“What are you wearing?” I asked when he answered.
Devon chuckled. “Isn’t that supposed to be the guy’s line?”
“Equality, baby. Equality.”
His chuckle morphed into a true belly laugh.
“Well, if you won’t tell me what you’re wearing, then tell me what you’re doing.”
“Going over the telemetry output from Monaco and comparing it to some new data.”
“Sexy,” I said, my tone teasing and light. Ever since Devon and I had slept together last weekend, I kept reminding myself to stay playful, easygoing, nothing heavy. Call it women’s intuition, or some shit, but I knew that if I didn’t, Devon would end whatever this was between us as quickly as changing four tires during a pit stop.
That’s two seconds in case you’re interested.
“I wanted to talk to you about the race in Canada.”
“You’re still coming over, aren’t you?”
I tuned in. Was that alarm in his voice?
“Yeah, but I probably won’t make it until race day. I’ve got a scheduling clash, and Simon is being an awkward little shit.”
“Oh.”
Now I sensed disappointment. Hope surged within me. I detected a definite shift in our relationship.
Play it cool, Riles.
“Yeah, so I wondered what you thought about flying back to Europe a couple days after the race. Say the Tuesday or even the Wednesday.”
I waited, anticipating rejection, crossing my fingers he’d agree. Normally, the day after the race, Devon would head straight back to the factory in the UK to implement any changes to the car before the next race.
“Wednesday is a no, but I guess I could fly home on the Tuesday instead of the Monday. I’d have to talk to Jack.”
“That’d be great.”
“What did you have planned?”
“Uh-uh. My lips are sealed.”
He groaned. “Not more interviews.”
“Not this time, no. I thought we’d do something fun, yet what I have planned still fits in with the book. Kind of. I can’t say too much without giving it away.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
“I just got off the phone with Diane, by the way. Thanks for telling her she could talk to me.”
A hitch of breath came over the phone line, and then he tentatively asked, “Everything okay?”
Odd question. Then again, this was Devon. He often surprised me.
“Yeah, good. She’s lovely. Braces as a kid, huh? Can’t picture you with a mouthful of metal.”
His low, rumbling chuckle went straight to my core. I clenched, the tightening muscles offering modest relief.
“If my sister promised photographic evidence, tell her she’s dead to me.”
I laughed. “You’ll find out—when the book is released.”
“You agreed to editing privileges, remember?”
I made a sound of protest. “Damn. Knew I should have negotiated harder on that point.”
“Nah. That was a deal breaker, and you know it.”
I smiled to myself. What a difference a few months had made. Before Australia, Devon had run in the opposite direction every time he saw me. Now, almost four months later, we were… well, I wasn’t exactly sure how to describe it. We certainly weren’t enemies.
“She told me to tell you to call home more often.”
He exhaled in exasperation. “Jesus. She’s got you nagging me now.”
“That’s not nagging. That’s a polite request.” My phone buzzed to tell me I had a call waiting. “Sorry, Devon, I’ve got to go. Someone’s on the other line. I’ll text you when I land in Montreal.”
“Okay.”
I went to hang up when Devon said, “Oh, and Reilley?”
I pressed the handset to my ear again. “What?”
“I’m not wearing anything.”
He ended the call.
I growled in frustration.
Glancing at the caller ID of the fucker who’d interrupted my “Devon Delight” didn’t make me feel any better. If Simon wanted to have another dig at me, he’d picked the wrong day.
“What can I do for you, boss?” I asked in a sugary-sweet tone.
“Quit freaking me out with that nice crap for a start,” he replied.
Despite being annoyed he’d muscled in on my fun with Devon, I laughed. “Fine. What did you want because I’m busy?”
“That’s more like it. I called to tell you I read the first three chapters.”
I held my breath. “And?” I eventually asked when Simon didn’t continue.
“Some of your best work.”
My shoulders sagged, and a smile inched across my face. “Really?”
“You know me, Riles. I don’t blow smoke up yours or anyone else’s ass. I admit, I had my doubts with how you wanted to kick off the story, but by opening with the death of Antonio Santos and the impact it had on Devon, you’ve hooked the reader. Hell, motor racing bores the shit out of me, and I couldn’t flick the pages fast enough.”
Swamped with emotion, I blinked to clear my vision. I had more invested in this book than any other one I’d written, and for Simon, the harshest critic I knew, to find himself sucked into the story, it lifted an enormous weight off my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick, my throat sore.
“Now you really are freaking me out,” Simon said. “I do have a couple of suggestions to tighten here and there, but you should be very proud, kid. Right, I gotta go. Talk soon.”
After Simon hung up, I stared at the phone for at least a minute. He liked it. He actually liked it. I tossed my phone on the coffee table and, without a care in the world, I leaped around my living room like a crazy woman, whooping and hollering.
God, the relief. What a high.
I’d fought so hard to get Simon to agree to this book. He’d tried on several occasions to push me down the driver route, but that had been done to death. Choosing a behind-the-scenes subject had been a risk, but I had good instincts. I’d known, deep in my soul, that telling Devon’s story would be a winner.
