Quarter Mile Hearts

by Jenny Siegel

  “You’re sure you want me to stay?” His body tenses as he waits for my response.

  “Stay with me.” The firmness in my voice surprises up both and his shoulders drop as his whole body relaxes. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking, but I do know that I don’t want him to leave. Before I can think about it too long, my arms wrap around his neck, and I raise my lips toward his. Warm, full lips respond and when his tongue slides along mine, my body curves into his. One hand delves into my hair, while the other holds me at the small of my back, pressing me further into his body.

  The hand at my back travels down over my ass to grip the back of my thigh as he hooks it over his hip and does the same with the other one. Lifting me up, I wrap my legs around him. Nibbling on my bottom lip, before he trails kisses down the column of my neck to the curve of my shoulder, sucking on the sensitive skin there. Teeth nip before his hot tongue soothes away the slight sting.

  Desire unfurls in my stomach, sending painful pangs of lust shooting through me, and my legs grip him tighter. I am fully aware of his hard dick pressing into me, but it only increases my need for him.

  Max walks around to the side of the bed and pulls back the covers, his kisses never faltering. Gently, he lays me on the bed, only breaking our kiss for a moment before covering me with his body.

  “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs against my lips, and I can’t fight my small smile. My hand skims down his back, feeling the way his muscles shift as he supports the majority of his weight. Moving around his waist, I brush over his sensitive skin so he flinches. My hand squeezes between our bodies, and I run my thumb over his impressive erection, smiling when his breath catches in the back of his throat. His head dips lower as fingers pull away the material of my bra freeing my nipple so his tongue can swirl around it, sending pleasure biting through me. When he draws it into his mouth, I arch further into him with a loud moan.

  Dark eyes flick up to meet mine and he hesitates. The lust is still there, smoldering, but instead of carrying on like I so desperately want, he stops, straightens my bra, and rolls to the side. Brushing hair off my face, his hand cups my jaw.

  “We’re not doing this while you're drunk.”

  “What the hell?” I blurt out and catch the grin he flashes me. Dammit, now he knows I want him.

  “The next time I get you into bed, I want you stone-cold sober.” He pauses and rolls me onto my side, facing away from him before curving his body around me. “That way you can’t deny how much you want me.”

  “In your dreams,” I mutter, but it’s obvious that I do want him. So fucking much.

  “Every fucking night, baby.” He plants a kiss on the back of my head and tugs me closer to his gorgeous body, which is all I’m going to see in my dreams. His erection is still standing to attention and pressed between my ass cheeks. I shift a little against it and the hand across my stomach tightens.

  Max groans. “Don’t fucking move.”

  I manage to stifle a giggle as tiredness washes over me, and I let myself fall asleep with his arms wrapped around me.

  Chapter Eight

  Max’s warm hard body is still lying next to me when I wake the next morning. Not that I expected him to sneak out in the middle of the night, but I’m glad he’s still here. Our legs are tangled together, his arm under my head and the other possessively around my waist. A thick morning erection presses into my thigh, which is slung across his body.

  I straighten my leg, brushing it over his hard dick, and Max shifts in his sleep, giving a low groan. My brain seems to accept that I’m in bed with Max Morgan, and even my body thinks it is the most natural thing in the world because it curls further into him. My hand slides from where it rests on his chest, which rises and falls with each even breath, down over his stomach muscles.

  It moves lower still, tracing over the trail of hair that disappears into his boxer briefs. I’m playing with fire; I should not be touching him like this but my hand can’t stop. How many nights have I dreamed of waking up next to him and being able to touch him in this way?

