Beau laughs. “Did it keep him from snooping in your room again?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “But don’t worry. I won’t do that to Mia. That kind of torture is reserved for siblings.”
“Must be nice.”
“You’re not close to your brothers?”
“Not really. I didn’t move in with them until I was seventeen, and I moved out of Remington’s house as soon as I won my first race.”
“How old were you?”
“Almost nineteen.”
“I don’t remember my parents talking about that.”
“It wasn’t on the national circuit, and my house was a condo, not the monstrosity I live in now.”
A sharp turn makes me clutch my harness strap with my free hand. “If it’s such a monstrosity, then why did you buy it?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I wish I never asked it.
“Paisley and Mia live four houses down. I wanted a home with a yard in a neighborhood that was safe. When it was just my mom and me, we lived in some pretty shitty places. It’s not something I wish on anyone, including the people who are stuck living there.”
“Oh.” I bit down my on bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. With each answer, Beau’s completely turning all the gossip I’ve heard about him on its head. Shouldn’t there be some grain of truth, like where there’s smoke, there’s fire?
“Are you okay with this speed?” he asks.
“How fast are we going?”
“Check for yourself.”
I glance at the speedometer and nearly pass out when I see that the orange line is practically on the two hundred mark. “Oh. My. God.” I squeeze Beau’s thigh harder. His long legs are so muscular that I doubt he can feel it.
Once more, Beau’s voice fills the interior of my helmet. “How did NASCAR get its start?”
“Bootlegging. Moonshine.” I can barely say the words, without my teeth chattering, but I’ll be damned if I ask him to slow down. “They souped up their cars’ engines and raced the cops to avoid arrest.”
“Damn right they did.”
“How did you get into racing?”
“Remington. He used to come around and bring me racing stuff when I was little. I was instantly hooked, and he thought it was great.”
Without seeing his face, I can’t be sure, but he doesn’t sound very happy admitting this to me.
“After that, I have to give Carter Ambrose all the credit. He was the one to take me under his wing when I was a snotty seventeen-year-old kid and teach me everything about keeping my temper, how to find the sweet spot... stuff like that. Even after I moved back to Forrestville, he kept an eye on me from Holland Springs. Now, he’s retired and married with two little girls... I don’t see or talk to him as often as I’d like,” he adds.
“What about your mom?” I don’t know much about his mom, only that she had an affair with Remington while he was married and that she passed away when he was a teenager
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I think she would be proud of you.”
“For driving around in circles?”
My heart aches for him, for the pain he obviously still feels. “For being a good dad to Mia. Most guys our age wouldn’t bother. A lot of women have to do everything on their own. It’s really tough.”
“Because you have so much experience with that, right?”
I let go of his thigh, hurt by his sharp tone and sarcastic words. “You know I don’t.” I want to cry, and it’s stupid and ridiculous, but it’s there. “I can’t help that I have support, or that I don’t have it hard, not beyond student loan bills.”
He mutters a curse, then slows the car down, pulling into the pit and parking. I feel his hand on my neck, and then my helmet is gone. He captures my chin between his fingers, “Look at me, Landry.”
Miserable and confused, I do. His helmet is gone as well. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
His thumb rubs my jaw. “You didn’t. That was all me. And you’re right, you can’t help that people love and support you. You can’t help that both of your parents are alive and well, and you didn’t have to move from place to place growing up. That’s my experience and my former life—my problem, not yours. ”
His confession makes me feel better and worse all at once. “I really am sorry,” I whisper, tears falling.
“Stop crying, baby. I’m sorry for being such an asshole.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I can’t stand hurting you. I hate the pain in your voice, the tears in your eyes... It’s killing me and scaring me, all at the same time. I should not feel this way about you. I barely know you... I haven’t even kissed you, tasted you.”
“I feel the same way about you,” I admit shakily, bringing my hands to his face. The rough stubble of his barely-there beard tickles my fingers. “I want to kiss you. I want to taste you. I want to touch you everywhere.”
He presses his lips against my skin, right above my eyebrow. His breath his hot, and I have to close my eyes. “Christ. Don’t fucking tell me that, Landry.”
“You want me to lie?”
His fingers move from my face to my hair, delving through the strands. He tugs gently, tipping my head back. My eyes open. “Don’t you ever lie to me,” he says roughly.
I lick my lips. “I won’t. I promise.”
Our mouths are barely inches apart. His head dips, until our breath becomes one. I’m dizzy with the scent of him, with the anticipation of our first kiss. I haven’t been kissed in so long that I’m worried I’ve forgotten how.
“When’s the last time you were kissed?”
Oh God, is he reading my mind? “Junior year—spring break. It was awful. He tasted like bad tequila.”
“And the last time you were fucked?”
I should be outraged by his questions. None of this is his business. But I want him to know, and I want him to do something about it. “Never.” The act of two horny teenagers going at in a dorm room, for all of two minutes, cannot be classified as that. Ever.
Instead of the pity I expected to see in his eyes, they turn all possessive and triumphant. “Good.” His head dips again. “If you don’t want this, then say no. Anytime you want to say no, do it. I’ll stop.”
