by Ellie Hall
She blinked and made eye contact with her father. She shook her head slowly and anxiety clouded her face. “I have to go,” she whispered.
“I know,” Wyatt answered.
Chapter 7
Charlotte
It was the third time Wyatt had placed his hand in Charlotte’s.
The first was when he’d introduced himself. The tough warmth of his skin left an imprint on hers and she felt his presence there, like a brand or a tattoo, long after she’d dropped his hand. It was then the connection had been made.
The second was when they’d danced. She allowed him to lead her, ceding control, at least at that moment, at least as they swept across the dance floor. Charlotte was careful, measured, and lived in such a way that there were never risks. But letting him take her hand and lead the way was liberating. She moved to his rhythm long after they’d left the dancefloor. She told herself it was just a great song that had gotten stuck in her head. It was then that she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
The third time, Wyatt’s hand fit firmly and protectively around hers as he led her along the lane and away from the man who’d been trying to take what wasn’t his. Only, she’d never seen her father, only received demanding letters that bordered on threats until the day of the wedding. Wyatt knew Will’s situation and so he was looking out for her because she was his sister. However, it was then that she trusted him blindly, implicitly.
His hand in hers. The third time was no less explosive than the first or the second. Part of her secretly longed for a fourth. Aside from the firmness of his grip, there was a softness too; one that traveled through her fingers, up her limbs, and into her belly, sending the butterflies fluttering all the way to her chest.
But she’d never admit the way his hand cupping hers made her feel deep in her chest or low in her belly because there wasn’t room for a man in her life—especially not a man like him whose wild ways weren’t conducive to settling down.
Nonetheless, with Wyatt she felt safe as he gripped her hand, leading her along the streets in something of a dance as they dodged down lanes and hurried through alleys. He glanced at his phone every few minutes to be sure they were going the right way.
At last, Wyatt stopped by a sleek black sports car parked on a quiet side street. He covertly glanced around to be sure they’d lost Fabian. “I think the coast is clear.”
Charlotte let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, again.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, dropping her hand and circling around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
She eyed the rear of the car and the word McLaren. Thanks to her brother and a period of time when he’d fixated on luxury cars and later acquired an impressive collection, she knew that the one in front of her wasn’t a Sunday drive rambler.
“Wyatt?” she asked, but he already sat behind the wheel.
She stood frozen on the sidewalk, concerned for a moment that he was committing, what she believed they called in the States, grand theft auto. Either way, it was also illegal in the UK.
The window rolled down. He had one hand lazily on the wheel. He tilted his head to the side. “You coming?”
At a whisper, she said, “Is it stolen?”
“Not if the keys are in it.”
She stepped back, aghast.
He chuckled. “I’m joking. A friend did me a favor.”
“On such short notice?”
He nodded. “I sent him a text when we were still at the café.”
“Must be a good friend.”
“More accurately, he owed me a favor.”
“What kinds of friends do you have?
“Are you getting in?” he asked.
Charlotte glanced around, feeling guilty but also worried since her father had moved beyond simply reaching out and was trying to make in-person contact.
He started the engine, sending a roar, an unfamiliar thrill through her.
She lowered into the passenger seat. “It’s like the inside of a spaceship.”
“It’s snug,” he said on account of his large build.
The leather seats were soft yet had a sturdiness to them that suggested she put on her seat belt. The moment she did, Wyatt pulled onto the street and then zipped around the corner. He wove through traffic with practiced agility, not content to be stuck behind slow drivers.
“This sure isn’t bumper cars,” she muttered, sitting on her hands. Not because he was driving erratically but because of the vehicle’s power, his power.
“This is more my speed,” he said when they reached the motorway heading southeast. He pressed on the gas.
“Do you like fast things?” Charlotte’s voice trembled slightly.
“Horses mostly but cars too. By the way, have you ever been in a spaceship?” he asked, chuckling.
“No. It’s just what I imagine one to be like.” She ran her hand along the smooth dash, forgetting her better judgment.
“Do you use your imagination a lot?” he asked.
Her shrug abruptly fell when she recalled the fantasy of kissing him during the dance. She cleared her throat to shake off the thought, wanting to change the subject. “It makes sense that you’d like to go fast,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re my brother’s best friend. He used to be an adrenalin junkie, parachuting, rafting in rapids, mountain biking.”
“I remember those days.” Wyatt slowed to a stop at the end of the exit ramp.
“So they’re behind you?”
“The most excitement I drum up is a long Saturday ride on the trails at the ranch. Maybe, if it’s a hot summer’s day, I’ll take a dip in the creek.”
“But what about—?” She gestured to the car.
“It’s our getaway car.” Wyatt winked and then turned his attention back to the road.
“I wonder how Fabian found me.”
“I noticed him at the museum—the Yankees cap. Great team, though I’m a Rangers fan.”
“Some disguise.” She grunted.
“Then he was on the bridge,” he said.
“So he was following us?”
