember that fact, and since Sam had no idea what he’d actually signed up for, that person had to be me.
    “I don’t know exactly where we’re going.” A road sign that promised food at an upcoming turn caught my attention. “Let’s get some breakfast and I’ll work some contacts, see what I can find out.”
    “I’m not even going