  My hand continues down to trace the length of his erection and back up, ready to make another pass when Max takes my wrist in his hand and stops me from molesting him further. Surprised, I jerk up to look at him staring back at me, his eyes sleepy but with a sparkle of amusement in them.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” His voice is thick with sleep. Still holding my wrist in one hand, he captures the other one and holds them above my head. Then he rolls his semi-naked body so it hovers tantalizingly above mine to allow him to stare down at me. I meet his gaze head on, and as much as I pretend that I don’t want him, I so do. I had thought that our night together four years ago was supposed to be a final fling, one night to get him out my system. Instead, it just drove him deeper. He managed to bury himself so far under my skin. Was I that naïve to think that I could avoid him forever? That whatever I felt for him before would just disappear? Obviously, I was because that is exactly what I hoped for. But it hasn’t worked. It has only resulted in me wanting him even more.

  His lips brush against mine, causing a short, sharp jolt to refocus my attention on him and the here and now.

  “When are you going to stop fighting this?”

  I bite my lip and give a quick shake of my head.

  “You want to as much as I do.” His lips trail over my forehead, and I almost lose it there and then.

  “Maybe,” I say in a rush of breath. “But it’s never going to happen.”

  “It will,” he says with a confidence that I admire, “and when it does, I’m going to take my time and taste every inch of your skin, before I slide inside you and make you come.”

  I gasp as his free hand brushes over my breast. Through the lace of my bra, my nipples pucker, drawn tight because yet again, he’s turned me on. His head moves lower and his finger and thumb move the material out the way to allow him to pull my nipple into his mouth. Drawing it deep inside, I bite down hard on my lip to stop the whimper that is ready to escape.

  “The noises you make when you come,” he moves to the other nipple and repeats the same glorious torture, “have haunted my dreams. I can’t wait to hear them again.”

  “You’re a dick.” The quiver of my voice lessens the impact of my insult.

  “Is that why you were touching it?” He has a point, and I retort with the only thing my lust-filled brain can come up with.

  “Fuck off.”

  With a chuckle, he lets go and rolls off me. Just like that, he’s shattered any fantasy that I may have had that Max is anything more than a player and a dickhead.

  “Come on.” He pushes off the bed and reaches for his jeans before he pulls them on and searches for his t-shirt. It is impossible not to stare at the muscles on his back and arms that shift with every movement, or the tattoos that decorate one arm.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes for a shower and I’ll take you for breakfast.” He winks at me and is out the door before I can argue.

  All through my quick shower, I call him every name under the sun and then some. But much to my disgust I am dressed fifteen minutes later and walk down the stairs. Max sits in one of the armchairs, long legs stretched out in front of him as he types out a text message.

  “Your date from last night?” I hate myself for asking and for sounding so jealous.

  “You know there’s only one girl I want, and she’s playing hard to get.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes at the back of his head. “Are we going or what?”

  “After you.” He pushes up off the chair and crosses to the door, holding it open for me.

  “It was Aaron,” he says, and I give him a blank look as I lock the door. “Texting me. He wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You didn’t tell him that you stayed over?” I panic because that would not be a good thing. The fun Aaron would have if he knew. Max knows this, and a sly smile spreads across his face as he gives a slow nod.

  “And I told him exactl
y where I found your hands this morning.”

  “You didn’t!” I gasp and hit him on the arm.

  “I might have.” His smug tone makes me want to hit him again.

  “You’re an ass,” I mutter and stand with my arms over my chest at the side of the GTO. Max laughs louder and opens the passenger door before walking around the other side.

  It doesn’t matter. Either way, people will have noticed his car in the drive, and Aaron will find out. I just hope word doesn’t get back to Dad. To him, I’ll always be his little girl, and he wouldn’t be too happy at the thought of Max Morgan having his wicked way with me.

  • • •

  The diner is pretty busy for a Sunday morning, but Max spots a table away from the door and grabs my hand. Warm fingers grip mine and sparks of electricity skitter up my arm as he weaves between the tables. I have no choice but to stumble along behind him.

  We sit at the table for two, and Max hands me a menu. “You going to see Hank today?”

  “Yeah, I’ve not been all weekend. He had other people going to visit him, so he gave me the weekend off.”