I can’t say no, but I can’t say yes, because I’m without words. Instead, I lean forward as far as the restraints will let me and lick his bottom lip.
He shudders. “Fuck.”
I do it again, then take his luscious bottom lip, piercing and all, and suck it into my mouth. I whimper when it slips out with a little pop and try to capture it again.
“Closer,” I beg. “I want you closer.”
Instead of coming closer to my mouth, he drags his lips against my throat. “How’s this?” I feel his teeth scrape the skin, his tongue lick a spot so sensitive that I moan. He continues to torture me, sucking, nipping, and biting. I clutch at him, digging my fingers into his broad shoulders.
“Please, Beau. I want to be kissed,” I moan helplessly. I can smell him, feel him... everything has become him in this intimate space, but it’s not enough. “I need your mouth on mine.”
He pauses and looks up at me. It’s as though he can’t quite comprehend what I’m saying to him. Maybe he’s as caught up in this as I am.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” I pout a little, sticking out my lower lip to be flirtatious. “I can’t be that bad.” Or I could be. Oh God, what if I am?
Chapter Twelve
Beau
Can’t be that bad? She thinks I don’t want to kiss her because she’s bad at it, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Fascinated, I keep staring at her mouth, lips all swollen and wet. She had sucked on my lip like she couldn’t get enough. Hell, I couldn’t get enough, but I’ve been conditioned by Paisley to not expect much in the way of kissing.
A damn shame, considering how much I used to enjoy doing it. In my opinion, kissing is the most intimate thing you can do with
another person, even more than sex. And here’s this gorgeous as anything woman begging for me to kiss her. This gorgeous as anything woman who I made cry, because instead of admiring her natural sympathy for others, I chose to make a mockery of it.
Tears are still on her lashes and cheeks, yet she’s looking at me like I’m everything. Damn, it feels good.
“You’re so good that I’m jealous of the guy who taught you to kiss.” Actually, I want to go beat the shit out of him for even touching her.
Her cheeks flush. “Stop it.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth, and her breath hitches. “Stop kissing you?”
“No,” she breathes. “I want your kisses.”
Who am I to argue with what a lady wants? “Yes ma’am.” Even as my head dips, she’s straining to get closer, and though I think it’s hot to see her tied up, as it were, like this, I want her to touch me. I want her hands in other places besides my face and shoulders.
With years of practice on my side, I quickly undo her harness and she practically falls into my arms. She grabs handfuls of my shirt, twisting it and pulling me even closer. Our lips meet, finding and learning what the other likes. In my case, I like everything she does. There’s nothing about her kiss or mouth, or teeth or tongue that I can complain about.
I lick the seam of her mouth and her lips part, little pink tongue darting out to touch mine. I run my hands down her slender back, the curled ends of her hair tickling my skin as I do.
The tips of my fingers run into bare skin where her shirt is hitched up in the back. She wriggles against me when I touch her there and gasps. I ghost my fingers over the same spot, making her moan and giggle.
“Ticklish?” I ask, between kisses.
She barely lets up to say yes, and then fuses her mouth to mine once more. I don’t know if I’ve ever been kissed like this, like I’m her favorite candy and she wants to devour me.
What I do know is that she tastes like sweet tea and summer nights all rolled into one—in other words, this girl tastes like heaven. My hands slide up and under her shirt, skimming over the lacy band of her bra. She tenses a little, then melts into me once more. Her skin is silky smooth and burning hot. I settle my hands between her shoulder blades and make small circles with my thumbs.
She groans and lets her head fall back. “You have magic hands,” she breathes.
“Thank you,” I say, and she peers at me from under her lashes.
“You’ve heard that before, haven’t you?”
Although I could lie to her and say no, I’m all about honesty. I’ve had enough lies to last a lifetime. “A few times.”
“Yeah, right,” she says with a laugh.
“I can’t help what I’m told.”
Her laughter doubles. “What else have you been told a few times?”
I consider her question. It’s odd for me to get this kind of reaction from a female. I mean, I have my hands up her shirt, and yeah they’re on her back, but she’s teasing me, like we’re friends or something. I know she’s as turned on as I am. If I had to stand up at this moment, it would be more than a little difficult because I’m hard as a steel pipe.
Only, I don’t want to ruin this with talk of other women.
Landry frowns. “Stupid question. You don’t have to answer.” She lets out a groan. “I’m so bad at this, and worse, I don’t know what this even is.”
My phone vibrates before I can reply. Thank God. Because in this moment, I have no answer, only a driving need to touch and taste. My phone vibrates again—not a text. Automatically, I snag it out of my pocket, the habit formed from worrying over Mia when she’s not with me.
I glance at the screen. Paisley. My heart races, but my dick gets all soft at the thought of dealing with my ex. I flick my gaze to Landry. “I have to take this call. It’s Paisley.”
Hurt flashes in her pretty eyes, but I’ve already answered the phone. I want to assure Landry that I’m not answering because it’s Paisley, but because she has Mia.
