Cruise Control Read online

  She was turned on

  Not once in her life had Anna locked eyes with a strange man and felt the tingle of desire that was now vibrating its way through her body.

  She flicked her eyes to the rearview mirror, trying to catch another glimpse of Marc the hottie in the backseat. His gaze was fixed on something in the front of the car. Perhaps she had just imagined that moment of heat when their eyes had locked?

  Then she followed his eye line, and saw that her skirt had ridden up and that he was focused on the lacy top of her stocking, visible through the side slit. Her skin tingled as if he’d actually touched her. When she lifted her gaze to the mirror, he was watching her, his expression knowing. He looked as if he knew his way around the bedroom. In fact, he looked as if he’d written the book on passion, then banged out a couple of sequels for good measure.

  No doubt about it. Anna wanted him…and she was definitely going to get him.

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of a female chauffeur, ever since I saw Sabrina and wondered, what if she was the chauffeur, and not her father? Many years later Anna Jackson popped out of my laptop and onto the page.

  The really fun part about this book was going to Bali for research. The sacrifices a girl has to make…I managed to squeeze five massages and two facials into ten days, a triumph of scheduling. And without giving too much away, yes, Anna’s massage experience borrowed heavily from my own. Enough said.

  I really enjoyed hearing from readers after my first Harlequin Blaze novel, Can’t Get Enough, was published last year. Thank you! Writing is a lonely sport, and it’s nice to know when something has struck a chord with people, so I’d love to hear from you either via e-mail to [email protected], or in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  Cheers for now,

  Sarah Mayberry

  CRUISE CONTROL

  Sarah Mayberry

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sarah Mayberry is an Australian currently living in New Zealand. She lives very happily with her partner of many years, Chris, who is also a writer. Before writing for Harlequin, she worked in publishing and as a scriptwriter/story person on television drama. Like her characters, Sarah has a “thing” for cars and romance, and she firmly contends that if everyone drove a Mini Cooper, there would be world peace.

  Books by Sarah Mayberry

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  211—CAN’T GET ENOUGH

  A special thanks to my father and brother for letting

  me “be inspired” by their lives for this book,

  and to my stepmum, Moira.

  Thanks also to Caz, La-La, Satan, Hanky Panky and Emms for their support, and to Wanda for making me better. And of course, Chris. Where would I be without you?

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  1

  “ANNA JACKSON?”

  Anna swiveled on her heel, turning toward the voice. The woman standing in front of her on the busy Sydney street was dressed in a neat navy suit, her hair perfectly coiffed, her face stretched into an expression of incredulity.

  “It is you!”

  Anna smiled. She still got a buzz out of people’s reactions to the new her. Especially her old law colleagues.

  “Hey, Mary. How are things?”

  “You look so different!” Mary said, shaking her head. “I would have walked right past you. I mean, I nearly did.”

  “It was time for a change. You know how it is.” Anna shrugged.

  Mary’s hand strayed to her own sensible brown bob as she eyed Anna’s new short and spiky platinum blond haircut. “I haven’t seen you around for ages,” Mary said, fishing for information.

  “I quit,” Anna said simply.

  “Oh. Wow. I didn’t hear. So which firm did you go to? I know Sullivan and Makepeace were looking for someone in corporate governance….”

  “Actually, I’ve started up my own business,” Anna said lightly. She glanced toward the gleaming black Mercedes sedan parked behind her. Mary followed her gaze, frowning as she took in the car’s license plates: Lady Driver.

  “It’s a luxury car service,” Anna explained. “High-end business, that kind of thing.”

  “You mean you’ve quit law?” Mary said. She sounded scandalized, as though Anna had just confessed to running a string of hookers.

  “Yep.”

  Mary shook her head. “Why on earth would you do that? You’re such a great lawyer, Anna. One of the best. God, I used to sweat buckets when I knew I was coming up against you.”

  Anna had gotten used to people not understanding why she’d tossed in her career, but she was surprised at the tug of pride she felt at the other woman’s compliment. “Really?” It was hard not to feel flattered.

  “Hell, yeah. Formidable—that’s how my senior partner once described you,” Mary said admiringly.

  The buzz of pride faded. Formidable. Great. Just how she wanted to be remembered.

  “I guess I decided that there was more to life than work,” Anna said.

  Mary opened her mouth to argue, but maybe she saw something in Anna’s face because she shut it again without saying a word. The look she shot Anna was equal parts confusion and concern.

  Anna knew what she was thinking—Mary simply couldn’t understand how anyone could turn her back on a prestigious, lucrative career to become a glorified taxi driver. For a split second Anna considered telling her. But it was her business, her very private business. Anyway, it wouldn’t take the other woman long to find out why Anna had quit her job and turned her life around. The Sydney law community was big, but not that big. Mary would go back to the oak-lined offices of her firm and ask the right people the right questions, and within an hour she’d know.

  “Breast cancer,” someone would tell Mary in a hushed tone. “Went off the rails, threw it all in.”

