Breathless In Love (The Maverick Billionaires 1)

Only, even though there were at least a dozen reasons she should say no, when she opened her mouth the word that came out was, “Yes.”

* * *

Will knew he shouldn’t lead Harper on. She was a good girl. She was someone who deserved the fairytale, a guy who was as good as she was. Not an ex-thief who still battled his demons, who knew that he could never change the blood he came from, no matter how much he wished he could.

Speed had taken away far too much from Harper already—her brother’s independence and her parents’ lives. And yet, he could feel that she craved it all the same. Craved the rush, the thrill, just as much as he did.

Just as much as he craved her.

Will wanted Harper with an intensity he’d never felt before. And maybe if he hadn’t felt that same intensity from her, even as she’d tried to hide it, he could have let her go. But as he stood in the late afternoon sun watching them drive away, with Jeremy waving madly out the window as they took the downhill curve and disappeared, Will knew he couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t let either of them go, truth be told.

Will had never known anyone with such high spirits or as much freshness as Jeremy. He had almost died all those years ago, and he’d probably been in rehab for a good part of his life since. Yet he had a boundless nature.

A Birdcage Maserati. On the drive over from the hangar, Jeremy had enumerated all the reasons why Will should build the car, most of which came down to the fact that it was awesome. And Jeremy was right—it was a truly incredible car. Having finished the Cobra a few months before taping Hot Cars, Will could use another project now. The problem? As he’d told Harper, there was no such thing as a Maserati kit car.

Then again...his friend Daniel Spencer had recently told him about a guy in Europe who could scrounge up just about anything.

Will started to get an idea, one that fired him up. He’d told Jeremy he wasn’t a genie, but maybe he could grant the boy’s wish after all.

He pulled out his phone to call Daniel, and his friend answered on the second ring. “You’re interrupting.”

“What? You watching paint dry?”

“More like a dozen cameramen all groaning since we’re going to have to do this take over,” Daniel told him. “Whatever you’ve got to say, make it snappy so that I can get back to it.”

Despite their razzing, Will knew his friend was happy to hear from him. They didn’t get together nearly enough lately, not since success had pulled the five of them in so many different directions. It was why Daniel had picked up Will’s call in the middle of a take for his home improvement show. Will would drop anything for any of the Mavericks, even if he was in the most important business meeting of his career. They, along with Bob and Susan, always came first.

Daniel owned the largest home improvement chain in the United States. He operated four plants across the country, manufacturing his own line of machines and tools. But the last time he’d held a paintbrush or a hammer—and used it for more than a shot on his TV show—had been in the previous decade. Will had started to wonder if that was a good thing for Daniel, who’d always been the guy that had not only liked working with his hands, but had also seemed to need it.

Just the way Will needed speed.

“You have the contact info for that guy in Italy?”

“Rupert?”

“Yeah. Sheet metal. Fiberglass fabrication. You said he’s damn near an artist.”

“Sure, I’ll text it to you now. That all you want?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you on Memorial Day. Bring beer.”

The conversation ended. They didn’t have deep discussions every day. But the Mavericks were always there for him no matter what. And vice versa.

The Maserati wasn’t a life-and-death issue that he needed to discuss. It wasn’t a business problem he wanted to mull over with one of the guys. Meeting a new woman didn’t usually rank up there, either. Yet there was something about Harper…

Something special.

CHAPTER FIVE

The following evening, the tattoo high on Will’s right arm disappeared from sight as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over it.

The tattoo was of a muscle car with the words Road Warriors curved over it in stylized lettering, small drops of red dripping off the W and the second and third R. He never let anyone see it, not even the women he slept with, making sure that it was either dark in the room or that he didn’t take off his shirt. Even when dressed at his most casual, he chose T-shirts with sleeves of the necessary length.

When he was eighteen, Susan had suggested that he could get the tattoo removed. But he needed to leave it as a reminder of where he’d come from.