“What’s to enjoy? My job is to prevent you from killing yourself. Well, you know, prevent people in your occupation—”
“Ah, yes.” His head tilts back with another low chuckle. “We crazy assholes,” he teases with a hint of rarely heard Irish accent.
“Well, I guess you’re not all assholes.” I grin, his laughter freeing my tension. “Actually, you’re pretty good, thorough, and safe, and that makes my job a little easier. Still, I find myself holding my breath through most of your stunts.”
“Aww.” He touches his chest over his heart. “You don’t need to worry about me, boss. I’ve been doing this for over ten years.”
“I’m not worried about you.” Trying to save myself, I let another lie tumble from my loose lips.
“Right, ’cause that’d mean you might like me a wee bit.” He gestures with his fingers, squinting his left eye.
“I like you.” I smirk.
“I know you do.” His brows flick. “You’re always calling me over at work and touching me whenever you get the chance, whether it’s to fix a harness strap or just brush against my body while showing me something. I see you looking at me too. You try to look away, but I catch you, boss. I know you’re not ready to take me for a spin around the block or anything, but you wanna do more than brush an extremity against me.” His eyes drop to my mouth.
I glare up at him and his truth. “How did we go from me liking you to me taking you for a ride?”
“Hey.” He shrugs, that boyish grin eating away at me from the inside out. “I call it like I see it. Can you honestly say in the past few weeks that you haven’t thought about it?”
“No.” I glance at my feet. “I’ve thought about it.” I look up, and what the hell. “I think about you.”
Surprise pops his eyes wide open, then acceptance hijacks his stunned face. “You don’t need to fear me.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m just”⸺oh my God, I’m twirling my hair⸺“a little rusty.” I drop my hand.
“No need to worry about that, Miss Rigsby. I’ll oil you up, and then, nice and slow, I’ll take my time rubbing that rust off your beautiful body,” he says, his cute, boyish grin turning wolfishly dark and erotic.
“Well, I’m not sure that I’m ready for any of that.” I swirl my finger at his proposing face.
He stares at me for a few seconds, reaches into his pocket, and holds out his fist. “Here.” He shakes his arm like he’s handing me something irresistible. “Take it.”
Curious, I slowly put my hand out, open my palm, and a soft black material falls into it. It’s my stocking, the one he removed from my leg at the hospital. I look at it, then up at him. He holds his arms out and brings his wrists together. “Tie me up and feel me, Jay. Touch as much as want. Stop whenever you want. I promise, I won’t touch you. You’ll be in complete control.”
Eyes blazing at his surrender, I bite my bottom lip. God, how I’ve wanted to touch him. I’ve imagined it but been too afraid he’d want to touch me back. What would I do then? Freak out, run, or, worse, want him to touch me more? With his hands bound, it eliminates any of those outcomes. Still, it’s dangerous, and I’m not a risk taker. At least, I haven’t been for the past three years.
I like living inside my cushy comfort zone. The padding is thick, and I can’t get hurt in here.
He gave me permission before to use him for sex, and I know that’s what he’s offering now, but I’ve never been with a man other than Trevor. I’ve never had sex with a man who I wasn’t in love with or committed to, for that matter, so I don’t know if I can do it.
“Look at me,” he says, and I find his dark eyes waiting on me just as the rest of his body. He holds up his hands. “Don’t think about it, just do it. Tie me up.” His husky tone curbs my reservations, and I raise my hands. “Yes,” he says, watching as my shaky fingers start to wrap the stocking around his wrists. After I tie the knot tight, he tries to pull his hands apart. “That’s good.” He steps back, reaches the bed, and holding my eyes just about as tightly as the knot around his wrists, he sits down on the bed. “Come here.” He tilts his head to the side. “Let’s start with a little kiss.”
I walk over and wedge my body between his open legs. “I thought,” I press my hips forward, his tied hands pressing against my pussy, “I was in control,” I say, fully aware of the warm burst of wetness between my thighs.
“You are.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re filled with something else; a painful eagerness to please me, and knowing he’s aching just as much as I am somehow calms me.
