“Someone’s idea of a joke, maybe.” Maddux shrugged, popped the tab, and took a long swallow of Fizzbang, then offered it to her.
“No thanks,” she said with a shudder.
Fifteen minutes and a dozen chips later, she eyed the unopened can. “Might as well,” she said, helping herself to the last one. It wasn’t that it tasted terrible; it was that she knew it was packed with caffeine and sugar. She preferred her caffeine in coffee form and her sugar un-liquefied.
He repacked the bag with the trash and leftovers and slid it over to the side of the rock. “C’mere,” he said, voice husky, reaching for her.
Her pulse pounded as she scooted to him. He lay back on the sun-warmed rock, one hand lazily tracing patterns on her thigh, then tracing the inside seam of her shorts up to the juncture of her thighs. His touch seared her skin through the denim, sending her nerve endings leaping. She glanced around nervously.
He lifted his head. “What?”
“You said kids come here,” she said, easing herself down onto the stone beside him, a shiver ripping through her.
He shrugged. “Parking lot was empty.” He pushed himself onto one arm, using the other to work her body closer until she was pressed against him, chest to knee. He used his free hand to tangle in her hair, until her lips were a whisper away from his.
• • •
Maddux ducked his head to find the sensitive spot on the side of her neck. He may not be a doctor, but he knew the pulsing under her creamy flesh was rapid. She wasn’t innocent, but she sure as hell wasn’t very experienced and that was arousing as all hell.
You don’t just want to fuck her. You’re falling for her.
He took her mouth to silence the voice in his head, teasing and exploring the berry sweet taste of her. He unbuttoned her jeans, unzipping them before sliding his hand inside her cotton panties to find the wet, slick heat of her.
“God, Brynn, how did you get so turned on so fast?”
Shyly she whispered back, “Looking at you.”
He pushed his fingers inside her tight channel, her muscles clenching around them, her body bucking into his hand.
“We can’t,” she said, with a breathless laugh. “Maddux, we’re outside.”
“No one’s coming,” he whispered back.
She pulled her mouth from his and glanced around behind her. “What if someone does?”
“We’ll hear them,” he said.
She shook her head.
He looked behind him to little grouping of boulders of various shapes and sizes, sheltered from the path and the surrounding forest. He indicated it with his head and took her hand. He was fully aroused, his balls already aching. This desire for her was ceaseless. Was he ever going to get enough of her?
He led her into the semi-circle of rocks and pressed her up against the rough, gray stone away from him. She was trembling, though whether from arousal, adrenaline, or the chilly fall air, he couldn’t tell. Her skin was so delicate, he didn’t want to scrape it on the rock so he didn’t remove her shirt. Instead he pushed her jeans and panties down to her ankles. She toed off her shoes, her perfect, firm, naked ass bumping into the front of his jeans. He sucked in a breath and pulled his rigid cock out of his pants. He stroked his fingers down her arms, lightly.
“Maddux, hurry.”
He turned her to face him. His hands skimmed, lightly at first, over her shirt then moved under, exerting a firm pressure over her twitching abdomen. Finally, his hand found her, wet and wanting.
She hissed in a breath and his fingers pressed into the wet heat of her, pumping, then circling her clit. He watched the pale pink hue creep up her neck, into her cheeks.
She bucked into his hands, moaning, making those gasping noises she made just before she came. He kissed her then, covering her mouth with his increasing the tempo of his fingers until she climaxed, clenching around his fingers, arching into his body.
She closed her eyes and sagged limply into him. He used a hand to move her heavy, blonde hair aside and pressed his lips to the rosy flesh.
With gentle hands he turned her; she automatically widened her stance. He applied pressure to the center of her back until she bent over the rock like some kind of primitive offering.
He reached into his clothing for the condom he’d stashed in his rear pocket. Quickly he covered his straining erection with it. He murmured her name and used his hands to spread her thighs apart. She turned her head and met his eyes over her shoulder. He worked the thick head of his cock against her, and, with a grunt, flexed into her. Brynn moved her hips, trying to accommodate his girth.
“God, so tight,” he ground out.
He withdrew and worked his way halfway in again, grasping her hips and spreading her, holding the juncture where her thighs met her buttocks. He thrust all the way in, and she gasped.
He reached around to rub her with his hand. She rocked against him, her body trying to accommodate his length, his thrusts rough, reeling out of control. He barely registered the gasping, sobbing noises she was making, her hips moving faster as she sought her release. And then her small, cool hand found his aching balls, pressed the space behind them.
“Damn … I … oh God, Brynn,” he muttered, gripping her hips as he surged into her roughly, over and over until she gave a startled cry of release, the sound loud in the silence.
He pounded into her body, draped over the rock, hard and fast, long and deep until finally, teeth gritted, he came endlessly into her.
• • •
The next morning the ringing phone jarred Brynn awake. Bleary eyed, she looked at the clock. Five a.m.? She fumbled for her cell phone on the nightstand before her brain woke enough to determine it was the hotel phone, not a cell. Not Belamar. Not her emergency. She shook the warm, sheet-covered male body next to her.
