Hot on the heels of that pleasant thought came a much less pleasant one. If Reilley and I had any hope of building a future, then I had to be honest about my past, which meant telling her about Charlotte. Relationships built on lies tended to crumble at the first sign of trouble.
Reilley stole my attention from those dark thoughts when her hand moved lower. She briefly stroked my dick, then cupped my balls, and all thoughts of telling her about Charlotte were eliminated. For now, at least.
I took a deep, satisfying breath in, letting it out slowly. Reilley moved the covers to one side, exposing the lower half of my body. My dick stretched upward toward my belly button, the tip already weeping, anticipating the bliss to come.
Reilley swept her tongue over her bottom lip. “Shame to waste all that wood.”
I dabbed Reilley’s grazed knuckles with an alcohol swab, wincing when she hissed through her teeth. “Sorry, but this is the penalty for going around hitting people.”
She grinned. “You can talk. Anyway, it was totally worth it. And Eric is not ‘people’. He’s a bastard.”
“True. I think the last time I was in a fight was back in high school.”
“Look what me and my mad ex have driven you to,” she said. “Do me a favor. If you have a mad ex somewhere in the closet, prewarn me so I can make sure I’m carrying a pair of boxing gloves before I think about hitting them to protect your honor.”
I froze, the alcohol swab hanging in midair, ice racing through my veins. My mouth went dry, and I swallowed past a thickened throat.
“Devon? You okay? What did I say?” She theatrically clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no. Don’t tell me. You do have a mad ex.” She laughed. “I’ll go by the sports store today. Hmm, should I get them in red, or blue, or maybe mint green?”
I forced my face into a smile, wrestling with my inner emotions. Get a grip, and fast. I wanted to tell Reilley about Charlotte in my own time, not have it foisted upon me by a stray comment that set off her investigative radar.
“Definitely mint green,” I managed to say.
“I think you’re right,” she said, whipping the swab from my hand and dabbing at her own knuckles. She slid off the stool and dropped the swab in the bin. “I know you didn’t get any sleep last night, but how tired are you?”
Relieved she’d switched subjects, I grinned. “More sex? Already? God, woman, you’re insatiable.”
She planted her hands on her hips and shot me a half-irritated, half-teasing look. “You are such an ass at times.”
“You love my assishness.”
Her lopsided smile sent a burst of warmth through my chest. “I think you just invented a new word. That is definitely going into the second draft.”
I chuckled and got to my feet, capturing her around the waist. “You’re welcome. And in answer to your original question, I’m used to no sleep. What did you have in mind?”
“A Chicago must-do.”
Refusing to say another word, she grabbed her purse, and we headed down to the garage below her building. Less than eight minutes later, I spotted a sign for Navy Pier. I’d read about this place in the tourist magazine on the plane under ‘Things to see and do in Chicago’.
“We’re going to a fairground?”
“We’re going to the fairground. You can’t come to Chicago and not visit Navy Pier.” She briefly glanced at me, then turned into the car park. “Get ready to have the time of your life. Ferris wheel, the swing ride, bumper cars, hot dogs. It’s going to be amazing.”
I laughed at her childish enthusiasm. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on any rides. Not sure I’ll fit inside the bumper cars these days.”
“Sure you will,” she said, pulling forward into a parking bay. “Come on, let’s go.”
Reilley’s exuberant delight as we headed onto the pier drew my own inner child to the forefront. The idea of forgetting everything, of acting silly, of regressing back to a time when problems and responsibilities didn’t register. I expected her to head straight for one of the rides. Instead, she towed me to the food court.
“Can’t come to Chicago and not eat a dog. A hot dog, I mean, not a real dog.” She giggled. “With the works. Mustard, relish, onions, ketchup.”
Reilley ordered us both a giant hot dog, handed mine over, then took a huge bite out of her own. Mustard and ketchup oozed from the end, dripping down her chin. She grinned, wiping it with a screwed-up napkin. “Sexy, huh?”
I swiped my thumb at the corner of her mouth. “You missed a bit.”
“And you used your thumb instead of your tongue?” She tsked. “Disappointing.”
Nearby, a mother lining up with her two kids for their own Chicago dog shot us a disgusted glare. I gripped Reilley’s elbow.
“Let’s go before we get lynched by the stroller brigade.”
She caught the woman’s angry stare, pressed her fingers to her lips, and said, “Oops,” sounding far from apologetic.
We wandered Navy Pier eating our dogs, Reilley excitedly chattering, more buzzed than usual. I assumed her high spirits were down to my approval of the book. She’d mentioned on more than one occasion how much it meant to her that I liked what she’d written.
We were standing in line for the Ferris wheel when my phone vibrated. I slipped it from my back pocket and glanced at the screen. Fuck. Caroline. My skin broke out in goose bumps, my nerve endings tingling. What if something was wrong with Charlotte?
“Caroline, huh,” Reilley teased, playfully shoulder-bumping me. “I knew you had a secret wife tucked away.”
Think fast.
“She’s one of my engineers back at the factory. I need to take this. Keep my place.”
Ducking out of the line, I walked far enough away to prevent Reilley overhearing. “What’s the matter? Is it Charlotte?”
