He laughed, the sound very genuine, and very un-Devon. “In your dreams, darl.”
My heart missed a beat. Devon Gray had just addressed me with a term of endearment. Flustered at the unexpected sentiment, I distracted myself by taking the contract out of my purse. I handed the manila envelope to Devon.
“Here you go. You’ll see the royalty and editing points we discussed on page nine. Apart from that, it’s pretty standard.”
He didn’t even remove the contents from the envelope. He simply nodded and put it on the table beside his cup of coffee.
“I brought a pen,” I said helpfully.
“I’m not signing it tonight. Jack’s going to get his lawyer to look it over.”
Disappointment swirled in my gut, not because I had anything to hide—I didn’t—but I had hoped we could wrap this up tonight. Until he signed, I couldn’t really start work, and the longer the contract remained blank, the more I worried he might change his mind and walk away.
“You told Jack, then?”
He nodded. “I had to get his approval, seeing as you’ll be shadowing me.”
“And he’s cool with it?”
“Yep, although he did say that if you get in the way of the smooth running of the team, he’ll throw you out himself, contract be damned.”
I laughed. I held up my hand, palm facing him. “I do solemnly swear that I will be on my best behavior at all times when in Jack’s presence.”
Devon cocked an eyebrow. “What about in my presence?”
I saw an opening to test the waters, and I went for it. “Oh, I plan to be bad. Very, very bad.” I swept my tongue over my bottom lip. My pulse jolted when Devon dropped his gaze to my mouth. It was only for a second, but I’d take it.
“Maybe I’ll have a codicil added to the contract.” He picked up his coffee and stared at me over the rim, his expression deadpan. “Any behavior I deem to be bad allows me to dole out suitable punishment.”
My stomach flipped at the way he’d said punishment. I carefully searched his eyes for signs of levity, but instead, I found an intensity that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
Was Devon Gray flirting with me?
I couldn’t be sure. He was so difficult to read.
“What kind of punishment?” I asked, cursing how breathy I sounded when I was going for sophisticated.
“Depends on the severity of the crime.”
I dampened my lips and swallowed, drawing Devon’s eyes to my mouth. Disappointingly, he didn’t linger. I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, though.
“I like to push boundaries.” And I’d definitely like to push yours.
He set down his drink, relaxing back in his chair, crossing his ankles. “Oh, I know.”
A rush of heat to my core had me squeezing my pelvis, searching for an elusive relief. The dynamic between us had finally started to shift, nothing seismic that I could put my finger on, or put into words, but an undeniable truth all the same.
“I doubt you have it within you to punish anyone, Devon. You’re too nice.”
He gazed at me through hooded eyes, the tips of his fingers rubbing over his lips. I almost groaned, my stomach tied in pleasurable knots. I found myself mirroring his posture, dabbing the pads of my fingers to my own mouth.
“We all have hidden depths, Reilley. I’ve always thought human beings resemble onions, each layer revealing a little more, until, if the person chooses, they’ll allow you to reach the center, the soul, if you will. Sometimes, it’s everything you hoped for. Other times, it’s rotten to the core.”
Taken aback by his unexpected reply, it took me a few seconds to gather my wits. With just a few words, Devon Gray had given me a sneak peek into the man behind the mask, and in the process, had made me even more determined to plough his hidden depths.
I opened my mouth to probe further when the ringing of his phone interrupted our conversation. Cursing, he dug it out of his pocket. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he pressed his lips together, emitting a heavy sigh through his nose.
“I gotta take this,” he muttered and rose to his feet, then strode outside.
His back was to me, so I couldn’t read his face, but his body language was telling. Erect spine, stiff shoulders, hunched posture. He returned a minute later.
“Sorry, Reilley. Something’s come up.” He picked up the contract. “I’ll get this over to Jack’s lawyer tonight.”
I scrambled to my feet. “Can I still travel with you to Bahrain?”
He gave me a curt nod. “I’ll call you.”
I sank back onto my chair, watching until he disappeared around the corner, out of sight.
My curiosity shot off the scale. I took out my notebook and jotted down a couple of questions. The flight to Bahrain was long, and I was going to take full advantage. He wouldn’t be able to run away from me then.
Devon
By the time the car service dropped me off at the airport a few days later, I was ready to sleep for a week rather than lurching headlong into the second race of the season. I’d never had such a stressful trip back home: Caroline springing her demands on me. Realizing I had no choice but to capitulate with this book deal. Charlotte’s chest infection which had taken me on a roller coaster of emotions, but now finally seemed to be under control. And lastly, my growing attraction to Reilley, which I really didn’t know how to handle.
In three weeks’ time, Charlotte would be moved to Switzerland. There was no way I could swing the time off work, so Helen had agreed to travel with her and stay to settle her in. This gave me enormous peace of mind and alleviated the dull ache in my chest at my enforced absence. Caroline would be there, too—of course—but despite her obvious love for her sister, Caroline lacked the warmth gene.
