Redeemed (Dirty Air Series Book 4)

by Lauren Asher

I wince. Everyone was always curious about my ex-girlfriend, but I kept that story locked away with some others. During interviews, I preferred to keep my life private, and reporters took it as something salacious instead of innocent.

  Chloe shrugs in a faux-shy way, her long lashes fluttering. “Well, it’s me. This big guy was secretive about it all.”

  “Why?” Matteo takes a sip of his wine.

  “He was ashamed to tell others how he lost me after I broke his heart.”

  I force my laugh into a ragged cough.

  “No freaking way! You broke his heart? Why?” Giovanni’s eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets.

  “Back when I knew him, he was just a boy with a dream of racing one day. But fame changes people, and I was afraid.” Her lip wobbles.

  Everyone becomes enthralled by her story, including myself. We hang on to each new piece of information she shares. I keep a mental tally of each question, with her story of us breaking up earning a total of eleven questions. That’s going to be a hard one to beat.

  Chloe gloats like she’s on top of a podium, shooting me a taunting smile. She mouths beat that when her family isn’t looking.

  Matteo excuses himself to use the restroom. Giovanni follows him, claiming he needs to go as well. It’s a fitting intermission for our dinner and a show.

  I reach out toward her, grazing her bottom lip with my thumb. Her smile drops as her eyes widen.

  There’s no reason to get close to her, but I can’t help it. And more importantly, I don’t want to. “Don’t plan your victory parade just yet.”

  She rolls her eyes, but her breaths become shallower as my thumb rubs back and forth across her bottom lip. “I can’t see how you’ll beat eleven questions. You count grunting as a second language.”

  I laugh, low and rough. “If you knew the old me, you’d take back that statement. I don’t like losing.”

  Her eyes soften. “I don’t need to know the old you.”

  “And why is that?” My thumb moves toward her cheek, stroking the soft skin.

  None of this is fake now. Her reaction, my interest, the way both our bodies respond to each other’s touch. It’s all so fucking real, I can practically taste the attraction between us both.

  “Because I find this version of you intoxicating enough.” Her eyes flutter shut as she leans into my touch.

  “What if I said I really want to kiss you right now?”

  “Then I’d tell you to take what you want before you lose the chance.”

  Blood rushes through my body, and my dick twitches beneath my jeans. I press my lips to hers, and Chloe releases a breathy sigh.

  Some kisses stoke a passion. Some kisses heal the soul. Kissing Chloe is a combination of two—the sweetest medicine that leads to a lifelong addiction.

  I run my tongue across her bottom lip and get a taste of her favorite wine. Her body shudders, and her lips tremble beneath my onslaught. A yearning builds within me to pull her closer. To piece myself back together with her help.

  The clapping of shoes against the marble floor has us pulling away from each other. I have a strong desire to pull her back, but our company stops me.

  Chloe’s eyes bounce between my lips and my eyes. “That was…”

  Real. Incredible. Fucking undeniable and if you friend-zone me again I swear to God I’ll kiss the word straight out of your vocabulary. “Only the beginning.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip one last time, the plumpness easily becoming my favorite distraction.

  Matteo and Giovanni enter the dining room, stealing our attention away once again.

  I turn away from Chloe despite the urge I have to steal her away and call it a night. “Chloe reminded me of a funny story while you both were in the restroom.”

  “Oh, hell yes!” Giovanni claps his hands together.

  “I’m not sure if you read anything in the papers about the time a desperate fan was escorted off the F1 property after they snuck into my suite to confess their love?”

  Chloe’s laugh echoes off the walls, solidifying my choice. I like the way it sounds way too much.

  “No! Wow. How long ago was this?” Matteo smiles.

  One question down, eleven more to go.

  I might have stepped away from the F1 podiums, but that doesn’t mean I stopped craving a win. And I’m ready to beat the competition into submission.

  “We’re going to die. It’s official. God save us,” Chloe mumbles, looking up to the car’s roof. She does the sign of the cross incorrectly, and I laugh as I show her how it’s really done.

  “Relax.” I scan our surroundings. The street is empty and flat—the perfect place to teach someone how to drive.

  “When you won last night, I didn’t expect you to waste your win on this.”

  “Well, I did say we needed to amend your issue of not knowing how to drive. That’s illegal in my house.” I rub the leather dashboard of the Jeep. I’m offering Chloe the sturdiest of my vehicles to learn how to drive.

  “There’s three pedals. Why are there three pedals?” She moans.

  The sound sends a rush straight to my cock. I take a deep breath, easing the ache that’s become familiar around Chloe. “Because automatic cars are for grandmas.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll own up to being a grandma because I barely go out anyway. I mean, I embroider as a hobby. I’m practically one year away from fostering cats and living the rest of my life attached to an oxygen tank.”

  I offer her a blank expression, denying my urge to laugh.

  She offers me the praying hands. “Please don’t make me do this. You’re no John Cusack, and this isn’t Say Anything.”

  “What are you even rambling about?”

  “Have you ever seen the movie?”

  “No.”

