There’s something in his stare that has my heart beating faster, my breath disappearing, and my eyes looking away—while I try to find air.
I focus my eyes where his just were, on the people milling around and chatting, some out on the dance floor.
Anywhere but on the man beside me.
The man who is becoming increasingly dangerous to me with each passing second.
Carrick leans in, so his arm is pressed against mine, close to my chest. It feels like he’s actually burning my skin through his clothes.
“I’m sorry about people monopolizing my time tonight.”
I flash him a smile. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re the star attraction, and I’m your arm candy.”
“You do make for good arm candy, especially in that dress.”
“I know, right? I’m totally rocking the classy look.” Okay, the fizz is really starting to go to my head.
“More than you realize.”
Something dark and unexplained is in his tone that makes my pulse ratchet up.
Taking a sip of his drink, he nods in the direction of the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”
“Um…I don’t know. I’m not really a dancer.” And in these shoes, I’ll probably be lethal.
“Lucky for you, I’m an awesome dancer. I’ll dance for the both of us.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “God, you’re so—”
“Good-looking? Hot?”
“I was going to say cocky.”
“Endearing, isn’t it?”
He grins, and then he takes my almost empty champagne glass from my hand and puts it down on the bar. Grabbing my hand, he starts to lead me off, only just giving me a chance to grab my clutch off the bar top.
Usher’s “Caught Up” starts to pump through the speakers as we walk to the dance floor. I watch as we pass by people, how they look at him…like he’s a glowing light and they are the moths drawn to him.
Carrick’s presence just commands attention. Take away the racing, the fame, and I think he would still be the same.
Confidence and virility just breathe from him as naturally as the air from his lungs.
I also see the looks I’m receiving from women, looks I’ve been receiving all night. Luckily for me, those looks of distaste and jealousy just bounce right off me. Being an only female in the working world of men toughens a girl right up.
What I am actually feeling from the envious looks is a tremendous buzz. They want him, and he’s with me. Well, for tonight anyway.
Carrick stops us in the middle of the dance floor and turns to face me.
I feel awkward. I’m not really sure what to do, where to put my hands. I’m also holding my clutch, which makes it even more difficult.
Should I put it on the floor? It’s just so pretty and new. I don’t want it to get ruined.
Deciding to keep my clutch in hand, I rest my wrists awkwardly over his shoulders.
Carrick chuckles.
Taking my clutch from my hand, he shoves it in his jacket pocket. Then, he takes my hands. Lifting one, he places it on his shoulder. Keeping hold of the other, he wraps his fingers around it. Then, sliding his free hand around my waist, his fingers press gently into my back, pulling me closer.
I’m trying not to tense, but his nearness and touch are driving me crazy. Neurons are firing like bullets to my nerve endings, igniting fires that shouldn’t be lighting for him.
“Relax,” he says low into my ear.
That only sets off more shivers in me, heading southward.
“Have you never danced with a man before?”
“Um…” I bite my lip. “Sure I have. But not like this.” Not with a man like you, a man who can switch my body on with a single look…a single touch.
He raises a brow. “Not like this?”
“Yeah, you know, the proper kind of dancing. When I dance with a man, I’m usually drunk, and I’m, um…” Shit, how do I finish that sentence? That I’m on the pull, dancing with the guy I’m planning on taking home to have sex with—on the rare occasions when that does happen?
His hand tightens around mine, and I watch as his mouth forms the words hanging in my mind, “When you’re on the pull.”
Heat engulfs my face, so I turn away. “Something like that.”
He leans in, so his lips are next to my ear, grazing it, as he speaks, “Just so you know, the dancing I want to do with you most fucking definitely isn’t proper.”
Holy fucking what?
My eyes flash back to his, but his blues give nothing away.
Before I get a chance to speak, he says, “How many boyfriends have you had?”
My head jerks back in surprise. “Um, what?”
“I asked how many boyfriends you’ve had.”
“And why exactly are you asking that?”
“Curious.”
“You know what that did?”
“Yeah, it killed the cat—and satisfaction brought it back, so I’ll take my chances. How many boyfriends, Andressa?”
Smiling at his quip, I loosen up and decide to answer. “A few. Nothing serious.”
“A few? I thought you’d have them lining up.”
I give him a look. “Shockingly, no. Not all men want to date a grease monkey.”
“Grease monkey?” He barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re far from that. And you’re wrong about men not wanting a hot-as-fuck woman who works under the hood. Trust me. There’s nothing sexier.”
Hot-as-fuck woman…
“When was your last relationship?”
His question momentarily throws me. I’m still stuck in my hot-as-fuck daze.
But his persistent intrusion into my personal life brings a frown to my face. “Jesus, Carrick, what is this? Question time?”
“It’s called getting to know you.”
“You already know me.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Do you need to know everything?”
His eyes darken…deepening like an endless chasm, which I could easily fall into.
“About you? Yes.”
My heart skips a good ten beats before restarting back up.
Swallowing, I try to catch the breath he just stole. “Well, there are better things to learn about me than my dating history,” I mumble.