“Apparently so. Any idea why?”
“Money. That’s all he’s ever been interested in.” Charlotte sighed, unsure whether to say more. “Since he didn’t get what he wanted out of Will, now he’s trying to tie up my money.”
Charlotte was careful not to meet Wyatt’s eyes, mostly because he was driving but also because she couldn’t let herself be pulled in by them. His eyebrow ticked upward with curiosity.
“I inherited a sizable sum from Sydney after his passing. Did Will ever mention him?”
“Of course. He was Will’s guardian and mentor.”
“He was my guardian and my best friend.” Her voice was small because she wasn’t sure she could keep from crying if she talked about him. “Anyway, somehow Fabian caught wind of it. I received a letter from some unknown lawyer laying claim to Sydney’s fortune, including the place my daughter and I call home.” She didn’t regret leaving her flat and moving into Sydney’s spacious home, but she had always been so careful, making sure that everything was stable for Birdie. If they were kicked out, she’d be devastated. Charlotte had learned it was easier not to take risks.
“I’m working on having a barrister, we call them here—a lawyer—”
“I know the terms,” he said with a wry chuckle.
“They will be reviewing ownership and property rights but it’s time-consuming. With the wedding, I’ve fallen behind providing documentation.” But that wasn’t the only reason, she also had her former husband chasing after the wealth she’d inherited, making for another nasty period of meetings with attorneys—the first one was their divorce. Her ex had caused a heap of trouble.
“Was Fabian ever married to your mother?” Wyatt asked.
Charlotte dipped her head and then shook it. “No. He refused.”
“In that case, I don’t reckon he has much claim.”
&nbs
p; “You’re probably right, but more than anything, I need to provide stability for Birdie and don’t need the stress and upheaval. I’d rather him have the money if he’d just leave us alone. But the house has become our home. Being there keeps both Birdie and me close to Sydney.”
“I understand your concern.” Wyatt gripped the gear shift and revved the engine as he switched lanes. “I don’t like men who ditch their family or their children. Who’re selfish, self-serving, scum.” He maneuvered again and his jaw twitched. “I especially do not like men who’d even consider hurting you.”
The words caught up to Charlotte as the car sped along the road. Was he speaking as Will’s best friend, who’d look after her because he was loyal like that or was there something else in his tone? Something possessive and protective in a way that didn’t have anything to do with her brother but rather Wyatt in an entirely different role?
Even if he was interested in being more than her brother’s best friend, she couldn’t let feelings develop because she wasn’t interested in a fast driving cowboy who was going back to his ranch in a few days anyway.
They fell into reflective silence, but for once, Charlotte wasn’t thinking about her troubles. Rather, her mind was stuck on the man filling the seat next to her.
Wyatt slowed the car as they reached the parking lot to Brand’s Hatch Circuit, a raceway.
“It seems you can find plenty to do in London and beyond without my help.” She’d hardly paid attention to where they were going, thankful to be away from Fabian as they’d fled the city. She knew Birdie was safe with her grandmother but felt an urgent need to go home.
A man in a kiosk took some information, including a scan of Wyatt’s license, told him he was clear, and then said, “Enjoy your visit.”
“What are we doing? Is this a museum or are you returning the car?”
Wyatt shook his head and breathed a chuckle. “Do you trust me?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. Panic inside her grew.
“Do you trust that I’m not the kind of person who’d hurt you? Do you trust that I’m the kind of person who’d help you outrun your troubles and leave them behind?”
“By driving fast?”
“It works. It’s safe.”
“How fast does this thing go? It hardly seems safe.”
He smirked. “I’m not going to go that fast. Just a little fast.”
“A little fast is still, well, fast.”
“It’ll just be us on the track. No other cars. Come on. I think you’ll like it.” He turned to face her.
She yanked her gaze away, not daring to make eye contact.
“I think you need it.”
Her arms crossed in front of her chest. “No, what I need is to go home where it’s—” But her father’s letters, if not the man himself were there, waiting for her to reply, decline, protest. And she would, but she was also tired of fighting so hard to keep equilibrium, to maintain a quiet and stress-free life.
“I don’t want to pressure you. You can get out and watch if you want.”
When she didn’t answer, Wyatt must’ve taken it for agreement because he cruised to the entrance to the race track.
His smile was as big as Birdie’s on Christmas morning.
“Is the track usually empty?” she asked, mostly wanting confirmation that they weren’t entering an actual race.
But no fans cheered from the stands. Aside from the McLaren, no other engines revved. It was just Wyatt and Charlotte and the car.
“How’d you get them to clear the schedule?” she asked.
“Another favor.”
“You must have some great friends.”
“Only the best.” He nodded. “Ready? Three, two, one.”
As the car accelerated, Charlotte checked her seatbelt, bracing herself for what could only be a wild experience.
As Wyatt moved through the gears, his eyes remained focused, but the hint of a crooked smile teased the corners of his lips. Charlotte had grown to love that smile. She slapped her hand over her mouth the moment after the thought landed. Her own lips were grinning madly, crazily. Was it because he was right, going fast was fun? Or was it something else?
