Madly Driven

Chapter 1

Kensie

“Mm . . . Don’t stop,” I moaned as he thrust deeper and deeper. My nails left scars down his back, spurring him to increase his rhythm and become my undoing. Sensuality coursed through my body like a tornado, and I bit into his shoulder to prevent the scream of my explosive completion.

Canaan tucked his head into my neck to muffle his guttural noises. He continued to rock against me until his pace slowed to human. He then kissed my lips before pulling out and rolling flat on his back. “Damn, that was good.”

How in the hell did I end up sleeping with the enemy in the middle of a day spa in Montego Bay on New Year’s Eve?

Still panting, I perused his magnificent, tattooed, sculpted body, and my inner goddess stirred.

Damn it. We had already sexed twice in the last hour.

I can’t be that hard up for a man I hate.

Yet, his wayward hand that tweaked my nipple suggested otherwise.

“Hope these walls are soundproof.” His deep, gravelly, commanding voice evoked my femininity, and I snuggled under the arm that curved my body to his. “If I’d known you were so fucking hot under the sheets, I would’ve tamed you long ago.”

“Tamed me?” I asked, my hand slowly exploring the contours of his chest and abs suddenly stilled. I closed my eyes, praying he wouldn’t be the asshole I’d always known him to be when he was my best friend’s boyfriend in college.

He kissed my forehead. “Yes. That mouth of yours is reckless, and only a weak man would put up with it. Lucky for you, I’m not that man. All I need to do is kiss you, and you shut the hell up.”

“I swear you haven’t changed. I hate you so much.” I shoved him away as I scrambled to find my plush, pink terry cloth robe to cover my nakedness and escape Canaan.

“Shit, Kensie. Why do you have to mess up a perfectly good afternoon with being, well . . . you?” Canaan’s broad forehead dipped.

I hissed, “I don’t need to be tamed, and definitely not by you. Even if I wanted a man, it would be a cold day in the Sahara Desert before I would ever choose you.”

He sat up, his arms resting on his knees, his light brown eyes twinkling gold while I tried desperately to pull the sleeve of my robe from under his weight. “Calm down, and I’ll lift up.”

Refusing to give an inch, I continued to pull.

With his native Barbadian accent that disappeared at his will, he drawled, “Did you take physics?”

My ponytail bounced as I tugged again with all my might. “What?”

“If I move right now, you’re flying backward.” His hand covered my hands, and damn if I didn’t feel another spark. “Stop, Kensie. You look crazy.”

“Then get off my robe and let me go,” I implored. “You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

He picked up my hands like feathers, and I fell across him.

My bare breasts pressed against his smooth chest again, nipples hardened from the intimate contact.

Canaan took advantage of the situation before I could push myself off him.

He wound my ponytail around his hand and captured my lips in a swoon-worthy kiss.

My treacherous body melted into his, and I was once again trapped in his seductive web.

Driving to meet with my manager for dinner at The L Spot, I cursed myself repeatedly.

Not only for making the mistake of having sex with Canaan, but also for my inability to stop getting hot every time I thought of the egomaniac.

It’d been over a month since I accidentally entered the wrong relaxation room where a sleeping Canaan Jackson had burrowed under the white sheets.

Feeling refreshed after a full-body massage and a sauna jaunt, the bed beckoned me.

I’d dropped my robe, tripped on the edge of the mattress, and tumbled on a hard object.

The sheet dropped low enough to see his bare hip and a hint of the triangle of hair that led to his manhood when he shot up from his slumber.

He yelped in surprise and, anticipating my scream, quickly covered my mouth with his hand.

I bit his hand, and though he grimaced, he held firm.

“Shh . . . It’s okay. You just walked in the .

. .” His eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the tranquil room.

“Kensie Garrett? Wow. Crazy, small world.”

My eyes widened in recognition before daggers shot from them, and though I yelled at him to release me and cursed him royally, my words were mumbled and incoherent. Based on the grin that graced his handsome features, he’d correctly guessed my thoughts about him.

Canaan wisely kept his hand on my mouth.

“If I move my hand, promise you won’t yell, scream, or bite me again.

Don’t want to be accused of being a pervert or a rapist when you were the one who walked into the wrong room.

” He smirked. “Then again, maybe you knew I was here and wanted to catch me naked.”

I shoved his hand from my mouth and sat up.

“Canaan, please. Only in my worst nightmare . . . or is this a nightmare right now, and I’m waiting to be awakened?

” I belatedly realized his amused gaze had drifted to my naked breasts.