Before I change my mind and run and hide in the bathroom, I unbutton the rest of his shirt and push it from his broad shoulders. Frequently reminding myself to breathe as I follow the outline of his body, I’m riveted by the tan flesh covering the muscles on his impressive tattooed chest. I roll my fingertips, debating where I want to touch first—lips, neck, shoulders, chest, sides, or maybe, I’ll start at the tiny hairline that disappears into his pants. No, that’s where I’m going to finish, right there. I’m going no further than that little tempting line.
I drag my eyes back up and stop at his partially opened mouth.
“What do you want, Jay?” His thick, heavy, destitute voice charges me.
“I want to touch you here.” I lift my hand and run the pads of my fingers over his mouth. His soft, slightly fuller bottom lip doesn’t want to let go. My fingers stutter across his warm flesh, separating his mouth even more. I don’t dare look in his eyes. He’ll see me, see my desire, detect my failing discipline, and he’ll know if we continue with this game, if he pushes me, I might take him up on his offer. I may surrender. I slide my hand along his smooth chin, reach around his neck, and sift my fingers into his thick hair, yanking his head back.
“Yes,” he half-hisses and half-growls. The abandoned sound pumps more liquid warmth from between my legs. I lean forward, and eyes fixed on his neck, I press my cheek against his. I inhale his masculine scent. With the pins that lock my knees about to fall out, I clutch tighter to his hair and skim my quivering lips over his heated flesh. I breathe lightly into his ear and allow the warm air from my lips to brush against his neck, shoulder, and chest as I continue to tease myself, getting near enough to graze him but not near enough to completely feel him.
“Closer,” he says without moving a single muscle.
If I touch him, if I allow my body to respond to his, it will weaken me and empower him.
“No, not yet,” I reply, recalling him doing the same when we were about to kiss before. The refusal felt more like restraint, and it excited me. I release his hair and let my hand gradually roll down his hunky chest. It takes everything not to play with the tiny tempting thin line that disappears into his pants. Instead, I pull his shirt back up over his broad shoulders and rebutton it. “But thank you.” I tap his chest, holding my hand against his skin until every scent and touch absorbs into me. Ready to separate myself from his body, I’m prepared to be left alone in my room yet again, so I take a step back.
He stands. I watch as he takes his time untangling his wrists from the stocking before he shoves it back into his pocket. “You’re welcome,” he finally says, the sincere tone snapping my eyes to his. “This was a good start, Jay. You keep thinking of me as a stunt, feel me, eventually trust me, and then, when you’re ready, you can try me out.”
“You want me to see you as a stunt?”
“If it helps, yes. I don’t want you to worry about your feelings or mine. I don’t want you to let anything get in the way. I want you to view me as a challenge, something you want to take and overcome.”
“Is that what I am to you? A stunt? A challenge?”
“Just now, the way you made me feel while you barely touched me, yes. Not throwing you down on that bed and taking you hard, that’s an extreme challenge to me. Every look you toss my way, you dare me to react to the hunger I see in your eyes, but you’re not like any other stunt
.” His eyes triangulate my face. “I can’t have you until you’re ready. But no matter how long I must wait …” He moves toward me, pausing beside me long enough to make my heart skip a few beats, before declaring, “I can assure you that I will have you, Miss Rigsby.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STEELE
“No!” I hear that stern, I’m in charge feminine voice yell just as my feet land squarely back on the ground. That’s what three years of gymnastics gets you; a perfect backflip.
“Shit!” The car zips by. The quick breeze from the speed ruffles my hair. I turn to Ben. “I was too fucking early again, wasn’t I?”
The chain-link fence gate swings open, and dressed in dark blue jeans, a tight maroon button-down, and three-inch heels, Jay stomps onto the race track. “It doesn’t matter what the hell you were!” She stops inches from my chest. Hands on her hips, she looks up at me, and my response? The skin around my cock tightens. Damn, she’s sexy when she’s pissed. She gets my cock so jacked up.
“Ya do know, the things that make you angry control you.” I wink.
“I’m not angry,” she bites back.
“That’s good.” I bend down and lower my voice for her ears only. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me in control of you, Miss Rigsby.”
Her eyes linger on my mouth, and for a brief second, I think she might be considering it.