  She looks up at the ceiling. “It seems I have two things to pray about now. It’s no wonder you’ve been single for so long. Do you even know how to woo a woman?”

  I blink at her. “I do not need to woo.”

  “Everyone woos. You’re breaking my eighties-loving heart.”

  “Really? How many men have you wooed?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Uhm…I don’t woo. But that’s different.” The words rush out of her mouth.

  “Of course it is. Double standards tend to be oddly convenient.”

  Her mouth parts. “Excuse me? There are no double standards. I just was never interested in wooing someone before! That’s totally different.”

  “Because your eighties-loving heart set your standards for love too high?”

  “Exactly. You’d understand if you grew up around my mother and her crappy boyfriend. I’d rather have high standards than that dumpster fire mislabeled as a romance.”

  “Wait. Have you not been in love?” I don’t know why I’m shocked. I’ve never been in love either, but Chloe…she’s different. Someone should’ve snatched her up by now. At least for a little while.

  She focuses on the steering wheel. “No. Have you?”

  “No,” I answer honestly.

  “See, maybe if you wooed a girl, you’d be in love already.” She flashes me a grin.

  I shake my head and return my attention back to the task. “Stop distracting me so I can explain how this is done.”

  I go through each step with her, explaining the gear shift, the pedals, and all the other basics she needs to know.

  She grips onto the gear shift and tries to move it. Her brows pull together as she releases an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I guess since the car is broken, we should just quit now before anyone gets hurt. Better safe than sorry.”

  “You forgot to turn the car on.” I cover my smile with my fist.

  “You’re enjoying my struggle way too much. I knew you were demented, but this is a whole new level of fucked up, Santiago Alatorre.” Chloe rolls her Rs perfectly.

  My dick perks up at the way she says my name. I’ve yet to share my nickname with her, which is new for me. I kind of like how Chloe’s one of the few peo
ple to call me Santiago rather than Santi. Might as well keep it that way. I shimmy in my seat, adjusting myself while explaining how to turn on the car.

  I pluck her hand from the gear shift and show her the movements. The addictive smell of her invades my nose as I lean in. I want to stay in the position, with my dick throbbing and her driving my car becoming an erotic dream.

  Yeah, I’m a horny fucker. I got it. Anyone would be after being in a relationship with their right hand for as long as I have.

  “Did you just sniff my hair?” Chloe’s incredulous voice snaps me out of my fantasy.

  “No.”

  “Oh my God, you totally did!” Her giggles become a full-blown belly laugh.

  “You’re delusional. I was trying to check for any gas leaks.”

  “In my hair?” She turns toward me. Her chest brushes against my arm, reminding me of everything I’m tempted to touch. “You’re shy.” She traces a finger across my heating cheeks.

  Her touch ignites a fire in my veins, forcing more blood into the very cheeks she strokes.

  Fuck. Since when have I been shy?

  Since you became a freak to the public, the small yet effective voice in my head offers.

  I cover up my dark thoughts with an eye roll. “No. Men like me aren’t shy.”

  She pokes my chest before dragging her finger down the muscles of my stomach. “You totally are. Tell me, why do you like sniffing my hair?”

  “Truth or lie?”

  Her gaze meets mine. “Truth. Always the truth.”

  “Because you smell annoyingly good and I wanted more, okay? Are you happy now?”

  “Absolutely thrilled. Sniff away, you creep.” Her laugh drowns out the car booting up.

  Her mood is infectious. I absorb it, allowing her positive energy to pulse through me. I’m growing to enjoy Chloe’s presence as we spend more time together. And honestly, part of me wonders what more I can do to have her stay a bit longer around me.

  22

  Chloe

  I mindlessly sweep the coffee shop’s floor.

  What am I supposed to wear this weekend?

  What am I supposed to say?

  But, wait, how am I supposed to live in the same hotel room with Santiago for days and keep things between us solely platonic?

  “Chloe, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  I jump at the sound of Matteo’s voice. The broom slips from my hands and clatters against the floor. “God. You scared me!”

  He chuckles. “I’m sorry. I called your name a few times, but you didn’t hear me.”

  Oh. Stop daydreaming on the job.

  I turn toward him. He gestures for us to have a seat at one of the empty tables.

  Is he going to fire me? He’s never this formal, and after our dinner from hell, things between us have been a bit tense. I try not to hold it against him, but I’m still slightly bitter.

  “What’s up?” I keep my tone casual despite the loud thoughts battering my head like a marching band.

  “Well, I feel like things haven’t been right between us.”

  Wow. This man really is my father. How else could he sense my annoyance?

  He continues. “You have been pretty quiet and not like your usual self ever since our dinner the other day.”

  Someone give this man an award. He understands women and seeks them out to make things right. This town truly is magical after all.

  “Yeah. About that…”

  He lifts his hand. “My son and I… We were embarrassing. I realize that now.”

  My mouth pops open. Whoa. All right. I can get behind this kind of self-awareness.

  “No, you both were just excited.”

  “We were both rude, and don’t try to cover it up as something else. Save me my dignity here.”

