Racer

He kisses my freckles. I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale.

“I love you,” he growls in my ear, squeezing me.

“I love you so much I can’t believe it,” I admit between tears and laughter, biting down on my smile as I kiss his dimple. He groans softly and becomes hard. I lift my head, and his eyes are vivid with possessiveness—and when they drop to my lips, he presses them to mine, and I press them back to his, suddenly kissing him as if my life depends on it, and maybe it does, because right now all I know is hot, warm, hard Racer’s mouth on mine, and he is my #1 in everything.

Unfortunately, I cannot kiss him forever—and soon we’re caught up in the excitement of the award ceremony as I watch with a full heart as Racer gets his award and steps up to the very top of the Formula One Grand Prix podium. After a lot of cheers, a lot of crying from not only my dad, but my brothers and the mechanics, I spend the rest of the day out of the track, watching on the sidelines as Racer gets crammed with interviews and autograph requests.

Racer

“… thank you for the interview, Racer Tate. And that was Racer Tate! This year’s Formula One champion, live with us! At the Abu Dhabi Formula One championship …”

I head to the motorhome to change, and I realize I’ve got a bazillion calls from Seattle. I shower, dress in my jeans and a plain tee, then I hop on Skype to connect with my parents.

“Racer!! My boy!” My mom is practically yelling, her face blotchy. “I am so proud I haven’t stopped crying!” She seems so emotional as she presses a Kleenex to her face and buries her face in my dad’s chest.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, amused as shit.

My dad? He’s fucking grinning ear to ear.

The pride in his eyes, the pride is basically oozing off him as he looks at me across the screen.

“You make me proud, you know that? You make me proud. If I did nothing right in this damned life, the day I die, I’ll die happy, because you and your sister? Me and your mom did you right.”

I’m fucking wordless. I nod in silence, a language my dad understands well since he’s not someone you’d call expressive.

I feel my jaw flex while I handle this emotion—the fucking happiness of making your parents truly proud. I end up promising to see them soon before I disconnect, then I sit there and digest shit for the next minute.

I won.

We. Fucking. WON.

I picture Lana, and her big green eyes, staring up at me in amazement. Suddenly, I want her whole damn face to be soft and wanton and her lips open as she gasps and writhes beneath me tonight, and I want my hands to run down all her sweet curves, and then my tongue, tasting and exploring every damn inch of her until I get my fill of her and fill her up with me. Yeah, and I want her fingers in my hair, or on the back of my neck, caressing my goddamn chest—I want her as turned on with me tonight as she seemed about this win. I want her sopping wet—and the mere thought of what’s in store for me tonight has me throbbing in my jeans as I finally get to my feet and storm out of the motorhome.

The Heyworths drive us to a five-star restaurant nearby.

“How do you feel, champion?” Lana asks as she takes my hand and leads me to the restaurant entrance. “Do you feel hot?”

“Hot as shit.” I run my eyes over her to let her know exactly what I mean.

“You amazed me today,” she breathes.

“That was for you and your dad.” I lift her hand and kiss the back of it.

“I would totally race back for you.”

“Is that riiight?” I croon down at her as we walk inside, not certain she’s the ideal person to race anything that actually moves.

“That’s right,” she says effusively, nodding up and down.

“I better give you some driving lessons then,” I murmur, smiling as my mind begins concocting a plan.

They lead us to the back, into a large private room with a huge table set at its center. “I booked us a private room for the whole team,” Lana explains.

I’m wondering why the excitement in her voice keeps mounting when she beams and signals to a sign hanging on the wall. Its background is white, and it covers the wall, side to side, and written in red, the color of both Kelsey and my mustang, are the bold letters stating:

“BEST DRIVER IN THE WORLD”

I’m damn surprised, to say the least, and a wave of satisfaction settles over me as I slide my eyes back to her wide, expectant green ones.

My hormones go out of control.

She smiles at me, and the space between us is on fire, like her eyes. Like my goddamned veins and soul.

“Surprise!” she says, motioning to the room in general and, especially, the sign.

I frown down at her and warn, “You’re going to have to say it eventually.”

“I know,” she says with that smile of mischief.

I raise my brow as I pull out her chair and lower myself beside her, my eyes trailing over that little outfit she wears. She dropped the jeans in favor of a little red dress that reveals her legs and her tiny waist. Somehow Lana manages to make even the simplest clothes seem goddamn sexy—every piece of clothing on her makes me want to rip it off her.

She brazenly devours me with her gaze as I sit down.

“That was fucking crazy, what you did back there, crazy,” Drake says as the waiters start filling our glasses with champagne.

“Pushing the car like that.” Adrian’s eyes are bugging out as he snatches up his glass. “You’re a fucking maniac and a goddamned miracle.”

“I was scared,” Lana breathes, looking at me with a mix of emotions—mostly concern and lust. When she runs her little pink tongue along her bottom lip nervously and moves her head in consent, I’m fucking done for.