  “Well, if you ever need someone to visit or go with you, let me know.”

  Surprised at his kind offer, I nod and mumble, “Sure.”

  We scan the menu in silence, only speaking when the waitress arrives to take our order. And then mumble thanks when she sets our coffees down. The appetite I normally have first thing has mysteriously disappeared. Max doesn’t appear to be hungry either because we only ordered milky coffees.

  “So…” Max leans over the table and reaches for the sugar, rolling the dispenser between his hands.

  “So…” Making small talk with Max feels weird. Normally, we stay out of each other’s way, and I realize that in all the time that we’ve lived in the same town, I don’t know anything about him.

  “Why’d you move here?” I ask out of the blue, and his face clouds, a dark expression flitting over it.

  “It was just me and my sister-”

  “You have a sister?”

  His eyes widen, and I fall into the dark orbs, leaning forward trying to distinguish, yet again, whether they are black or just really dark brown. This is something that I’ve always wondered. Now, in the daylight, I can confirm that they are dark brown, so dark that they appear black.

  “How did you not know that?”

  “I dunno.”

  “But it’s such a small town. Everyone knows everything.”

  “Yeah, but you forget that while all the girls at school were lusting after you, I wasn’t interested.”

  “Ah, is that what it was?” His eyes crinkle at the corners slightly, and his face softens as he smiles. Fuck, why am I noticing these small details, like I’m just seeing him for the first time?

  “Is that what-” But I’m cut off by the arrival of a very pissed off blonde.

  “There you are.” She sounds a little out of breath, and I doubt it’s from running; I’m betting that’s the way Max makes every female sound. I have nothing to be smug about; he makes me sound like that, too.

  “Oh.” She looks even more put out when she looks from me to Max and back again, before her eyes narrow at Max. “You blew me off for this?” She plants her hands on her hips and continues to glare at him. If she hadn’t just insulted me, it might have been amusing, but my temper kicks in and I turn in my seat to face her.

  “Excuse me?” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  “He’s wearing the same clothes as he was when he dropped me off and drove away in a hurry.” She swings her angry stare to Max who’s unperturbed and calmly stirs his coffee with a small smirk on his face. If I was the blonde, I wouldn’t be able to resist smacking it. But this has nothing to do with me. So I push up from the table and pull some bills out of my back pocket.

  “As nice as this was, I’ve got better things to do.” I set the bills down on the table and push my chair in. “See you at work, Max.” He sits upright, ready to follow me out.

  “I’ll drive you,” he offers.

  “That’s okay, I’ll walk to my bike. Looks like you’ve got your hands full here.” I wink and his face falls; that wiped the smirk off his face.

  As I walk past the window of the diner, I see the blonde has taken my space and is talking his ear off, though it doesn’t look like Max is listening. He’s too busy watching me, and I offer him a wave as I walk down the street.

  I can’t believe that I practically threw myself at Max Morgan. He’s too dangerous to be around. I can’t think straight when he looks at me or touches me or breathes on me. And when he kisses me, argh, it’s worse. We need to get back to what we do best, which is annoying the hell out of each other. I promised myself a long time ago that I would steer clear of him. Now, I need to just stick to it and not do anything stupid like fall for him.

  Yeah, good luck with that.

  Chapter Nine

  There is no sound of the TV coming from my dad’s room as I approach. He’s not grumbling at the nurse; there is nothing but silence. I find him sleeping, his breathing labored, and he looks worse than he did when I first arrived. Leaving him to sleep, I go in search of a nurse.

  Nurse McCartney is at the nurse’s station and smiles as I approach.

  “Have you been to see your dad yet?”

  “Yes, he looks worse than he did last week.”

  “He’s had a bit of a setback.”

  “What kind of a setback?” I reach for her arm, unaware that I’m gripping it tightly. She pats my hand and I realize that I am cutting off her circulation and ease up a little.