  “Well. I wish you the best of luck,” Mary finally said. “If I know you, you’ll have a fleet of cars within a year.”

  Anna just smiled. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted less, but Mary was being kind.

  “Thanks. Look after yourself,” Anna said.

  Giving her one last, uncertain glance, Mary strode briskly away. No doubt she was heading off to wage a war of words with a sharp-witted foe, Anna guessed. Precedents would be cited, clauses referred to. Veiled threats would be tossed back and forth as the lawyers circled one another. It would be tense and exciting and challenging.

  Anna narrowed her eyes to follow Mary’s retreating figure. There had been times in the past five weeks since Lady Driver had gotten off the ground when she’d been assailed with doubts about what she’d done. It was all so new, so different, so scary. But watching Mary walk away, Anna realized that if ever she’d had any doubts about giving up her law career, they’d just evaporated completely. She wouldn’t trade places with the other woman for anything—not even her own string of hookers.

  She was still smiling when she turned back to the car. The dark tinted windows reflected her image back at her, and her smile broadened as she took in the striking-looking woman she’d become. First, there was the hair. Annie Lennox, eat your heart out. Then there was the hot pink curve of her lips and the smoky kohl of her eyes—gone were the somber, conservative browns and grays of her old makeup palette, never to be seen again. And instead of the severe, staid style of her previous suits, she now wore a figure-hugging, sexy skirt suit in dark charcoal with a
hot pink pinstripe running through it.

  There was hardly a trace of the old Anna Jackson left, she assured herself. That was why she liked it so much when people from her former life like Mary barely recognized her.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, Anna put her chauffeur’s cap on. Knowing she still had ten minutes to kill until her next client, she eased her small leather-bound notebook from the side pocket of the car door and flipped it open to a well-thumbed page. She couldn’t look at the words inscribed there without remembering the setting she’d written them in—the sterile whiteness of the hospital, the muffled clatter of nurses doing their rounds, the all-pervading smell of antiseptic. As always, a wave of fear gripped her as she recalled the hours of waiting and wondering.

  But she needed the fear. It kept her honest, kept her nose to the grindstone as she worked to change her life around. Because she’d promised herself that she’d change if she got a second chance. And it was tempting to let things slide, to go easy on herself now that the fear was receding.

  She read over the list, even though she didn’t really need prompting to remember the pledges she’d made to herself. Change job—crossed out now. Make over me, also crossed out. The rest of the list was still intact, waiting to be tackled.

  She frowned down at the page as she ran her eye over point number two again. It wasn’t entirely true, was it? She wasn’t really made over. Not when she considered that she’d barely addressed all the other things on her list. Be more impulsive still challenged her. Along with be adventurous. There was a sublist of things she wanted to try under that one—scuba diving, skydiving, bungee jumping, motorbike riding, snowboarding. And she hadn’t done a thing about tackling any of them. But nothing on her wish list caused her to swallow nervously and twitch in her seat quite so much as item number five: Need more passion in my life. She’d even underlined it several times, just to highlight to herself how important it was.

  And she’d done absolutely nothing about it. It had been a year, and she’d changed her hair, her wardrobe, her makeup, her job. But she kept shying away from the hard stuff. The really life-changing stuff.

  The sound of the back passenger door opening interrupted her musings and she twitched the rearview mirror into place just in time to make eye contact with the man who was ducking his head into her car.

  “You here to pick up the Lewis party? Sorry, we’re a bit early,” he said. He had a round, friendly face, and Anna found herself smiling at him.

  “Not a problem,” she said. Sliding the notebook back into the side pocket, she reached for the door, preparing to usher her clients into the back of the car.

  “It’s fine, stay where you are,” the man assured her.

  He turned away to talk to someone outside, then slid into the backseat. A second man followed, but Anna was too busy starting the car to register him immediately.

  Then she flicked her eyes up to the rearview mirror, and found herself gazing into eyes so dark they were almost black. No, not black, she swiftly corrected herself—a very dark brown, like rich, bittersweet chocolate. Thick, dark lashes and a strong, straight nose added determination to a face that Anna quickly saw was dangerously attractive. Black hair, high cheekbones, olive skin and the shadow of stubble on his jaw completed the picture. And his mouth—she’d thought the eyes were killer, but the mouth was something else altogether. A chiseled curve, the top lip slightly thinner than the luscious, provocative bottom lip, with the corners turned up as though its owner was always on the verge of laughter.

  There was something smoldering and intent and hungry about his gaze as he locked eyes with her in the mirror. A shiver ran down her spine, and she stirred in her seat, suddenly unable to keep still.

  “You’ve got the address, right?” the first man asked, and Anna blinked.

  “Yes,” she said, wrenching her eyes forward.

  She concentrated on her driving, smoothly pulling out into the traffic.

  But as she wove her way confidently through the lunchtime rush, a frown creased her forehead as she registered that her heart was beating a little faster. And her palms were damp on the steering wheel. And her breasts felt heavy and full in her bra. It took her a moment to identify the feeling.