I paid the driver, hauled my suitcase from the trunk, and headed inside the terminal building. I’d agreed to meet Reilley here. I hadn’t seen her since I’d dashed off after our contract meeting a few nights ago. I’d seen the questioning look in her eyes regarding the reason for my cutting the meeting short. Caroline had insisted we meet right then to discuss Switzerland. I’d been half tempted to tell her to fuck off, but knowing Caroline, she’d somehow have found me and shown up just to make a scene.
I didn’t fancy explaining that to Reilley.
I fully expected Reilley to ask why I’d left, though. Investigative research was in her blood, and now that I’d signed on the dotted line after Jack’s lawyer had given me the go-ahead, she was entitled to ask me anything she liked.
And I was entitled to refuse to answer.
I scanned the screens for my check-in desk, then turned right, weaving in and out of the throngs of people, cursing the crowds. It never failed to amaze me how busy airports were at all hours. Four in the morning, and yet it might as well be the middle of the day.
I checked around for Reilley but couldn’t see her. She might have checked in already. I stood in line for business class, not for the first time thanking my lucky stars that Jack paid my expenses. Seventeen hours cramped in the economy cabin was not appealing.
“Boo!”
Jesus!
My heart all but in my throat, I glared at Reilley. She linked her arm through mine and grinned.
“This is an ungodly hour that only vampires should ever have to suffer.” Yawning, she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, but really. Four a.m.?”
“Don’t blame me. Blame the schedule.”
She cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I checked. There were more flights later on in the day.”
“And those would have got me to Bahrain too late, hence we’re taking this one. Now stop bitching. You asked to travel with me. Have you remembered your passport?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? Don’t answer that,” she added quickly.
I couldn’t help laughing. It occurred to me that I laughed more around Reilley than anyone else I knew. Apart from my niece and nephew, maybe.
We checked in and headed
through security to the business class lounge. I left Reilley with our carry-on bags and fetched us both a coffee—mine strong and black, hers milky and with three sugars. When I returned to our seats, she already had her iPad on her knee. She looked at me expectantly.
I groaned. It was way too early for this. “No, Reilley,” I said, setting her cup in front of her. “I’m barely awake.” I sipped my drink. It was only lukewarm, so I downed it in one gulp.
“Me, too, but what else are we going to do?”
“Nap,” I drawled.
“Oh, come on, Devon. Just talk to me. Tell me about your early days working for Jack. That shouldn’t be too taxing for you.”
“Not now,” I repeated. To emphasize my point, I closed my eyes.
She huffed through her nose. My lips twitched, but I kept my eyes shut.
She groused, “Some fun trip this is going to be,” and then came the sound of a zipper followed by the pages of a book being turned.
I cranked open one eye. She was reading the latest novel from one of my favorite authors. I’d mentioned him to her a few days ago and wondered if she’d purchased that book because of me. I hadn’t got around to buying that one yet.
“Any good?” I asked.
She kept her head lowered. “Yep.” She accentuated the ‘P’.
“I didn’t peg you for a crime fan.”
“I didn’t peg you for a miserable ass, but it looks like we were both wrong.”
I chuckled under my breath. The more time I spent with Reilley, the more I accepted she had some positive qualities. There were moments when she could be almost endearing, once you got past her blunt, tenacious demeanor, and how unabashedly she spoke her mind.
I rested my eyes once more, and the next thing I knew, she was shaking me awake.
“Our flight is being called,” she said, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder.
I unsteadily got to my feet, picked up my own bag, and held out my hand. “Here, I’ll carry that for you.”
She gave me an astounded stare. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bag.”
I raised my eyes upward. “I never said you weren’t. Don’t rain that feminist shit down on me, Reilley. Since when did it become a crime to show good manners?”
She ignored me and flounced off, but by the time we boarded the plane, she’d found her smile once more, although that could only be for the benefit of the cabin crew. She took a glass of orange juice off the bar and headed to her seat. I followed.
“Window or aisle?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “You pick.”
She chose the window, easing her bag down to the floor with a groan. She rolled her shoulder then cricked her neck.
“I did offer,” I said.
Her eyes sliced to mine. “Sorry for being a grouch. I’m not a morning person. You can carry it at the other end, promise.”
“I might not offer at the other end,” I drawled.
She playfully bumped my shoulder. “Jackass.”
I sat beside her, watching as she crammed her bag into a small cabinet beneath the window.
“Want me to put that in the overhead locker?” I asked.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be in and out of it constantly, so it’s better there.”
I clipped my seat belt in place and closed my eyes once more. This time, Reilley didn’t disturb me. I sensed the plane speeding down the runway, then lifting into the air. After that, nothing.
I woke to find Reilley’s head on my shoulder. Her caramel-streaked hair covered the left side of her face, and her breathing was soft and deep. My hand moved without permission, brushing the hair to one side, drawing my knuckles down her warm cheek. She stirred but didn’t wake. Her sleeping state gave me time to really study her. She was, by far, the most stunning woman I’d ever seen. If she’d chosen to follow a modelling career, she’d have made it to the very top. Smooth, creamy skin that looked as if it had been carved by the finest sculptors, long, dark lashes that rested on her cheeks, bone structure that my sister would give a limb for. Full lips made for kissing.
