by Alice Ward
I let out a breath of air, trying to see if she really meant it. Her face was completely serious. “Are you sure? Even if—”
“Even if I never get to race another day in my life, Locke,” she said, a single tear sliding down her face. “You come first. Do you get it? You come first.”
At that moment, I did the only thing I could do. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, long and hard, lifting her slight body off the ground as I held her. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around me, even though I knew the movement cost her.
Yes, I was overcome with emotion. But no, this was not just an embrace. This was the truth. I loved this woman, and this woman loved me.
And what did they do, the assholes who cared more about kissing than they did about the actual race? They burst into the loudest applause that conference room had ever seen.
When I was done, and the applause had died down, I held her to my side and addressed the reporter directly. “Obviously,” I said, a laugh in my voice, “Emma and I are more than friends. I am in a relationship with Emma James, and all I can say is, I’m ecstatic about it and have never been happier.”
Flashes went off like crazy, murmurs spreading throughout the crowd. Laura, off to the side, threw up her hands, turned away, and then walked back to face me. When she did, she was smiling. Fine, have it your way, she mouthed.
I continued. “You know… Emma James may be a woman. But what UnCaged Fitness is about is that we’re not caged into any one role. She may be my lover, and yes, my love.” I squeezed her hand. “But she’s also an incredible driver who deserves as much respect and admiration as you give to male drivers. If the fact that she’s a woman or that I love her has reduced what an accomplished athlete is in your eyes, then what can I say? You don’t deserve to be reporting on this.”
My hand in hers, I turned to leave the podium, smiling at Emma, who hesitated as though she had something more to add. I moved aside and adjusted the microphone for her so that she could have her chance to speak.
She leaned forward and said simply, “I love Locke Cage.” She smiled back at me and then added, “Now that that’s out of the way, do you have any questions?”
The crowd erupted with noise. I called on the first person in the row, who said, “You were on a tear in the Poconos until the crash. Do you expect to come in first on your next race?”
She laughed and nodded. “Oh, hell, yeah. That checkered flag is mine.”
And I had to laugh too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma
I still loved the smell of grease and had motor oil in my veins, but after my accident, something changed. I was more cautious. War-wounded. Scarred. I’d put racing out of my mind for as long as I could, but something inside me missed it.
As I stepped out of the simulator, Bruce greeted me with a smile. “That’s your best lap time yet,” he said, clapping me on the back. “I think you’re ready to get back out on the track.”
My body stiffened. Right.
I knew the day was coming. The soreness had gone away, and the bruises had faded to an ugly yellow. I’d spent most of the week being catered to hand and foot by Locke, like I was a princess and he was my lowly liege. He’d gotten me most anything I asked for, and I even managed to get him to try a few McDonald’s fries while we laid in bed together.
It had been eight days since the accident. A week since the press conference where we’d announced our relationship. As worried as we’d been about it, the media buzz surrounding us hadn’t been a terror. Sure, People had run an article about us, showing a racy photo of us embracing on the beach after one of our workouts with the caption, Locke has Caged his driver!
But it was worth it, because now, we could hold hands everywhere we went. Make out on the street. We could be PDA-central if we wanted to be. Not that we were, but it was nice to have the option. It was nice knowing that when the cameras were taking pictures of us, it wasn’t about anything everyone didn’t already know.
And once the fluff press had gotten tired of that, they went back to reporting on the Kardashians. And what was left? The serious sports reporters, reporting on — miraculously — sports. My statistics. My recovery. My hopes for the next race.
And they reported on my brother, even doing a thirty-minute special on his new arm and how he was training to get back behind the wheel.
The wheel I was now terrified of.
Here I was, a week after I’d told everyone the checkered flag was mine, shaking like a little child, afraid of her own shadow. Locke had texted me that I had track time booked on the speedway this afternoon.
When I got the text, I suddenly felt like throwing up.
I nodded and thanked Bruce, then walked outside for some air. I tried to take deep breaths, but when the car came to take me to the speedway, I felt the heat of the flames licking at the engine. I could hear the screech of tires, the twisting of metal screaming in my ears. The weightless feeling of being cast into the air, only to be brought down, hard, my body being wrenched in different directions.
By the time I arrived at the raceway, my legs felt like they were made of lead. I couldn’t get out of the car.
It was only when I saw Brody running toward me that I pried myself from the seat cushion and opened the door.
I stepped into the Daytona summer heat, trying to will my brain to stop replaying the crash on repeat through my head.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Brody said, his new arm gleaming in the sun. “Your two hours started ten minutes ago.”
I wondered if I could delay long enough so that I would only have to be out there a few minutes. Probably not. Brody saw me dragging my feet, and I knew he was suspicious, so I broke into a jog behind him.
Things had been okay with Brody since the accident. He wasn’t one to tell me who to date, so when Locke and I had come out as “together,” as long as he knew Locke wasn’t trying to screw me over, he was good with it. He was still wary that I might let it distract me, as Brody had sworn off all women while he was training, but we’d come to a truce. I thought it helped that he’d gotten fitted for that custom racing arm, and was now behind the wheel again, trying to build back up his speed.