“What? No. Charlotte’s fine. At least she was last time I spoke to the hospital.”
Air left my lungs in a whoosh, relief sweeping through me. “Then what do you want?” I snapped, pissed that she’d called. Wasn’t I allowed to forget for a few goddamn days?
“So there I was, scrolling through the gossip magazines online, and I spotted a very interesting article. Yep, very interesting indeed.”
“And?” I bit out, irritation flushing through me.
“Let me make one thing clear, Devon. Your first and last priority is my sister. It will always be my sister, for as long as she lives. You put her in that chair, you ruined her life and, in turn, you ruined mine. Have you any idea how agonizing it is to see my twin in constant pain while you swan off around the world with your new fancy piece?”
I swept a hand over my face, the reason for her call becoming clear. She wanted to pass the pain of her hurt on to someone else. Me.
“I’ve spent the last four and a half years making Charlotte my priority, but I am entitled to a life, Caroline.”
“No, you’re not!” she yelled, forcing me to move the handset away from my ear. “You lost your right to a life when you almost killed my sister.”
Guilt returned with a roar, pressing down on my chest, setting fire to my guts. I gulped shallow breaths, glancing over my shoulder. My gaze fell on Reilley, head bent as she tapped on her phone, one hip kicked out to the side, her soft caramel hair draped over her face. A tidal wave of feelings hit me all at once.
I would not give her up.
I couldn’t.
I loved her.
At thirty-four, I’d finally fallen in love with a beautiful, funny, talented woman. My opposite. Extrovert to my introvert. Fiery to my calm.
“It’s taken me years to realize it, but I am entitled to a life. Charlotte is a kind, loving, giving woman who wouldn’t want or expect me to give up my entire life for her. I will always be there if she needs me, and I will provide for her as long as I am able, but to give up my chance of finding love, of having a family of my own? No, Caroline. I won’t do that. Don’t ring me again unless Charlotte needs me.”
I ended the
call. The enormous tension and heavy remorse that had ridden me for years—poisoning my insides, preventing my lungs from expanding to full capacity—ebbed away, taken by the warm breeze and my love for a woman I didn’t deserve, but I’d steal anyway.
Reilley still had her head buried in her phone, allowing me to sneak up on her. I slipped both arms around her waist and nestled my chin into her shoulder. She twisted around for a kiss.
“Everything okay at work?”
I nodded. “It is now. A problem had been bubbling around for a while, that I’d let get out of hand. I’ve just fixed it.”
The ride attendant gestured us forward, and we settled into the carriage.
“Shame I won’t get to see the view from the top,” I said.
Reilley shot me a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you?”
I nuzzled her ear with my nose. “Because I’ll be too busy kissing you.”
Reilley
Devon tugged on his tie, skewing it to the side. I rolled my eyes and rose from my chair, readjusting it for him.
“Stop fiddling with it.”
“I hate ties,” he grumbled. “They’re nooses in disguise.”
I fixed him with a firm stare. “A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
He narrowed his eyes, peering down at me. “No tie, no opinion.”
I snickered. “As soon as the press conference is over, so is the suit-wearing. Until then, if I see your fingers going anywhere near that tie, I’ll break them.”
Devon captured my waist, tugging me close to his body. “You wouldn’t do that. You like what they do to you too much.”
I pursed my lips, pretending to consider his words. “Hmm, true. In that case, I’ll have to think up some other suitable punishment.”
His hands feathered up my sides. Pinpricks of delight skipped up my spine, my body now so attuned to Devon, a featherlike touch would garner a physical response. Or maybe the amount of time we spent apart heightened our need. We hadn’t seen each other since he’d left Chicago three weeks earlier to get ready for the Belgian Grand Prix, and now, less than seven days later, he had another race to prepare for, this time, Italy.
And as an added pressure, Simon had decided he wanted to kick off the publicity for The Piranha Club at the racetrack this weekend, hence I’d muscled Devon into a suit and tie—and he hadn’t stopped bitching since.
The design artist had finished the cover, which had a seriously hot close-up of Devon with his eyes cast downward, an expression of intense concentration on his face. I had fought hard—and won—for a natural-looking cover photograph, and considering how fantastic the end product had turned out, I must admit to feeling rather smug. Especially when Simon had accompanied the email he’d attached it to with a “Fine, you were right” comment.
I smoothed a hand over Devon’s newly shaved face, rising on tiptoes to kiss him. “You do know that, for a woman, a guy in a suit has the same effect as barely there lingerie does for a man?”
Devon curved one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I traced a fingertip down his shirt, over his pecs, his abdomen, hooking it into the waistband of his pants. “Mm-hmm.”
He groaned. “We could always sack off the press conference and go to bed instead.”
“Or.” I ran the tip of my tongue along the underside of my top teeth. “We could relish the delayed gratification, allow it to smolder all day, then stay up all night putting out the fire.”
“Jesus, woman, you have a way with words.”
I chuckled, stepping out of his embrace. “Come on. Let’s get it over with, then the fun can begin.”