“I’m fully aware of that, but just humor me.”
“Fine…” I huff. “My last boyfriend was, um…” Marcelo, but can that really be classified as a relationship? We only dated for two months, and I was on the road with the team for a good portion of that. “About two years ago,” I finish with.
“You haven’t been with a guy in two years?”
I can’t tell if he’s shocked or appalled. Maybe both. It makes me feel uneasy and embarrassed.
“No. I said I haven’t been in a relationship in two years, not that I haven’t been with anyone.”
That’s actually been…shit. Okay, it’s not far off from two years—about eighteen months. What the hell have I been doing? No wonder I’m as hot for him as I am. I’ve been depriving my body of sex for way too long.
“I’ve been busy.” I sound defensive, but I can’t help it. “And there’s not a lot of time for dating when you work in racing, if you haven’t noticed.” Not that it stops him, but then he doesn’t exactly date.
“What was his name?”
“Whose?”
“The guy you dated two years ago.”
“Marcelo.”
“Sounds like a ponce.”
Laughter escapes me, shaking my shoulders. “He was all right. What about you?”
“Me? I’ve never had a boyfriend, especially not one with a poncy fucking name like Marcelo,” he deadpans.
I playfully swat his shoulder. “You know what I meant. Girlfriend. Spill.”
“One.”
I feel a sharp stab of jealousy. If he’d said ten, I’d have felt better. But one girl means that she had his heart. Maybe she broke it, and that’s why he’s the player he
is today.
I focus my stare over his shoulder, like something’s caught my attention, so he can’t see what I know is readable in my eyes. “How long were you together?”
“A day.”
“A day?” I say, aghast. I look back to him, my eyes wide with shock. All trace of my jealousy is gone.
“Yeah…” He lets out a wistful sigh, which punches me straight in the chest. “Her name was Payton Ahearn. Totally loved her, and she dumped me for fucking Tommy O’Connor, all because he got her a necklace. I never did get over it. She ruined me for all other women.”
My face creases in confusion.
“I was six.” He grins.
“You’re an idiot.” I giggle. I actually fucking giggle. What the hell is wrong with me?
Aside from the fact that I’m turning into a total girl, I’d say it’s relief. I’m relieved because no one has held his heart yet.
Why, Andi? Because you want it, him, for yourself?
“I am an idiot.” The seriousness in his voice moves through me, bringing my attention back to him.
His eyes hold mine, and something unknown in them captivates me. But I want to know. And it’s how badly I want to know that is scaring the hell out of me right now.
Usher ends, and Rihanna begins singing “Diamonds.”
“I’m sorry about China,” he says the words so softly.
My eyes dip, right along with my heart. The grip my fingers had on his dinner jacket loosens. “I know.” I sigh lightly. “You’ve already said. And I already told you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
His fingers find my chin, lifting my face to his. “Yes, I did. I proved to you that I’m everything you think I am. You stopped our kiss because you think I’m a player, that I use women.”
“You do use women, and you are a player. But that’s not why I stopped kissing you.”
His brows pull together as his hand moves back to my waist. “So, why?”
“Because I don’t get involved with drivers.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I say it because it’s true.”
“And why exactly don’t you get involved with drivers?”
“Aside from the fact that I work for them…for you.” I flash him a serious stare before looking away. “I have my reasons.”
“Ones you’re not going to tell me?”
My eyes come back to his, giving him my answer.
“And what if I wasn’t a driver? Would you have sex with me then?”
My body jolts at his words, and he feels it. And he definitely likes my response. I can tell from the smile touching the edge of his lips.
“Jesus, you’re so bloody…forward.”
“You don’t get anywhere in life by going backward.”
Does he have an answer for everything?
“Exactly how did we go from me not getting involved with drivers to you and I having sex?”
“We haven’t gotten to the sex yet. Trust me. When we do, you’ll know.”
“Yet?”
“Yes. Now, answer the question.”
How to answer? It’s hard to focus with him so close—his scent filling my head, his hands touching me and clouding my judgment.
“You’re my friend, Carrick…” I let my voice drift, my words linger.
“That’s not an answer. And the reason you won’t answer is because you’re afraid.”
Afraid doesn’t even cut it. I’m terrified. Terrified of what this all means. Of what’s going to happen. Because if he makes a move, I know for certain that I won’t be able to stop him…because I don’t want to.
“Shall I answer for you?” His voice is low, decadent.
Licking my dry lips, I nod.
He moves in, his mouth so very close to mine. His breath blows over my lips, drying the moisture I just gave them, and his stare is doing all kinds of extraordinary things to me.
“Your answer is yes, you would. You’re afraid to say it out loud because you know, once you do, it makes it real—this thing between us—and then you won’t be able to stop it from happening. What, deep down inside, you know is inevitable.”
Is he a mind reader?
He tilts his head back a touch, so his eyes are level with mine. “How did I do?”
My eyes drift to his mouth. His full perfect lips. God, I want to taste them again.
Focus, Andi.