My stomach tightened. I turned away and squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back feelings I wasn’t entitled to. The responsibilities I carried, and would carry for the rest of my life, were mine and mine alone. I had no right to expect, let alone ask, a woman to shoulder those along with me. It wouldn’t be fair. My time, my attention, my money. Charlotte had first call on them all. It would take a very special kind of woman—one I had no doubt did not exist—to accept those kinds of limitations, and I would not renege on my duty to take care of Charlotte.
Reilley stirred again. She lifted her head off my shoulder and stretched, the movement thrusting her chest upward. I caught a glimpse of skin through a gap in her pale-blue shirt, the swell of her tits sending blood rushing to my groin.
I was in so much trouble. I’d need to call on every ounce of willpower I had to manage this situation.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice still full of sleep.
I glanced at my watch. “Eight oh five.”
“Urgh. Only fifteen hours to go then.”
I chuckled. “You hungry?”
She shuffled upright and rubbed her eyes. “I could eat.”
I stuck my head into the aisle and gestured to a member of the cabin crew. She came over and took our breakfast order.
“One of the great things about traveling business,” Reilley said. “You don’t have to stick to mealtimes.”
“One of many benefits,” I agreed.
“So tell me what’ll happen when you get to Bahrain. What’s the first thing you’ll do?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t give up, do you?”
She held out her hands, palms up. “Do you see a tablet, or pen and paper? I’m interested, is all.”
“I’ll take my stuff to the hotel and unpack.”
She made a frustrated sound. “Devon! Come on. Don’t be an ass.”
“I’ll go out to the track and meet up with Jack, Jared, and Angus, who is Jared’s chief mechanic. Jack and I will have a brief catch-up on what I missed at the post-race briefing after Australia and—”
“Wait, what? You didn’t go to the post-race briefing? Why?”
I suppressed a groan. Well fucking done, idiot. You’ve barely opened your mouth and already you’ve made a blunder.
I quickly crafted an excuse. “Because Jack is a good boss, and as I so rarely get home to see my family, he allows me to leave the track early.”
“That is nice of him.” Her eyes raised up to the left, as though she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. “Okay, go on. What then?”
“And then we’ll go over our strategy for this race weekend.”
“And what does that entail?”
I narrowed my eyes, studying her eager expression. “You’re really interested in this stuff?”
“Yes. I really, really am. As will our readers be. These are exactly the kind of details I want to include in the book. They’ll add credence. Trust me.”
I pulled in my lips, flickering my eyes toward hers before cutting away. I plucked a bottle of water from its holder, twisted off the cap, and drank. Fastening the top back on, I spun the bottle by the neck. It was rare to find someone outside the closely knit world of motor racing who was genuinely interested. I’d assumed Reilley’s interest was purely financial. A means to an end, but her keen, searching gaze sent a completely different message.
“Well, we’ll go over the telemetry from the last race, analyze the data, see where we might be able to tweak the car to eke out another hundredth or thousandth of a second per lap. Formula One is all about margins, and the difference between winning and losing can be microscopic. Then we’ll decide on the setup we’re going to run for this particular race, tire strategy, fuel, ride height, rear and front wing angle, width, length. That’ll take all of Thursday. Then Friday, we test, analyze, refine, modify, and test again.”
Reilley’s body shifted, edg
ing closer to me, her eyes alight with inquisitiveness. The scent of her perfume reached me. Floral, understated, classy. Sexy.
I shuffled in my seat, reclaiming the couple of inches she’d stolen by moving closer. Not because I disliked being close to Reilley—the complete opposite, in fact—but I needed to regain control of myself. Riotous feelings were sweeping through me, feelings I must ignore.
“Fascinating,” she said, and I wondered if she’d noticed my subtle movement. “So they basically rebuild the car for each race?”
I cleared my throat, relieved that Reilley kept the conversation business focused. “Yes. At the end of every race, the car is dismantled, transported to the next location, and then rebuilt, with minor adjustments, for the next race.”
“And what’s the difference between what you do and what, was it Angus? Yeah, Angus. What he does.”
“My primary goal is to achieve the best performance from the vehicle and from the driver on the day. I’m the main guy who talks to the driver while he’s racing. Beneath me I have a team of engineers who crunch the data, before, during, and after the race. I’m also responsible for knowing the regulations of the sport inside and out, and making sure we walk the line but don’t cross it. Angus’s role, and that of his team, is to dismantle and rebuild the cars, fix them if they break, if there’s a crash or a breakdown for example. They’re also responsible for the pit stops, setting up the car ready for the race. Much more hands-on, if you like.”
“That’s a lot of work,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Why would you? Unless you’re right in the middle of it…” I shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t have a clue what goes into writing a book.”
“Oh, it’s a lot of staring into space, sweating, thinking you’ll never finish, or, if you do, it’ll be complete crap and no one will buy it. And then when they do, it’s the dry mouth and clammy palms in case they leave you a vicious review.” She laughed. “You grow a thick skin pretty quickly, put it that way.”
“Sounds a lot like motor racing.” I smiled faintly, an idea coming to mind. This’ll give her a good soundbite for her book. “Do you know how some people describe Formula One?”
The Full Velocity Series Box Set Page 44
