Racer

There’s a rap on the door before it swings open.

“Tate. We’re working fast on it and we can fit in another session.”

I see the heat in his eyes before he comes to his feet. I follow him outside, and there it is, that heat in his eyes as our eyes lock before he lowers his helmet, lowers his visor, and he’s back out again.

I feel my cheeks burn and am aware of my brothers still fucking staring.

I hum softly, as if there’s nothing going on, and go take a seat next to my dad as he holds his chronometer.

Okay so obviously my brothers are concerned about Racer, and maybe I’ve been staring too much. I really need to work on that.

And maybe it wasn’t that good an idea to commission me to keep the guy out of trouble, because I clearly have no control over the guy and he’s as wild as they come, but I can’t help a kick of my heart every time I see him around the track.

I can’t help but feel myself perspire when I hear his voice around the tent, I can’t seem to stop feeling the little hairs on my arms rise at attention when I feel him nearby. I can’t help but feel my stomach knot up as he climbs the car, and I can’t help but feel extra nervous when he’s out there on the track, zooming past us in a car that—as of two days ago—he’d never driven before.

The fastest vehicles in the world.

That evening, after a successful test, my brothers stay working on the car, and while Dad heads to his room to rest, I linger downstairs with Racer, giving him a tour of the hotel facilities.

I step outside to show him the pool—it’s vacant at this hour, since it’s actually close to midnight—when I see his whole face just light up with devilish interest.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a dip in that blue-as-shit pool,” he gruffs out.

He looks really virile in his racing suit—but in jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt, his hair in organized chaos like he always wears it, he looks terribly raw and masculine. And when his eyes slide to me, my whole stomach turns to knots.

“I wouldn’t mind a dip in that blue-as-shit pool with you. Lana.”

His gaze is riveted on my face, then runs over my body slowly. It stops on the creamy skin of my midriff exposed by my top, and I have to suck in a breath.

I have to fight the overwhelming need to scoot closer to him.

He smiles, his dimple showing; I tug my top a little nervously.

He steps closer and pulls up his shirt and before I know it, he’s bare-chested as fuck. Bare-chested as fuck and flipping open his jean button.

“What are you doing?”

Racer lifts his head. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re taking your clothes off.”

“That’s what people do when they want to cool off.” He starts to lower his zipper.

“I’m going inside,” I croak out as I hastily turn around to do just that.

His strong arm snatches out to grab my elbow and turn me around. “Cool off with me.”

He takes my chin.

And Racer looks at me with those blue eyes that seem to peer into my very soul and I can’t help but squirm inside.

“I’m not that hot,” I protest.

“You’re very hot,” he contradicts on a devilish purr, his eyes acquiring a spark that’s just wicked. “But you’re very wound up too, Lainie.” He tsks softly, his eyes twinkling. “What are we going to do about it?”

I reach for my jeans and pull them off, the words “turn away” somehow getting stuck in my throat when I reach for my T-shirt.

He just stands there, looking at me. Not looking at me like a pervert. Just … as a guy. As a very big, dark-haired, hot young man.

And feeling reckless, I pull my T-shirt over my head, and his eyes coast my whole body in underwear in one clean, very thorough swoop.

Hating that my nipples respond almost instantly, I purse my lips and walk, in panties and bra, toward the pool, aware of every freaking move of my butt, and quickly racing to the edge and leaping in the air, I wrap my arms around my folded legs and plunge like a ball into the water.

When I surface after my splash, I see only Racer in a perfect-position dive cutting into the water in a perfect, rather Olympian way, and surfacing—his hair wet as he slicks it back and looks at me—only a few feet away. “Stylish way to go in the pool,” he says in reference to me, the pool lights revealing only a tan.

And the fact that he’s completely naked in the pool.

I’m blushing, wading in the water as he starts moving under the water. Coming closer and closer. I don’t know why knowing Racer is naked and swimming toward me makes him more dangerous than JAWS swimming closer. Because this shark, I want him to take a bite out of me, and I really cannot afford my father to lose the only talented driver he’s ever had. It would be a recipe for disaster.

I also like my guys a little less knowledgeable of sex, like maybe I am, a little less hot or I’d be crazy jealous every time he went out, and I’ve been around racers too long to know that the assortment of women surrounding these men is too numerous, and even trying to compete with that would be exhausting.

I don’t have the energy for that. All the energy I have is to focus on us winning.

“Relax. I’m not going to sink you,” he purrs.

“I don’t think you’ll sink me,” I whisper, feeling out of air.

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

I shrug.

“What do you want me to do?” He grins devilishly, his gaze sparkling.

“I want you to …” Kiss me again. Touch me. Finish what we started. It’s all so crazy I scramble for an answer. “… get me something to snack on.”