“Ready to bring my baby girl home or should I pick her up?” I ask, keeping my gaze on Landry’s face. The hurt fades a little, and I breathe a bit easier.
“I’ll be by at six.”
“Do you want me to feed her supper?”
“I’m not a fucking moron, Beau.”
My jaw clenches. It was too good to be true for Paisley to admit herself to rehab like she had done. She stayed there a grand total of a month before coming home. The program was for ninety days.
Now we’re back to fighting and to her making unreasonable demands of me again. She thinks she’s won, because I hardly ever go out, I refuse to race this season, and I’m never seen in the company of another woman.
But it’s because I am focusing everything on my daughter. My time, my attention... anything and everything she needs in a dad.
I slice my gaze to Landry. Until now, that is. “I’m trying to work with you, Paisley. We’re a family, and no matter how you and I feel about each other, Mia comes first.”
“Trying to work with me? Are you my employer?” she snaps.
I rub the back of my neck. “Honey, I’m trying to help you. I want you—“
Paisley cuts me off, muttering “give me a break” while Landry sucks in a breath.
The car door opens as Landry softly says, “I’m going to get out and let you talk in private.”
I shake my head at her, but she gets out anyway, carefully closing the door behind her. “Who was that? Where are you?”
Fuck. Of course, Paisley heard Landry. I watch Landry walk to a low wall and sit down. She looks lonely and left out.
“Mia’s new nanny—the one who will be going with me to Monaco. We talked about this. I even asked you if you wanted to help me interview potential candidates,” I remind her.
“You could have asked me to go,” Paisley says, but we both know the truth. She wants me to take Mia, because she’s still fucked up and wants time to get even more fucked up with Austin.
But I ask her again anyway. “Would you like to go with us?”
“We are not getting back together, Beau,” she snaps. “No matter how much you beg.”
“I don’t want to get back together with you,” I growl into the phone. “I was only being polite.”
Paisley snorts. “You’re such a nice guy, Beau. One day, you’ll make someone a really good wife.”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit. See you at six. If you want to feed Mia before you bring her, that’s great. If you want me to do it, then that’s great, too. Whatever’s easier.” And whatever gets her to my house faster. I miss my baby girl.
“So very nice of you, Beau,” she says sweetly, and I want to rip the steering wheel off the dash. Instead, I end our call and shove my phone back into my pocket while I try to calm down.
I flick my gaze to Landry. She’s on her phone, still waiting for me. Her long legs sway back and forth a little, and I start to imagine them around my waist. There’s no one at the track but a skeleton crew, and I know plenty of private spots.
I get out of the car, leaving the keys and our helmets behind, determined to make sure I don’t screw up what could be something amazing.
Landry
I can’t believe what just happened. Now that I’ve had a chance to catch my breath, be out in the fresh air again, and not have his magic hands on me—I cringe—I can think clearly again.
Clearly, I’m an imbecile.
Out of all the foolish things I’ve done in my life, this takes the cake. I can’t even begin to imagine the conversation I’ll have to have with Beau. Sorry I begged you to kiss me. I promise to be good from here on out and save my touch-starved body for someone who isn’t paying me to work for them.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my contacts, finding Meagan’s name and texting her.
Me: I’m so stupid
Meagan: Why?
Me: First day of work and I kiss my employer
Meagan: !!!
Me:
I know. It was dumb.
Meagan: One, quit beating yourself up. Office romances totally work out all the time on Lifetime. Two, how was he?
I risk a peek at Beau. He’s still on the phone with Paisley, the mother of his child. The woman he still calls honey and says they’re family. Once again, I’m reminded of how I felt when I thought he was married. Yes, things didn’t work out with Paisley, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t—eventually. What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?
Me: What do you think?
Meagan: That he was so good, you had to text me right away.
Well, she’s partially right. He was swoon-worthy, and I’m still hot and bothered by what we did.
Me: Haha.
Meagan: Don’t sweat it. I’m sure he’s used to women falling repeatedly onto his face.
Me: Gee thanks.
I hear a car door shut and look up. Beau’s headed my way, determination written all over his sexy face. Ugh. Why couldn’t my employer have been someone who wasn’t a hot, single dad? God must have thought it would be really funny to put someone in my life I can’t have.
Me: Gotta go. TTYL?
Meagan: Have fun sexing up your boss
“Who are you talking to?” Beau asks.
In my haste to put up my phone, it slips out of my shaky fingers and falls to the ground. “My best friend. Meagan Thomas. Remember meeting her?” I ask, sounding guilty.
“Good thing you have one of those indestructible cases.” He picks it up, brows raising as he hands it over. “Have fun sexing up your boss?”
I swear to God my entire body turns red. “Ah, yeah... that ... autocorrect fail.”
“What should it have said?”
Oh good grief. Think, Landry, think. “I think she meant to say have—” My mind goes blank. I can’t even think of a similar word or phrase it could be, “fun at your new job?” My response sounds lame, weak, and completely transparent.
“You promised not to lie to me,” he says, his face growing dark. “And I believe that you’re not allowed to talk about me to anyone, according to the non-disclosure agreement you signed.”
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