Being proved right was the best feeling in the world.
Of course, the readers would have the ultimate say, and I wouldn’t know their reaction for a year, but if this book didn’t sell at least five million copies in the first year, I’d give up writing. I was that certain I had a hit on my hands.
Still high, I snatched up my phone and, pacing, I texted Devon.
If I’d known you were naked, we could have had a very different kind of conversation.
He replied with a laughing and winking emoticon.
I sent him back a one-fingered salute.
He replied with a red heart.
A red fucking heart.
I pulled up short and stared at that tiny little emoji. I had to reply, but with what? Something not too deep, not too dismissive.
God, relationships were difficult. Even more so when you’d promised the guy a casual hookup. But if he was sending red hearts, didn’t that mean the rules had changed?
Argh! I was running out of time. I plumped for a pair of red lips followed by This will have to do until I can give you a proper kiss.
He replied Can’t wait.
Yeah… the rules had definitely changed.
Devon
My leg wouldn’t stop bouncing as I sat on the pit wall, watching the clock count down. Three laps to go, and Alexander Coutinho was right on Jared’s tail. One mistake, and Coutinho would sneak past into first place, giving Jared an impossible task to regain the lead before the checkered flag came down.
I couldn’t remember such a tight championship after seven races. Only fifteen points separated Jared in first place, Tate in second, and Alexander in third. That might sound like a lot, but when the winner received twenty-five points with eighteen for second and fifteen for third, all it would take was a tire blowout, a mistake by the mechanical team during a pit stop, or an accident, and the top of the leaderboard
could change in an instant. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Jared didn’t cross the finish line in first place today—we were only a third of the way through the season—but winning often became a habit.
Jared and I were the perfect team because we were equally competitive. Driving had never interested me, but winning did. Whether it was a game of Scrabble, my favorite football team, or a Formula One world championship, I had to win.
“Relax,” Jack said. “I’ve never seen you so tense. Don’t tell me Reilley is thawing the ice man?”
I gave him the side eye. Jack had been needling me about Reilley ever since I’d asked him if it was okay for me to head back to Europe a day later than the rest of the team.
Jack laughed at my closed expression, then turned his attention back to the track. The last couple of laps only took two minutes and twenty-one seconds to complete, but it felt more like two hours. Jared swooped his car toward us as he took the checkered flag with Coutinho eight-tenths of a second behind. I leaned over the pit wall and punched my fist.
“Well done, mate. Terrific drive,” I said into my microphone.
“Fantastic!” Jared shouted. “Thank you, team. You’re amazing. Let’s keep pushing. France next.”
See what I mean about competitive. He’d barely celebrated this win and already he was thinking ahead to the French Grand Prix in two weeks’ time.
After the celebrations were over, and the requisite press interviews had been completed, the team gathered for our post-race debrief. I had to force myself to stay focused, because every time I allowed my mind to wander, it only headed in one direction: Reilley.
She’d texted me before the start of the race to say her flight was delayed and that she’d struggle to make the race. I told her to head straight to the hotel. A quick glance at my phone had told me she’d arrived there an hour ago. Excitement zinged through my veins, the desire to get the hell out of here and go see her all-consuming.
Fuck. This is getting serious.
I couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t afford to let a woman get too close.
But the heart wants what it wants.
Wait… what?
I shook my head like I had an earful of water. What bullshit. I couldn’t stand the woman four months ago. I’d only agreed to this book because I desperately needed the money, and we’d only slept together one night. I couldn’t be falling for her.
I wouldn’t fall for her.
“Okay, that’s it, guys.” Jack’s wrapping up jerked me back to the present. “Well done for another fantastic weekend. European season ahead. Let’s keep focused.”
Chairs scraped back, and high fives were shared. I gathered my things together but as I went to leave, Jack stopped me. He waited until everyone had left, then indicated I should retake my seat.
“What’s up?” I asked, frowning, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind about giving me the extra day off. I wasn’t sure I could take the disappointment.
“How’s Charlotte doing?”
I scratched my cheek, confused. “She’s settled in well, thanks for asking.”
“Good, good.” Jack swept a hand down the back of his head.
“What’s going on?”
“Have you told Reilley about her?”
Self-condemnation surged within me. Discussing Charlotte and Reilley in the same conversation felt highly uncomfortable. My throat dried up, and I coughed, then swallowed.
“No.”
Jack’s forehead creased. “Don’t you think you should?”
“Why would I?”
“Erm, because you’re seeing Reilley, and she deserves to know.” He spoke in a tone that said “Duh, you fucking idiot.”
“Reilley and I aren’t serious. In a few months, she’ll have finished the book and we’ll go our separate ways.”
Jack pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You honestly believe that?”
“Yes.”
No.
Jack made a frustrated noise. “How long have we known each other?”
I thought back, trying to remember. “Ten, eleven years.”
“And how long have you worked for me?”