By the time they’d made the second lap and were on the straightway, Wyatt nearly doubled the speed.
Her thoughts raced along with the vehicle: the wedding and her own divorce, the money from Sydney and her father. Wyatt had said she’d be able to outrun her troubles. Apparently, he was wrong.
She sighed and tilted her head to take in his profile without being obvious. He was stone-faced. Focused. But underneath that, his eyes were blue and beautiful. His masculine features were burnished by the sun that spilled over his ranch year-round instead of the dreary months she faced. His jawline was pronounced and lined with a shadow of scruff. It was clear he had the looks of a model like her brother but had outgrown that period of his life and had grown into a rugged, capable man.
She tore her gaze from his eyes. They were too tempting. She was scared by what would happen if she let herself linger. But she could focus on his lips and she felt herself slipping back into the fantasy of his mouth on hers: the one that spoke in that rumbling, rambling voice with a slight southern accent, like thunder rolling over hills. It made her shiver.
He slanted his gaze and caught her eyes for a fraction of a second. That one look ignited the embers in her chest, warming her through.
They lapped the track again and then Wyatt slowed to a stop. He turned to face her.
“Your smile is a kilometer wide,” she said, desperate to take her thoughts off his eyes. Though thinking about or even looking at his lips seemed dangerous too.
“Do you mean my smile is a mile wide?” he asked.
“Same thing.”
“Actually, a kilometer is six-tenths of a mile.” His lips quirked with amusement.
She brushed him off with a laugh.
“But I would like to see you smile. A mile wide, at least. No six-tenths nonsense.” As he spoke, he got out of the car but left the keys. Come on.”
She was glad to get out of the car and not because of the experience. Wyatt had proved he was a safe driver. It was the static between them threatened to electrify her. “Where are we going?”
They were surrounded by empty stands, the booth for judges, and the stretch of tarmac.
Wyatt got in the passenger seat of the sports car.
She blinked a few times, realizing what he intended. “No, Wyatt. I couldn’t.”
“Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“Will taught me, but—”
“Hop in.”
“I can’t. What if I break the thing or crash or—”
“Get in,” Wyatt repeated and slammed his door.
Charlotte peered across the driver’s seat and shook her head.
“Well, you also can’t move me from this seat, at least not until you do a lap or two. You’re bound to get hungry at some point or they’ll want to lock up for the night.”
She growled in frustration. He wasn’t leaving her with many options. They were an hour outside London and she didn’t imagine many cabs passed the racetrack.
“Let’s go. It’ll be fun.”
She slouched into the seat, but the way it molded to her body made her sit at attention. She rubbed her hands along the steering wheel and gazed through the windshield. Maybe if she waited long enough, he’d get bored.
He reached across, brushing her knee in the process and pressed the ignition button. The engine woke up, purring under the hood. “Ready?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
“We can go as slow as you like.”
She held the wheel at ten and two o’clock. Her knuckles paled.
“Relax,” he said, peeling her hand away and dropping it to the gear shift. She melted under the weight of his palm. His fingers wove around hers and lingered there longer than was necessary or perhaps he worried she wouldn’t actually shift into first.
She
only pulled her focus together because driving a luxury sports car required every bit of her attention. Not that Wyatt’s touch was easy to shake. He’d reignited the embers in her, sparking them to life. She swallowed thickly. “I think I’ve got it,” she said. There was no way to get out of the situation other than moving forward, literally.
The car handled smoothly as she moved from first to second gear. The control was amazingly powerful as she brought it up to third. The tires were glued to the road as she drove at a comfortable speed as though they were touring a sparse neighborhood.
“You can go faster.”
“This is fine,” she squeaked, feeling the demand from the engine.
“The car was built for speed.”
“But I’m not,” she blurted.
“Trust the car. The power. The capability.”
She smiled thinly.
“Trust yourself.”
At that, her foot lowered further on the accelerator, she changed gears, and they whizzed along the track, not quite as fast as Wyatt had gone but faster than she’d ever driven on the motorway.
Wyatt whooped. “That’s more like it.”
The speed was exhilarating, intoxicating as the car rocketed along the track. She slowed on the turns but then shot back up. The smile on her lips peeled back into a mad grin at the power, the control and the rush of it all. Her mind emptied of worry. She felt free. But it was fleeting.
By the time she’d gone around the track three times, she slowed, feeling a bit winded as though trying to keep pace with the automobile.
“Now, that’s more like it.” Wyatt’s smile was as big as it had been when he’d driven. She wondered why, how. He hadn’t been behind the wheel. He was clearly a practiced rally driver. She was not.
“You trusted me,” she said, realizing what his expression meant.
“I do. You’re very, how do I put it? Contained.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You don’t seem like someone who takes risks, who steps out of her comfort zone or who goes bungee jumping for instance.”