I know that I am.
“I told you before.” She pokes my chest, awakening me from my sex-driven thoughts. “I’m not covering that stunt!”
“Yes. I remember.” I nod, rousing her anger further.
“Apparently, you don’t. I mean, really, Steele, are you insane?”
“Well, I don’t know.” I shrug, weighing my hands. “I guess that could be debatable.”
“Yep, that can definitely be debatable,” Ben agrees with a head bob.
Jay’s eyebrows cave as she stares at Ben for a long, hard second before turning her attention back to me. “No debating here.” She cuts the air with a stern hand. “You can’t do a backflip over a damn Subaru—”
“Mazda Miata,” I correct her.
“Mazda Mi—” She throws her hand in the air with an audible huff. “Whatever! It doesn’t matter—”
“Well, it kind of does,” I interrupt. “See, a Mazda Miata’s total length is a hundred and fifty-four inches and a Subaru, say like a BRZ, is a hundred and sixty-seven inches. Those thirteen inches could make a big difference between me cracking my head on the fender or not.”
“Yep, big difference,” Ben says followed with some more quick head bobbing.
“That’s where you’re both wrong,” she says, shooting daggers at Ben and me. “It doesn’t really make any difference what the differences is between the cars because”—she stops, her aim now accurately directed at me—“you’re not doing the stunt on my company’s dime! It’s not happening!”
“Don’t worry, Jay. I’m just practicing the flips off to the side of the car as it goes by, so I can get a feel for the speed and time lapse for when I actually do attempt the jump.” I raise both hands. “That’s all.”
“I don’t care what you’re doing! Don’t do it here. Don’t do it now. If you want to kill yourself, do it on your own time!” She starts to exit the track.
“Aww.” I touch my chest, eyes fixed on her heart-shaped ass. “You worried about me again, boss?”
She twists around, walking backward like a pro in those damn high heels, and points at me. “Not on my time!”
“Okay, boss,” I say with a one finger salute. “But just so you know, I punched out hours ago.”
She halts, hands slamming back on her sexy hips. “Then why are you here?”
“I like to watch you work, and I wanted to keep an eye on my little bro.” I nudge my head at Crash over in the corner talking to Nathan, one of the cameramen.
“Well, this shoot is for employees only, working employees, not ones who have punched out. So go home, Mr. Kane.”
“Actually …” I rub my clean-shaven chin. For some reason, it always turns up the pink in her cheeks. “Ben owns the place, and he doesn’t mind if I’m here.” I glance over at my longtime friend. “Do ya, Ben?”
“Ah …” He looks between me and Jay. “Miss Rigsby is paying for the use of my track, so, ah—”
“Ben.” I hold up a hand, shaking my head. “Miss Rigsby isn’t paying for anything.”
Ben lifts his old, beat-up NASCAR hat and scratches his thinning red hair. “She’s not?”
“No. She’s not.” I smirk at Jay. “Mindscope Filmworks is footing the bill.”
“Oh, okay.” Ben shrugs. “Then, sorry, Mrs—”
“Miss!” Both Jay and I correct Ben at the same time, our eyes connecting as we acknowledge the importance of her unmarried title.
“Miss Rigsby.” Ben chuckles, eyes on the ground as he kicks the dirt. Even as a kid, Ben’s never been good with conflict. “I guess, Steele can stay then.”
If it were anyone else, I’d laugh at the indignant look on Jay’s face. Like we’re kids at the playground, and she’s the bully trying to kick me out of the sandbox but can’t get her way—not this time—because I got backup. This time, I get to stay, and she can’t do a damn thing about it.
She’s always trying to push me away or put me in my place. I think that I challenge her and that’s what I’ve been working toward. She has feelings for me—the kind that usually end up with two adults rolling around naked in bed—and I think she wants to act on those feelings too but can’t on account of the dead hubby situation. I get it. I’m sure it’s tough getting back out there when the one you were meant to be with for the rest of your life checks out early. She’s having a hard time understanding that I’m not looking to fill his shoes. I’m not interested in love. I just want to help her get over the hump. Like the time my little sis, Lulu, hit the horse on the ass the first time I was on one. I forgot about my fear and went right into survival mode. I learned real quick how to ride the large snorting beast I was straddling. Not that the dead hubby is any comparison to that, but sometimes, all we need is a good hard slap in the ass to get us going.