I force my eyes away, and with a shrug of the shoulder, I say, “You did…meh.”
Meh? Jesus, what the hell was that?
I’m dying right now.
Fucking dying.
I close my eyes on a long blink. When I open them, I see a smile has kicked up the corners of his mouth while his eyes continue to fuck the hell out of me.
“Meh?” Low laughter rumbles in his chest. “Jesus, Andressa. Well, deny it all you want, but you know it’s true. You want me to fuck you.”
“And you want to fuck me,” I fire back.
“Sure I do. I’m not the one denying it here.” He lifts his hand from my waist to cup my cheek, his thumb touching dangerously close to my lips. “So, what do you say?”
“To what?”
“Fucking.”
“I’d say you’re seriously overconfident about it.”
He throws his head back on a deep laugh. It makes me glow inside.
A smile is still touching his eyes when he says, “You say that now. It’ll be a different story afterward.”
“Won’t I be calling you a bastard afterward?” I refer to our earlier conversation.
“Probably. But do you care about that right now?”
Do I?
I shake my head before even realizing what I’m doing.
I see lust burst to life in his eyes, and I feel it in every part of me.
We’re still dancing, but I don’t feel so awkward anymore. Now, I just feel turned on like I never have before. I feel connected to him. So very connected. Attuned to his body.
My skin is burning hot like a furnace. My hands are itching to touch him in places I really shouldn’t.
His fingers slide into my hair, and it feels like heaven. He moves closer to me, leaving hardly any space between us.
“I love your hair down.”
There’s a low groan to his voice that makes my belly quiver, in turn making me want to pull him in the rest of the way. Bring him in to the point where I don’t know where he begins and I end.
He twists strands of my hair around his fingers. “From the moment I saw you in the garage, bent over my car with your hair tied up, I haven’t been able to get the image out of my mind of me unraveling it and getting my hands all tangled up in it while I fuck you—hard.”
Sweet Jesus.
“Carrick…” My fingers curl into the lapel of his jacket.
What am I going to say? Stop talking to me this way?
I’m not sure if I can because I don’t think I want him to stop—ever.
“I…this isn’t a good idea.” My voice is breathy. I don’t sound like me at all.
“The best ones usually aren’t. Now, tell me to kiss you.”
“I…” Say no. No good can come of this. “No.” But my voice trembles, betraying me. Stupid voice.
“Stop fighting this…me…and just say it, Andressa.” His words are whispered, coaxing, and his mouth is so close to mine, a hairbreadth between us.
My lips are aching for his. The memory of our kiss in China explodes in my brain, kicking all my hormones to life.
But he’s my friend. And he’s a driver.
Do I really want to go there with him?
Yes, I really do. I’m tired of fighting my feelings for him.
I want him to kiss me. Actually, I want him to fuck me—for hours.
Rationality has left me. Gone. Buggered off. And I couldn’t give a shit right now.
If I lose my job, so be it. All I care about is having Carrick kiss me, touch me, and make me feel amazing, so I’ll forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t be doing
this with him.
Which, I know he’ll be more than capable of the instant I let him.
“Carrick…”
“Say it.”
“Kiss me.”
I feel his chest jump on a breath. His fingers tighten in my hair. I close my eyes with anticipation.
His lips ever so gently touch the corner of mine, pressing a soft kiss there.
My heart is pounding.
I feel the tip of his tongue as it touches my lips, gently running across the seam, tasting me. My lips part, a soft moan escaping.
We’re both breathing heavily. His warm breath mixes with my own, the smooth scent of whiskey and his rich aftershave teasing my senses.
I open my eyes to find his blues burning into mine, so intense that his stare breaks me down until all that’s left is need.
Pure need.
It ripples through me. I’m now his for whatever he wants to do with me.
Everyone and everything around us disappears. All I can see is him.
All I know is how badly I want him.
I’ve never needed to be kissed by anyone as desperately as I need to be kissed by him now.
I slip my hand around the back of his neck. “I want you,” I whisper softly.
Something hot and intense flashes through his eyes. Then, his lips slam down on mine. His hand fists my hair, and his fingers grip my waist, holding me to him, as he devours my mouth in the most intense kiss I’ve ever experienced.
All of the built-up tension between us, from the moment I met him to our kiss in China and every moment since, is exploding right here, right now.
His tongue slides along mine, a groan vibrating through his chest, and I feel it between my legs.
The rough of his growing stubble is erotically scratching against my skin. His hand finds my bum, and he holds it firm as he presses his hips into mine.
Holy God.
He’s hard.
Really hard.
And I have to have him. Now.
Nothing but having Carrick inside me matters right now. The world could end, and I wouldn’t give a shit as long as I got to have sex with him first.
Honestly, it’s taking everything in me not to unzip his trousers right now and examine just exactly what I’m going to be getting.
We need to be in a room alone in the next few minutes, or I might actually die.
Carrick must be thinking the exact same thing because he breaks away from me, panting heavily, eyes blazing into mine. His gruff, sexy-as-hell voice asks, “You wanna get out of here?”
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