Lightning Mcqueen Face Novels & Stories

"I swear I won't do anything to you, it's cold and I'm offering to keep you warm." And that should work? I walked closer to the car and I touched it before giggling again and letting go. "It's a beautiful car," I said in a sweet voice and I saw him smirk before standing way too close to me. "What car is it?" I asked dumbly and he pushed my hair back before pressing his lips against my ear. "It's a McLaren 570S," he whispered and I had to do my best not to be disgusted. "I bet it goes fast, how fast does it go?" I said, turning my body to press his side and he chuckled, putting his hands on both my sides and caging me in. He had some really nice ocean eyes, it's a pity his breath stinks.

Monica shouted. But before anyone could move, the red light exploded outward, forming a large rectangle in the air above the table. The light solidified, became a screen, and on that screen appeared a face. Aiden Stone. He looked older than I remembered from the few times I’d seen him. His dark hair had more gray in it now, and new scars crossed his face. His eyes were the same though—cold and calculating, the eyes of a predator who’d seen too much and cared too little.

Mr. Mario stepped into the faintly lit office of the slave foundation, his face scratched with a combination of expectation and disquiet. Mr. Old Face, the heavy owner of the foundation, gazed upward from his papers with a wide smile that extended his endured highlights into something looking like jauntiness. "Ok, Mr. Mario! What an unexpected, yet wonderful treat," Mr. Old Face shouted, his voice slick with faked excitement. Mr. Mario's appearance stayed unemotional as he answered, "I want to say something very similar, Mr. Old Face."

Claire made a face. “I hated that.” “Seconded,” Rowan said. The creature’s face shifted. Ronan. Corwin. Garrick. A woman Mason didn’t recognize. A child. An old man. Faces passing across it like reflections on disturbed water. Then Mason. It stopped there. His own face stared back at him. Same eyes. Same beard. Same scar near his jaw. Even the same exhausted expression. Rowan glanced between them. “Oh, absolutely not.” Mason tightened his grip on Bramble’s hand.

He could still hear, with total clarity, the confidence in her voice as she'd called it a twenty-dollar knockoff. He didn't even want to talk anymore. "Understood. I'll call the restorer now." Marcus turned to leave. Then paused, glancing back. "Sir want something for your face?" he asked carefully, fighting to keep a straight face and his usual professional composure. "What do you THINK?" Grayson nearly shouted it. He had a visible bite mark on his cheek. He could hardly walk out into a boardroom looking like this. Marcus nodded and turned to go again.

“But I can cancel.” “Don’t be stupid, have fun and…” Her eyes got so big that I had to stop to turn around to see what had made her react that way. McKinnon, on top of a big black stallion. His is stetson tipped back letting the warm sun shine on his face. Both man and horse look powerful and the combination is striking. He looks like greek god. Funny thing is that he’s actually greek. We’re gawking from the distance, Lacey owing and saying this and that while my belly tightens. I hate that I can control my body reacting when he’s around.

he said. I forced a laugh. The Maybach's window rolled down, revealing Marcus's cool, composed face. "Get in," he commanded.

Then he looks back at the lineup. “Then that’s a neon-accented McLaren. See how the doors are tilted up a little? Like wings getting ready to fly.” He points at a car with glowing green accents that make it look like it’s from the future. “And… a Bugatti. Midnight blue finish.” “She’s so glossy you can see your own reflection trembling on the surface.” He whispers that last part right into my ear, and his breath tickles, making me shiver. “So tell me, baby. Which one?” he asks again, his lips still close to my skin like he'd rather ruin me with kisses than make the choice himself.

She said, “I think your son and parents would be very happy to see you restored to your old look.” For the third time, I lay down on the operating table. This time, the operating table no longer felt cold. Suzanne and the medical staff kept encouraging me. “When you wake up, Mr. Quince, everything will be back to normal. Things will get better.” “Alright.” I forced myself to suppress the immense fear and grief and closed my eyes. When I woke up again, the surgery had ended. However, because the injuries on my face were severe, the recovery period would also be longer.

"What the hell?!" Matthew leaned forward, squinting at the screen in disbelief! "That's... that's a McLaren! A few hundred thousand-dollar car!" "How?!" Ramon exploded, his face flushing red with rage and confusion! "How does that worthless piece of trash have a McLaren?! Where did he get that kind of money?!" Debra stared at the screen, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with calculation! A McLaren. Maxwell was driving a McLaren! Just like everyone here she was in shock too.