Sure, she can keep fighting me, but I’m not ready to give up on her. Not sure that I’ll ever be. Perhaps, when she returns to Chicago, maybe then I’ll let it go. Otherwise, what else am I supposed to do, follow her there? There’s not a chance in hell that’s gonna happen. So I got a couple of weeks to convince her to let her guard down, open those nice, long slender legs, and live again. “Invite me over for a drink tonight, off the clock, and then maybe I’ll go.”
“I don’t care what you do. Stay. Go.” She waves her hand. “I don’t care. I just want you to stop doing that stunt.”
“If I stay, I’m not going to stop.” Hell, she might have control over what I do on the clock, but this battle I’m not losing.
“Oh-ho! You’ll stop. On the clock or not, you’re not going to get hurt, end up in the hospital, delay this production, and keep me in this god-awful place any—” She stops, drops her head, and takes a deep breath. Well, now this is new. Guilt pinches my gut because she looks sort of defeated. “Please”—she lifts her head with a fake, tight smile—“just don’t do it anymore.”
“Invite me over.”
“That’s not going to—”
I turn to Gordan, patiently waiting in the little red Mazda Miata, and flick my hand. He comes barreling down the track at 70…80…90 mph. I bend my knees and—
“Stop!” Jay yells just as I complete my flip.
I land on my feet, and Ben gives me the thumbs-up. I grin at him. “I cleared it?”
“Ya sure did by about three inches.”
“No shit!” My smile turns to Jay, who’s now back to a few feet from us, face bright red and eyes rampant with anger. I’m not scared. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her mad. Besides, I like her mad; it makes her sexiness shine. “Did you hear that?” I raise my brows, and her
fiery glow intensifies. “Looks like I’m ready.”
Hands balled at her sides, she stomps a heel into the ground and opens her mouth, but before she can get anything out, Ben lifts his cell, the one we’ve been using as a walkie-talkie to communicate with Gordon. “You want me to let Gordy know we’re going for real this time?”
“It’s all up to my boss.” I grin at Jay, her eyes toggling between Ben and me. “What do you think? Should I take a chance with this Mazda, or should I go home and get ready for our date?”
“I … I can’t believe your trying to coerce me.” Her mouth opens and closes. “We’re at work.” She glances around. “I’m a professional, and you’re supposed to be a professional too!” She lowers her voice and leans in toward me. “You can’t bribe me into going out with you, Mr. Kane.”
“Oh, but I can.” I wink. “Remember, I punched out hours ago. This is me on my own time. So what do you say?” I wait a few seconds, and when she doesn’t respond, I turn to Ben. “Tell Gordan—”
“Okay! Fine!” Jay cuts in. “Meet me at the bar in my hotel at seven. I’ll have a drink with you.” She lifts a finger. “Just one, that’s it.”
Ben and I watch as she marches off the track. I tilt my head to the side, raise a brow, and look over at Ben from the corner of my eye. “How far off was I really?”
“At least two feet.” He chuckles.
“Damn.” I whistle. “Maybe this is one of those stunts I should leave for some other crazy asshole.”
“Yeah, if ya like your face, I’d recommend it.” Ben snickers.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I wanted to walk into the bar with stubbly legs, dirty hair, and a body that still smelled like the race track, but I didn’t. I took a hot shower and sprayed on the perfume Steele comments on daily. I shaved and put lotion on, not only the visible parts of my body but every touchable part as well. Fluffing my hair, I ignore the lengths that I’ve taken to look and smell good to have one drink with Steele Kane.
I enter the half empty bar and scan the room. The pink glittery bow wrapped around a white box sitting on a table grabs my attention. It’s pretty. My eyes tiptoe across the tabletop to strong, recognizable hands. I clench my wallet and meet Steele’s big warm smile. It draws me across the room. Please don’t make that gift be for me. I clench tighter to my wallet, ignoring the silky fabric of my dress brushing softly against my clean skin. Oh, please be for his niece or something.
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