Devon had made no secret of his displeasure regarding the level of publicity Simon expected of him, but he’d capitulated knowing the importance of his involvement in the entire process. His silence filled the cab ride to the Monza racetrack, where the press would already be gathered, waiting for the formal cover reveal and confirmation of the publication date.
Simon had juggled the schedule and, after talking to Jack, we’d settled on February twelfth next year. Winter testing would be almost complete by then, giving us a small window of opportunity before the season began in earnest.
Spotting Simon waiting outside the tent where we’d arranged for the press conference to take place, I gave Devon a quick squeeze. “It’ll soon be over.”
“Not soon enough,” he muttered.
I chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry. Simon relishes these events. He’ll do most of the talking.”
“All set?” Simon asked, shaking Devon’s hand and hugging me.
“Absolutely,” I said brightly, while Devon looked as though being strangled by his own tie would be a much more preferable outcome. “Exciting times.”
“Right, let’s go.”
Simon cut a commanding figure striding through the tent with Devon and me following on behind.
“What the fuck is that?” Devon hissed in my ear as his gaze fell on an enormous picture of his face staring out at the entire crowd of press gathered for the official announcement.
“It’s the cover. I showed you last week.”
“You didn’t tell me it’d be blown up so large that astronauts could see it from outer bloody space.”
“You’re gorgeous,” I whispered as we settled into our seats. The buzz around us turned into a faint hum. “I’m going to ask if I can take it home and mount it on my bedroom wall.”
Simon tapping the microphone prevented Devon from replying. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming.”
I rested a hand on Devon’s knee beneath the table as Simon launched into his prepared speech. The press conference lasted no more than fifteen minutes with Simon fielding most of the questions, although Devon did answer one or two of them with aplomb.
“Thank God that’s over,” he said once we escaped.
“You’re expected to talk to the press all the time,” I said. “How was that any different, really?”
“I’m happy to talk to the press about the performance of a car, or tire strategy, or how we can do better in the next race, but talking about me?” He made a face. “No thanks. I’ve always been happier in the background.”
Simon clapped him on the back. “You did well. It’ll get easier over the next few months.”
“Doubt that,” Devon groused. “If you’re done with me, I need to go and do some real work.”
I laughed, shoving him playfully in the back. “Go fiddle with… whatever it is you fiddle with. I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
I watched his retreating back until he disappeared from view.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy, Riles,” Simon said. “I’m happy for you. Especially after that terrible business with Eric.”
I grinned, slipping my arm through his. “I doubt I’ll hear from him again after what happened a few weeks ago.” I’d already told Simon about the altercation we’d had with Eric in the bar back in Chicago.
“Yeah, probably nursing his damaged ego.”
“And his broken nose.”
Simon laughed. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel. You’ve got work to do.”
“Slave driver.”
Simon dropped me at the hotel, then headed off to the airport. I walked up the stairs into the hotel when a female voice with an Australian accent called my name.
“Miss Bennett? Miss Reilley Bennett?”
I glanced over my shoulder, frowning. “Who wants to know?”
“I wonder if you have a few minutes. It’s about the book you’ve written on Devon Gray.”
I fully turned around, facing her. “All the information I can share was in the press pack handed out at the conference this morning.”
“Oh, I’m not from the press.” She joined me on the steps and held out her hand. “My name is Caroline Simpson, and you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
I stared at Caroline’s outstretched hand until politeness won over, and I shook it. “What ca
n I do for you?”
“Would you mind if we went inside? I don’t really want to have this conversation in front of the hotel.”
I checked my watch. I had so much work to do. Now that we’d formally announced the publication date, we were locked in, committed. My editor had returned the latest version of the manuscript last night with a sea of red ink for me to wade through.
I opened my mouth to say, no, sorry, I couldn’t spare the time, but something about the beseeching expression on Caroline’s face, along with a twinge of intrigue had me saying, “I can only spare ten minutes.”
We sat in the bar and ordered coffee. While waiting for it to arrive, I gestured to Caroline. “Floor’s yours.”
She crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. “This book about Devon. Tell me, is Charlotte mentioned in it?”
I frowned, my skin tingling. I rubbed the nape of my neck. “Who’s Charlotte?”
She let out a derisive snort. “I thought not.”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me. Do you know Devon?”
“Oh yes,” Caroline said, laughing bitterly. “I know him all right.”
This woman is seriously grating on my nerves. “Look, I don’t have time for twenty questions. Either get to the point, or I’m leaving.”
Caroline unfolded her legs, then recrossed them. “You deserve to know the truth and, as Devon clearly hasn’t told you, I guess it’s up to me.” She expelled a soft, resigned sigh. “Charlotte is my sister, my twin sister. A wonderful, kind, funny, intelligent woman who used to light up the lives of those she came into contact with. Everyone loved Charlotte. Devon will always put her first. Ahead of you, of his mother, his sister. His niece. Charlotte will always be his number one priority.”
What?
A prickle of unease started in my calves, inching higher until my whole body quivered with tension. I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer to my next question.
“And why is that?” I asked with a tight smile to hide the trepidation surging within me.
Instead of answering, Caroline reached into her purse and removed her phone. She tapped on it a few times then handed it to me. “This is Charlotte.”
The Full Velocity Series Box Set Page 52