We ran into the cool air-conditioned garage, and the first thing I saw was my black little bumblebee. It was like the accident had never happened. It was a new car, exactly like the Fusion that had twisted around me, protecting me while I’d barrel-rolled in the Poconos.
My stomach clenched.
“Get on your fire suit,” he said, motioning me to hurry up. “Let’s get you on out there.”
I felt my stomach. “I have to pee first.”
He stared at me. “Really?”
I handed him my helmet. “I’ll just be one second.”
I ran to the ladies’ room. When I was in there, I stared at my face in the mirror. No wonder he was looking at me like I was insane. I looked terrified. I splashed water on my face. Then I checked my cell phone. I still had another hour and a half worth of time on the oval, and I couldn’t delay it anymore. It was expensive, and hard to book this time. I needed to get out there.
Taking a deep breath, I headed out to grab my fire suit and yanked it on, zippering it up to my chin. I slid my hands into the gloves and tightened the Velcro. Spitting out my gum in the nearest receptacle, I fixed the helmet on my head, and slid inside the Fusion. Even though this wasn’t a race, I made sure the clock showed an even number. I’d worn my underwear inside out too.
I figured I needed all the help I could get.
I pulled up the window netting and fastened the harness, then wrapped my gloved hands around the steering wheel, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Visions of fire and twisted metal flashed through my mind like lightning. I blinked. Winced. Closed my eyes to them, but that only made it worse. With my eyes closed, they were front and center, larger than life.
“You ready?” Brody’s voice piped into my ear, startling me so much that I would’ve
jumped clear through the roof had I not been strapped in.
“Y-yeah,” I said, my voice breaking.
Shit. Brody was no dummy. He had to know I was feeling shitty. He’d been through his own life-altering crash. And yet when he had his arm back, he’d gotten right back into it, and was now starting to practice for his own races. He’d been raring to go, if only he had the chance.
I had the chance to get back into it. My parents had risked everything for this. Brody and my pit crew were behind me. Locke had been willing to risk his reputation to let me race.
I had to do this.
I had a lot riding on this, and I couldn’t let them down.
“Start her up.”
I started to press the ignition button but stopped. Took another breath. Then this time, I started it. It roared to life, humming underneath me, and where usually I loved that sound, now, it made me shudder.
Calm, Emma. Calm.
I wheeled out slow, so slow onto the oval, the lights above blaring onto me, making me think of the Pocono lights that had twisted in my vision during the crash.
“You’re on,” he said, once I reached the starting line. “Show us what you’ve got.”
I hesitated a second, two, before pressing on the gas pedal. When I did, all I could hear was my ragged breathing in my ears, fogging up the shield of my helmet. I blinked as sweat poured into my eyes. The banking was too much for me. I felt like I was in the constant state of being about to flip over. I hugged the inside during the first turn, taking it too slow and cautious, because the outside barrier seemed too close, even though I knew it was only in my head. Next, the center of the track didn’t seem very comfortable either. I sailed to the middle, feeling the cabin of the car closing in on me.
What was wrong with me?
“Hey, dude, my grandmother can drive faster than that,” Brody said in my ear. “Punch it.”
He was right. I’d barely broken a hundred. Fixing myself hard in the seat, I shifted gears and pressed hard on the gas. The g-force pressed me back into the seat, but only for a few seconds. At the curve, I lifted my foot off the accelerator, slowing drastically as I leaned into the thirty-one-degree curve.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my fingers trembling on the wheel. Sweat popped out on my brow as it became harder and harder to breathe.
I’d done fine in the simulator… but here? In real life?
I couldn’t deny it.
I was terrified.
If I couldn’t handle this, how would I ever handle an oval choked with my competitors, each one gunning for first?
As I headed back into the straightaway, my helmet felt too tight, and my fire suit felt like it was made of fire, searing my skin and cooking me from the inside out. I started to pant, which soon turned into hyperventilation. I couldn’t catch my breath. Slowing the car as I headed for pit road, I ripped off the chin strap to the helmet and pulled it off, then started fanning air into my face.
Moving at a crawl, I was ready to tell Brody that I was done for today. I almost didn’t see the white, nondescript Camry that pulled to my left. Only when I’d stopped and lowered the window net did I notice the silhouette in the driver’s seat.
Locke.
And suddenly, I could breathe again.
He winked at me, then tore off, heading around the oval.
I smiled. Oh, hell no. I was not going to let a pretty-boy beat me.
Taking a deep breath, I reaffixed the window net, and put my helmet back on, then waited for Locke to make his first lap. As he approached me again, I gunned it. And this time, as the g-force pressed me into the seat, I was grinning.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Brody said in my ear. “Get it going, keep it going, looking real good!”
“Nice ass,” Locke said, his Camry behind me.
I laughed and felt the fear melt away. I could do this. More than that, I would do this. Because I wasn’t alone. This wasn’t just my fight. I had Locke and my brother, my crew, at my back.