  A laugh slips out of me. “Well…”

  “We’ve never been around someone famous, and we acted like fools. You must be used to Santiago since he’s your boyfriend, but for us—it was like meeting our idol for the first time. Santiago Alatorre is one of the greatest, along with his brother-in-law. Your boyfriend is right up there with Michael Schumacher.”

  Michael Schumach-who?

  “Right.” Well, that sounded a lot safer than asking more questions about the boyfriend I should know everything about.

  “You invited us there to spend time with you outside of work, and we hogged it by pestering Santiago. Please forgive us for acting like bumbling fools in front of you both. I’m embarrassed I reacted that way.”

  If I had a glass of water, I would choke on it right about now. His apology is sincere, and I can’t help forgiving him. It’s not like I can hold it against him. If someone told me I was about to have dinner with Michelle Obama, I’d be freaking the fuck out too.

  Wait, could Santiago help me score a dinner with the Obamas? Now that piques my interest about his fame.

  I assure Matteo that everything is fine between us, and we get back to work. I’m not the kind to harbor grudges because life’s too short to spend it angry at people who genuinely care. Matteo could’ve not apologized and left things how they were. But his bravery and honesty has me appreciating him in a whole new light.

  “Will you pass me the screwdriver, please.” Santiago rolls out from underneath the car, hitting me with his brown eyes.

  He stands out against the gray cement flooring of the garage. Is there such a thing as being too pretty? Asking for the male staring up at me with a grin that should be illegal in whatever country I reside in.

  I grab the tool and pass it to him. Thank God he taught me the names of all his thing-a-ma-jiggers because I would’ve been screwed after he mentioned the auto jig and dent puller.

  I look around his garage. It’s something straight out of a Fast and Furious movie, with tons of cars from various generations. I’m tempted to pull off a grand theft auto and snag the red convertible when he’s sleeping.

  Tempted being the key word.

  “What’s that look about?” He points up at me with the screwdriver.

  “Thinking about what it would take to steal one of your cars.”

  “I knew you were a criminal.”

  “Criminals get caught.” I shoot him a mischievous smile.

  He rolls back underneath the car. “Are you ready for this weekend?”

  “About as ready as one can be for the apocalypse.”

  His laugh carries over the clicking noises of his tools. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, really. Then it’s a true wonder how you stayed away from it all for this long.” I imagine him rolling his eyes at me.

  “You know why.”

  “Fine. What did you do during all your time away from the land of the lavish?”

  The noises underneath the car pause. “Why are you asking?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious to know more about you.”

  He snorts.

  I grin. “You do understand I need to know more about my fake boyfriend than the fact that he likes cars, he used to race, and he enjoys short walks where no one bothers him, right?”

  “Emphasis on the no-one-bothers-me part, please.”

  I laugh up to the ceiling. “Come on. What’s something no one knows about you?”

  “Why would I share something like that with you, only so you could tell a reporter?”

  My, my, someone is grumpy today. “I’m not going to tell anyone. But I do want to have an idea of who you are as a person. You know, for when I need to make up stories that require some consistency.”

  “I used to play the guitar every night before I went to bed.”

  “Stop. No way!” I lean over and peek under the car, only to be met with the top of his head. So much for getting a read on him.

  He grumbles something I can’t understand.

  I somehow lift my jaw back up off the floor. “You seriously play the guitar?”

  There he goes pausing his work again. “Acoustic.”

  “Oh my God! You need to play fo
r me.”

  “No.”

  “Come on,” I whine.

  “Still no.”

  “You’re such a spoilsport.”

  “I never claimed otherwise.”

  I roll my eyes. “Back when you raced, did you used to bring your guitar with you?”

  The screwdriver clatters against the ground.

  Ugh. Wrong question.

  “Never min—”

  “Yeah. I always traveled with my guitar during the racing season. It made the bad days bearable and the good days memorable.”

  I lean against the hood of the car to stop me from falling over. Swooning can do that to a girl. “Do you still play?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because music is food for the soul, and mine feels like it’s missing.”

  Whoa. His heart calls out to mine, begging me to help him. He might look beautiful on the outside, but he’s nothing but broken on the inside. It has me absolutely enraptured.

  I have a feeling Santiago loves too hard. Whether it’s his family, or racing, or even the music he plays, he loves unapologetically and with everything in him. And how does someone move past the level of heartbreak he experienced when he lost his leg and gave up racing?

  “I hope you play again one day.” I mean every word.

  “Me too, Chloe. Me too.”

  23

  Santiago

  I swipe my towel across the foggy bathroom mirror. My ragged face stares back at me, with my beard growing out and my hair looking rough around the edges. I’ve never had it this long before. I run a hand through the locks, my fingers catching on a few knots from my shower.

  Is this who I want to show the world this weekend? The guy who let his circumstances break him to a point where he barely recognizes himself? And more importantly, is this the guy I want to be in front of Chloe? I want to impress her, not make her want to run in the opposite direction.

  One look at myself has me wondering why she didn’t run the first chance she had. I look like someone who has seen way better days. Hell, someone who has seen a way better life.

  I tug open one of the vanity drawers and pull out my supplies to trim my beard. It might only be a cosmetic change, but it’s a change nonetheless.