  She was turned on.

  As revelations went, it was a biggy. She only just stopped herself from planting a foot on the brake and bringing the car to a screeching halt. It had been a long time—a looonnngggg time—since she’d felt anything like desire. But surely it took more than a look—a few seconds of eye contact, if she was getting specific—to switch that part of herself back on?

  Not once in her life had she ever locked eyes with a strange man and felt the tingle of desire that was even now vibrating its way through her body. This sort of thing didn’t happen to her. All her past relationships had grown out of mutual respect and affection.

  She was thrown, completely thrown. She felt oddly vulnerable and exposed, too. She flicked her eyes back up to the rearview mirror, trying to make sense of this phenomenon. She felt a strange relief when she saw his dark gaze was fixed intently on something in the front of the car now. Perhaps she had just imagined that moment of heat when their eyes had locked?

  Then she followed his sight line, and saw that her pencil-slim skirt had ridden up and that he was fixated on the lacy top of her stay-up stocking—visible through the side slit of her skirt—along with a good expanse of thigh.

  She couldn’t help herself—she pushed her skirt down instantly. When she lifted her gaze to the mirror again, he was watching her, his eyes knowing.

  She riveted her attention on the road ahead, swallowing nervously. Oh, boy. She had no idea how to handle this situation. He was obviously interested. What if he asked her out? How would she say no without offending him? How awkward. God, she was hopeless in these kinds of scenarios. This was why she’d always turned to work instead of putting herself out there more.

  Tension tightening her belly, Anna glanced at the clock in the dash. Five more minutes, and they’d be at their destination and he’d be gone. She just had to endure five more minutes….

  Then she remembered her list.

  Hadn’t she just been sitting here, worrying over how to get more passion into her life? And wasn’t there a bona fide sex god in the back of her car right now—and she was worrying over how to get rid of him? She took a deep, unsettled breath. This was what she’d just admitted to herself, wasn’t it—she’d changed the easy stuff, but now that the going was getting tough, she was balking.

  She snuck another peek at him. He was the kind of man she’d only ever stared at in expensive restaurants—sexy, powerful, confident. He looked as though he knew his way around the bedroom. In fact, he looked as though he’d written the book on passion, then banged out a couple of sequels for good measure.

  Her mind began to race. If she was being true to her undertaking to change her world around, she would do something about this. She’d ask him out. Or do whatever it was that women did to get men to ask them out.

  She felt like a born-again virgin, uncertain and awkward and completely clueless. And, if she were being completely honest with herself, excited. Because he was hot. He was definitely hot.

  Oh-boy-oh-boy. Could she do this? Could she really do this? She felt as though she was standing on the edge of a precipice, preparing to take a dive into the unknown.

  The ring of a phone broke into her hectic thoughts. She watched in the mirror as Mr. Sexy flipped his cell phone open with a smooth wrist action. He had nice hands, she noted, with long, strong-looking fingers. Her stomach clenched as she imagined him touching her. Stroking her hot skin. Tracing the curve of her—

  She shook her head, amazed at how quickly her thoughts had gotten out of control. She’d never responded to a man like this. Ever.

  “Yes, Sally?” he said into the phone.

  It was the first time he’d spoken. His voice was deep and low, a perfect match for the rest of him. Something else to add to the erotic
fantasy that was rapidly taking shape in her subconscious.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question,” he said into the phone. She saw that he was frowning, his gaze focused on the paperwork he’d pulled out of his briefcase. “I need you to help with the bid presentations.”

  There was an implacable note to his voice that caught her attention. Eyes fixed on the road ahead, she frowned.

  He sighed heavily, obviously frustrated with what he was hearing from his caller.

  “Let me ask you one question, Sally—are you committed to this job or not? Because we discussed the issue of work hours before you started, if I remember correctly,” he said.

  His tone was hard and cold, and Anna felt her lip curling into an instinctive snarl. What a jerk.

  Instantly she remembered the difficult weeks when she’d first gotten home from the hospital. She’d been wrestling with so many things during that time and the senior partners at her law firm had called her, one after the other, to consult on cases. And one after the other, they’d all hedged their way around to asking her to cut short her sick leave and return to work. She’d come back—but only to wind up her most pressing cases and hand in her resignation. It had taken several months to extract herself from her partnership and prepare the groundwork for Lady Driver, but finally she’d walked away from it all. Now the memory of their lack of consideration—their lack of humanity—lit a renewed fire of anger in her belly. They’d been so callous, so unfeeling. And she’d almost wasted her life working alongside them.

  And now this…jerk in the back of her car was bullying one of his employees in much the same way. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying something. Instead, she ground her teeth together and settled for braking late at a red light, bringing the car to an abrupt halt and jostling her passengers. He glanced up, annoyed at the less-than-smooth ride. Anna eyed him coldly in the rearview mirror.