I squinted at him. “What is this? Twenty fucking questions?”
“Just answer the damned question, Devon.”
“Seven. We’ve worked together for seven years.”
“Exactly. Seven very long, very stressful years during which I’ve seen more of you than I have my own wife.”
“What the hell are you going on about, Jack?” I said, trying not to look at my watch and wonder how long this was going to take. Every minute spent playing quizzes with Jack was a minute I didn’t get to spend with Reilley.
Jack let out a long, tired sigh. “In eleven years, I’ve known you date three women. Janita, Charlotte, and Reilley.”
My frown deepened. Janita was a girl I’d known from high school. We’d bumped into each other years later, dated for five or six months, then split. Amicably.
“Your point?”
“Jesus, I really am going to have to spell it out, aren’t I? You were not so enamored with either Janita or Charlotte as you are with Reilley. That girl is under your skin and in your heart.”
“Bullshit,” I scoffed.
“Deny it all you want, but you’re buzzing, Devon. You have been ever since you landed in Bahrain. When she’s around, there’s a glow about you, a happiness I haven’t seen in years—and not at all since Charlotte’s accident. When she’s not here, it’s like someone switched the light off. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you checking your phone every goddamn spare minute this weekend.” He rose from his chair and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Take it from someone older and wiser. Women don’t like being lied to, and they can smell a secret from a mile away. If Reilley means as much to you as I think she does, tell her about Charlotte before she finds out through some other means.”
“There are no other means, because the only people who know are the same people I trust implicitly to keep their mouths shut.” I pushed back my chair and stood. “Reilley and I are not serious. Nor can I ever allow whatever is going on between us to become serious. Charlotte is my priority. She always will be.”
Jack gave a sad shake of his head. “You hardly knew the girl before her accident. You spread yourself wafer-thin taking care of her medical needs. You’ve agreed to Reilley’s book simply to pay for some experimental treatment that might or might not work. You’ve paid your dues, and you continue to pay them. Don’t be a martyr. For God’s sake, man, you’re entitled to a life. You’re allowed to be happy.”
I gave him a thin smile. “Thanks for the extra day off, Jack. I appreciate it. If we’re done here, I’ll see you on Wednesday at the factory.”
I tucked my iPad under my arm and left.
Jack’s words rattled around my head during the entire journey to the hotel, but as soon as I found myself outside Reilley’s room, I pushed them to the back of my mind. They’d have to be examined another day. Until I got on the plane on Tuesday afternoon, Reilley had my full attention. Not Charlotte, not Caroline, not my family.
Jack said I was entitled to a life. Well, for the next forty hours, I intended to live it.
Reilley
A knock at the door diverted my attention away from where I’d been bashing at my keyboard, trying to get as much work done as possible before Devon arrived. I tossed my laptop to one side and scampered off the bed.
I peered through the peephole. My stomach flipped, exhilaration about the next couple of days rushing through me. I threw back the door and launched into Devon’s waiting arms.
“At last,” I said, kissing him.
He walked inside with me still clamped around his waist. Kicking the door closed with his foot, he grinned.
“That’s a welcome and a half.”
I gently rubbed my nose down his. “I’ve missed you.”
His expression grew serious. “Phone calls and texts just don’t cut it, huh?”
I grazed the backs of my fingers over his stubble. “No, they don’t. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to the race today. I caught the highlights, though. The team must be thrilled.”
“We are. Well, on Jared’s side of the garage anyway.”
I slid down his body, planting my feet on the floor. “Yeah, Tate must be pissed that Jared has stretched his lead.”
“No comment.” Devon flashed a panty-busting grin in my direction. He wandered over to the mini bar and removed a bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he took a long drink.
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked.
“Screw you.”
He laughed. “All night?”
I nodded, weaving my way over. When I reached him, I slipped my arms around his waist. “I’m a demanding woman with needs that must be met.”
Devon cupped the back of my neck, his thumb gently brushing along my hairline. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
He captured my mouth in a searing kiss that I swore left burn marks on my lips. Two weeks was a long time to stoke the fires of desire, and in the intervening period between Monaco and today, mine had morphed into a towering inferno. He lifted me, so effortlessly, and hooked my legs around his hips as he walked backward in the direction of the bed.
Good. He wasn’t wasting any time.
He fell onto the bed, taking me with him, our childish giggles filling the hotel room. God, the difference in Devon from the sullen man I’d chased, professionally speaking, for almost a year, to this carefree, fun-loving apparition stole my breath. I liked to think I had a little something to do with his transformation, and maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a casual thing.
Don’t go there, Riles.
That path was a direct route to hurt and misery. Better to stay in the moment, enjoy it while it lasted, then move on. Keep your heart in a cage, under lock and key, but allow your body to enjoy every touch, every taste, every sensation Devon created.
Devon’s husky voice murmured, “Stay with me, Reilley.”
I snapped open my eyes to find him gazing at me, his expression serious, intense.
The Full Velocity Series Box Set Page 48