“Maddux.”
He made a pained noise and sat up, his hair flattened on one side, his beautiful features sleep ravaged, two red creases from the pillow somehow adding to rather than detracting from his attractiveness.
God. She must have it bad if she thought he looked beautiful waking up in the morning.
“Fucking Pippa,” he mumbled, reaching for the phone. “It’s always fucking Pippa,” he complained.
“Yeah, what?” he answered, ungraciously.
There was a long silence. She could hear an angry, raised male voice on the other end of the phone.
Maddux’s expression changed into disbelief.
“I … I don’t know what to say.” He turned away from her, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His back stiff, he added, “I’m sorry. How the fuck did they get those?”
“Maddux?” she said, softly.
He didn’t turn, just held up his right hand to silence her.
She climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom.
When she came out a few minutes later, naked, he was fully dressed. His expression was several stages beyond angry.
For a split second she was afraid of him.
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“Why what?” she asked, her arms automatically coming up to cover herself. “What happened?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
She skirted him to reach the chair where her overnight duffel sat.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” she said, grabbing clothes from her bag, astonished that her voice came out clear and strong when she was quaking on the inside.
“You bitch,” he said softly. “You and fucking Belamar.”
She stepped into her jeans, fear turning to anger in an instant.
“What the hell is your problem, Maddux? What am I being accused of?”
“Fizzbang?”
“What?”
“Our little outing yesterday? Your plant, the setup? Congratulations. I’m about to lose my contract. And my ride.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, staring at him, the shirt forgotten in her hand.
“Pictures
of our little tryst to the cave ended up on several F1 websites in Europe this morning,” he snarled.
The blood drained from her head and she put out a hand to steady herself on the chair. “What did you say?”
He clapped, slowly, his expression poisonous. “For a doctor, you are a fine actress.”
“There are photos, of us, having sex?” Her voice rose to a shout.
“No, that would not be a problem. That would bump my rankings with fans into the stratosphere. But pictures of me drinking Fizzbang? Congratulations, you’ve killed my Supernova drive.”
She would not have survived a public sex tape, pictures, any of that. But how was it possible someone had taken pictures out there? No one even knew where they were going. No one but Maddux.
“You’re the one who arranged the picnic,” she said, her own anger rising again as she pulled the shirt over her head. “I didn’t put those drinks in there.”
“You put it in the trunk!”
“The backpack, yes, but I didn’t order it. You did. Why would I put any energy drink in? I hate energy drinks.”
His gaze was stony.
“And how the hell did the photographer find us?”
“I hope Belamar is paying you well. You’ve certainly earned it. Get the fuck out,” he said, his body radiating fury, fists clenched.
She grabbed her bag from the chair, her phone from the nightstand, and fled.
She’d taken two steps down the hall when she heard the sound of something hit the hotel door behind her. She ran, barefoot to the elevator.
Chapter 17
Maddux swaggered into the conference room at the W hotel twelve hours later.
He was doubling down on arrogance. He was in Texas after all, practically in his backyard. It would be a miracle if he could compete in the race tomorrow. He was obsessing. How could he not have seen this coming? How could he have misjudged her so thoroughly, let himself get close to Belamar’s … whatever the hell she was. But God, he would’ve done anything for her. He rubbed his chest. It wasn’t possible for his heart to hurt, but it did. He’d never experienced loss and betrayal of this magnitude, not even with his parents. How could he get his head together for this meeting, for the rest of the season, when he was swallowed up in pit of depression?
If only he could hang on to his anger. That rage he’d shown her when he finally pieced everything together in that hotel room. Instead, confusion and anger warred within him. He could think of nothing but Brynn and why she would do something like this to him and to herself. What could make one person betray another that way? It was always the same answer.
Money, and lots of it.
The mood in the room was toxic. No one met his eyes—not Pippa Atica who’d flown from England on the red-eye, not his team lead, not the two Formula One suits or the half dozen irate Supernova representatives. According to the frantic phone call from his agent, they were dumping him—maybe after this race, maybe after the next, the negotiations were ongoing. Formula One drivers of his caliber weren’t so replaceable, and this incident had given all of them—race organizers, sponsors, publicity—incredible exposure in the United States.
“Maddux,” his manager had moaned, “You know whatever you do, you don’t screw with the brand and not when they sponsor your ride.”
Brynn and Belamar. In cahoots. At least the why part of the equation was solved. Until this episode, Supernova had him contracted for the next two years. Belamar wanted him—and now that Formula One and Villers had accepted his bid, it made perfect sense. Belamar had set him up.
The official announcement had been made at two p.m. yesterday, just hours after the scene with Brynn. It hadn’t been difficult to figure out, not once he’d been able to think beyond Brynn’s betrayal and his own terrible judgment of her character.
She’d led the photographer to Blue Cave. Somehow. She must’ve been in on it as he’d suspected from the first, before he bought her story about cancer. Who got cancer treatments in hotel rooms? But why would she agree to have sex with him there, outside? Maybe her sexual reticence, her relative inexperience, all that had been bullshit, too. He’d checked her out online when he’d first met her. Her picture and her bio were listed under “staff physicians” at the Gates Institute. That wasn’t a lie. The rest of it certainly was.