For the next hour, I soared around the track, weaving back and forth with Locke, testing my reaction time, my speed, getting more and more comfortable. By the time I was done, the adrenaline was surging through my veins.
When I got back to pit road, I pulled off my helmet and ran to Locke’s car, where he was just stepping out. God, he looked sexy in his fire suit, that russet hair all messy, breathless from our ride. I jumped into his arms, and he kissed me, running his hands up and down my back. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear. “Thank you so much.”
“I’ve never been so happy to lose.” He kissed the tip of my nose, my cheek, my chin. “You were amazing out there. So amazing, I got you a gift.”
I held up my wrist. “Still got the last one you gave me.”
“This one is better,” he teased with a cryptic smile.
I held out my palm.
“Patience. It’s at my apartment.”
Afterward, we went right back to his apartment, still fueled by adrenaline. I felt like everything in my life was finally falling into place. He popped open two beers from the fridge because we were thirsty as hell after that workout, but we didn’t even drink them. I followed him into the kitchen, and we started to undress each other, even before the condensation had begun to appear on the bottles.
“Well, you win this round,” I said when I was naked, and I, too interested in exploring all the muscles of his incredible chest, hadn’t yet gotten to undoing the button of his jeans.
He laughed softly as he kissed me. “What do I win?”
I motioned over myself. “Everything you see here.”
He gazed at me hungrily, then picked me up and laid me down on the couch, in a room overlooking Daytona’s pristine shoreline.
Then he covered me with his body. I moaned and arched into his touch, lifting my pelvis. I rubbed my clit shamelessly against his thigh, feeling the rough material of his jeans and wanting us closer. His mouth found mine, and I sucked at his tongue, writhing against him. I wanted him so badly I was trembling everywhere. I wrapped my legs around his waist, tore my mouth from his, and begged, “Please.”
He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and unzipped his fly. When he was naked, I pushed him down on the sofa and straddled his lap, trapping his thick erection between my pussy and his stomach. He groaned and threw his head back as I slid my slick flesh over the length of him, grinding myself into his hardness. God, this felt so good.
But I wanted even more. I grasped his shaft, guiding him into me. “You don’t mess around, do you?” he said with a chuckle as he happily obliged.
“Nope.” I held his cock upright, lifted myself atop it, and came down hard on him, velvety and hot.
“Damn,” he growled as I clenched my muscles around him. The fit was incredibly tight, like we’d been made for each other. I loved riding him this way, loved how his hands were free to touch me, exploring my ass, my back, my breasts. “You feel so good.”
This, being on top of him, seeing the look of pure, hot desire in his heavily lidded eyes… I felt powerful. His hands pressed against my hips, urging me to move, and I did. I braced my palms on his broad chest and found the right rhythm, and he went along with it, falling back on the pillows. He just watched me, enjoying the show, very happy to let me have my way with him.
He flexed with me, pulsing, exerting such pressure against my G-spot that all I wanted to do was stay impaled on him forever. He leaned forward, taking a nipple in his mouth as I rode him, increasing my pleasure until I exploded, the orgasm shuddering through me.
Holding me close to him, he turned us until I was on my back, my legs automatically circling his hips, changing the angle. My breath caught in my lungs and seemed trapped there as he filled me, inch by inch. Then he pulled out and started the slow, beautiful, sensual claiming all over again.
“Please. Don’t stop.”
Pinning me hard to the cushion, he pumped into me with long, slow strokes. “Never, Emma. I’ll never stop loving you like th
is.”
Pulling his beloved face down to mine, I kissed him as I held on for dear life, clutching at him, lifting my hips to meet his thrusts. The raw scrape of his shaft over my sensitive tissues was a primal, intimate caress. Crying out his name, I shoved my hands into his hair and bit his lower lip as a second climax rippled through me in intense, electrifying bursts.
He came too, roaring out my name as he thrust harder and faster before shuddering his release into my body, his lips on my neck.
I held him there, wrapped around him, listening to him breathe.
“I love you,” I whispered.
He kissed the shell of my ear, still holding tight to me. “I love you too, Emma James.”
He slowly pulled out of me and laid back on the couch, then coaxed me against him, the pleasant, cooling sweat of our bodies fusing us together. I nuzzled into the crook of his arm, thinking I could get very comfortable with this.
Thinking, damn, this was pretty much perfect.
And then he sat up, reached into the briefcase he had sat on the floor, pulling out a box wrapped with a red bow.
It was the exact same size as the last two presents he’d given me.
I raised an eyebrow, suspicious.
“Go on,” he said.
I pulled the end of the ribbon, then slid off the lid. I was greeted with bright yellow and black stripes. Bumblebee stripes.
I pulled them out to find the tiniest pair of yellow and black striped panties I’d ever seen.
He was grinning at me. “I figured since they were the key to your winning the races, you should get ones that matched your outfit. Just remember to wear them inside out.”
I held them over his face, tickling his nose with them. “As long as you’re the one to take them off me, afterward.”