  “A few of his ribs and the break in his collarbone are still causing him a lot of pain, and the doctor is worried about his concussion. I’m afraid his recovery is going to take longer than we first thought.”

  My eyes start to fill with unshed tears, unable to speak past the lump in my throat, I nod before quickly walking back to his room. Sitting on the chair at the side of his bed, I hold his hand even though he’s either asleep or out for the count. My forehead rests against the back of his hand and I let the tears that I’ve been fighting stream down my face. Nothing can happen to Dad; he’s all I’ve got. It’s just the two of us, we’ve always been a team, and I don’t even want to think about what it would be like without him. Never have I ever felt so alone. When I was growing up, my dad and his family made sure that I never missed out on not having a mother around.

  Losing Uncle Donnie in a car crash while he was racing was just the start. After months of fighting, my mom decided she’d had enough and wanted out. She was tired of coming last after me and racing; she wasn’t cut out to be a wife or a mother.

  Although I had been sent to my room, I was an eight-year-old girl who never did as she was told. I could still hear the argument from my room and sneaked to the top of the stairs. I’ll never forget the look in my dad’s eyes as my mom said those words. Initially, he looked wounded, but in front of my eyes, he pulled himself together and anger transformed his usually relaxed, cheerful face. I have never been scared of him, but in that instant, I was afraid and shrunk back as he pulled himself up to his full six-foot-two height, towering over my mother, who wasn’t a small woman.

  “You walk out that door, on me and that little girl, and you lose any right to come back. Got it?” Without hesitation, she nodded and walked to the door, picked up the suitcase, that I’d somehow missed when I was being sent to my room, and walked out the door without a backward glance.

  As if he knew I had witnessed everything, my dad called out in a soft voice, which was totally at odds with the roaring one he’d used minutes earlier.

  “Storm.”

  I walked down the stairs, and he scooped me up in his arms as though I was a toddler instead of a gangly eight-year-old who was all skinny arms and legs. We sat in his armchair for a long time, not speaking, but I know my dad was crying. It was the only time I’d known him to cry. Whether it was because my mom had left or because his best friend, my Uncle Donnie
, had died, I didn’t know.

  In my mind, he had given her a choice and she made her decision. True to her word, she never came back or even attempted to contact us. Maybe I should feel hurt or rejected that my mother left me too, but I didn’t. I didn’t miss out on anything. My dad made sure of that. I had Aunt Lynda, Beth, and her granny.

  I was always a quiet child, never as outgoing as Beth, but after that, it was harder for me to make friends or let anyone else close. When Beth became interested in boys—well, only one boy, Aaron, she begged me to go with her to the quarter mile. I resisted until our senior year but even then I was always more interested in the cars. Boys thought I was odd, too much of a tomboy, always at the garage and covered in oil.

  The only one who ever looked at me as though I was beautiful was Max Morgan. That first night I saw him at the quarter mile… It was like every romantic cliché. Everything instantly melted into the background when his eyes locked on mine. A flurry of butterflies erupted in my stomach, and my hand pressed against it in order to stop them from flitting around and making me feel like I was on a rollercoaster. No boy had ever looked at me like that or made my body react in that way. And then he smiled, but it was not the panty-dropping, wicked-as-sin smile he had perfected now. No, it was a beautiful, genuine smile that lit up his whole face, and somehow, I managed a small one in return.

  Aaron shouted at me, and reluctantly, I turned my back on Max and focused on the engine in front of me. By the time I looked around again, Max was standing with a girl from town, blond and older, more beautiful than me. He was smiling down at her as she pressed into the side of his body. Clearly, I must have mistaken his smile for something else.

  So I did what I did best and checked over Aaron’s Mustang, pushing all thoughts of Max Morgan and his addictive smile out of my mind.

  “Aaron,” I shouted, but he was too busy chatting with Beth to pay attention to me. I needed some tools so I looked in his trunk, among all the crap he kept there, searching for his toolbox. Muttering under my breath.