They were everywhere, the photos. Pictures of him holding the rival energy drink at Blue Cave, laughing. Photos of him drinking the stuff and finally the shots that still made his insides knot up. The ones of them all over each other, kissing, with his hand in her pants.
He’d thought he was in love with her.
“I expect you know why we’ve called you in here.”
He took his time, looking at each person sitting around the conference table. A few looked uncomfortable, some disgusted, and one irate.
“Have ya’ll finally reached some decisions?”
“You’re racing for us tomorrow. It’s not like you can repeat your title, this far behind. We’ll take it on a race-by-race basis, but you won’t be in a car for us next year,” a sneering Supernova executive he’d never met before told him.
Maddux clenched his teeth together, giving his head engineer a speaking look. The engineer looked away. He was proud of his driving this season; he’d had some of the best races of his life, despite continual struggles with the engine. Supernova’s technology was lagging lately and everyone in this room knew it.
If he really were the asshole they believed him to be, he’d drive their car conservatively the next three races.
But Maddux Bates would drive the way he always did. This was still his season, and he was their man like it or not. And in the ultimate ironic twist, he was a sensation. The press had been good since the photos taken with the boy in the wheelchair had mysteriously surfaced. Those pictures had humanized him. This current little scandal still hadn’t shaken out, but the press coverage was more about who he’d been doing than what he’d been drinking.
He’d stolen the beautiful blonde doctor from the dirty old man.
The blogs and Twitterverse were rife with speculation about the affair. The US racing community—hell, the international racing community—was discovering who Carl Belamar was.
Mogul, magnate, F1 aficionado with a cheating girlfriend forty years his junior.
The press loved a soap opera, the more absurd the better.
The Maddux Bates persona had come out relatively unscathed in the coverage. He was just a good ole boy. A red-blooded American male. Meanwhile, the press had gone full jackal on Brynn. If he weren’t so disgusted by her, he’d feel sorry for her. It couldn’t be fun to be outed this way. Apparently mercenary blondes dating old dudes left the national press salivating. She was cast as a gold-digging whore and Belamar, crafty Belamar, came off as the wronged old man.
Dread crept into his stomach. She’d even snowed him into giving her friend money.
Reporters were waiting in the lobby.
“Maddux, is it true Supernova dumped you?”
“Will you race go karts for Fizzbang?”
“What’s next for Maddux Bates?”
“Are you still seeing Dr. ‘Anna Nicole’ Douglas?”
Maddux froze.
You couldn’t grow up in the States, let alone Texas, without knowing that infamous name. God. Is that what they were calling her? He shuddered.
“Is she back with Belamar?”
“Are you two still an item?”
“Is it true Belamar will have an F1 team?”
Maddux spun on his heel and hit them with his broadest “aw shucks” grin. “Hey ya’ll. I got no time for questions, on my way to the track. Let this Texas boy alone so he can show all these for’ners how we get it done here.”
Someone in the back hooted and there was laughter from the gathered media.
He hit the lobby doors, blinking in the blinding Austin sun.
Spencer waited, shifting his feet impatiently, in the semi-circle outside the doors next to his Cadi
llac Escalade. He heard the lobby doors swish open and expel the local press.
“Keys, bro?” Maddux held up a hand expectantly.
Spencer shook his head, so Maddux strode over and plucked them out his brother’s hand.
“Hey,” Spencer protested.
Maddux turned to the assembling group of press and fans. “Big brothers,” he complained. “Seriously, who do ya’ll think should drive?”
“Maddux!” several people shouted.
“Who?” Maddux cupped his ear.
“Maddux,” the assembled group of fans yelled. A man in the back started chanting “Maddux, Maddux.”
Scowling, Spencer climbed in the passenger seat.
Maddux grinned and held up the keys. “Watch out now, y’hear? Give me some room.”
“Buckle up, bro,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. He pressed his left foot on the brake, pushed the right gently down on the accelerator, then harder until the rear tires picked up speed and the engine shrieked, gray smoke billowing from the rear of the car. Fifteen seconds of burnout later he shot out of the hotel driveway onto the divided highway, laughing at Spencer’s curses.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? You mean other than a treacherous, cheating ex, getting fired, and losing money? My life has become a damned country music song,” he muttered.
“Well, don’t take me out with you,” Spencer complained, paling as he grabbed the dash when Maddux took a turn with what would be recklessness in any other driver.
He banged his hands on the steering wheel. “Fucking women.”
Spencer glanced over. “You lost money? That’s astonishing, knowing how you are about finances.”
“Of all the things I just listed, that’s the one you wanna talk about? And whaddaya mean, how I am about money?” He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but he could feel his brother’s stare.
“Tight,” Spencer said succinctly.
Maddux shot him a startled look.
“Okay, maybe cautious is a better word,” Spencer backpedaled.
“I’m generous,” he protested.
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