I firmly crossed my arms, shielding my body from the desire now glinting in his eyes.

Canaan chuckled. “I should be offended, but you always could make me laugh.” He tapped the space next to him. “This is a huge bed, and I have this room for the rest of the afternoon. Might as well chill and catch up. Haven’t seen each other in what . . . seven years?”

I remembered my devastated roommate after Canaan unceremoniously dumped her for another girl. I corrected impatiently, “Eight years. We have nothing to talk about and definitely don’t want to talk to your ass while we’re both butt naked. Seriously, Canaan, why are you in my room?”

I focused on his face, too afraid to look anywhere else.

I’d known Canaan was fine. After all, he had all the women on campus crazy over him.

I just didn’t realize that he was that fine.

My lower half clenched at his virile nearness.

I could so easily picture myself riding him into the sunset.

Truth be told, if he were anyone besides Canaan Jackson, I would be happily sliding across his lap.

The sculpted contours and dips in his tatted arms and chest suggested a clean diet and daily trips to the gym.

And something about the way he grinned with those sparkling eyes promised blissful nights and satiated mornings.

In these last few minutes, I finally understood my old roommate’s inability to let go of a man who was clearly wrong for her.

“You mean my room. This is the men’s side.” He pointed to the blue abstract art on the wall and imitated the spa host’s voice. “Blue is for men. Red is for women.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. Hating that I couldn’t see without my contacts and that I’d made a colossal mistake, I quickly covered my nipples with one arm and reached for my robe with the other.

Unfortunately, my just-out-of-reach robe teased me.

I looked back at an amused Canaan, who’d turned on his side, propping his head on his palm.

Although the sheet still covered the most intimate part of his body, his sexy chest and arms laughed at my insistence of feigning disinterest. “Can I have the sheet to get my robe?”

“And risk you seeing how attracted I am to you right now? Wouldn’t want to tempt you more than you already are.” One of his brows raised.

My resistance slipping, I snapped, “Then be the gentleman you’re not, and please close your eyes.”

He replied calmly, “Or you can be the fierce woman I know you are and look at this as an opportunity. Of all the spas in the world, we end up at the same one in Montego Bay, miles away from home, and we’re both naked.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Okay, that’s lame. Disagreeing with the truth for the sake of not agreeing with Canaan, when I prided myself on being independent and strong.

“So, the boldness you present to the world is only a facade for your book?” Canaan asked, observing me.

“You know about my book?”

He smoothly replied, “Your pretty smile caught my attention while browsing books one day. I read some of it. I can admit you kept my attention.”

I lowered my eyes, assessing the man I’d grown to hate over his mistreatment of my ex-roommate.

To be fair, he was a man I hadn’t seen in years except through an occasional social media post. A man who’d grown impossibly sexier as he neared thirty.

A man who aroused all my senses, including the sixth one, the moment our eyes connected in recognition.

“Come on, Kensie. Fuck whatever you think of me and give in to your urges. We’re in a spa on the last day of the year, needing to unwind, and there’s nothing more relaxing than a good orgasm.”

“With the right person,” I added, returning my other arm to block my breasts from his hungry gaze and keeping my lower half tilted away.

“I’m exactly the right person who’ll make you come hard.” Canaan touched the junction of my arms, barely hiding my breasts, and he commanded softly, “Let me see you.”

His gentle yet firm tone evoked my most primal instinct, and I lowered my arms. My breath rattled, watching the fire build in his eyes as he admired me. He leaned forward and slowly pulled my nipple into his mouth.

Knock. Knock.

“Kensie?”

Startled, I shook the memories of Canaan and looked out of the window at Saraj, my friend and manager.

“Were you on a call or something? We’re about to lose our reservations, and if I have to wait any longer, you’re paying for my meals for the next month.”

I spoke through the closed window. “I already pay for your meals.”

“Well, I’ll eat double. Now, get out of the car.” He impatiently shuffled from foot to foot and pressed his wool hat down more securely over his ears.

“Go inside and get warm. I’m coming.”

Saraj hurried inside, and I flopped my head against my seat.

I was frustrated that I hadn’t gotten Canaan Jackson out of my mind.

It didn’t help matters that his popularity in the racing world increased with every appearance.

His face had been everywhere on the local news, ESPN, and the internet lately in his quest to be the first Black man to win a NASCAR and a Formula One race.

Or that I sincerely doubted he’d given another thought about me except as another notch.

I didn’t even want to acknowledge the guilt of sleeping with my best friend’s ex.

An ex she never really got over, even though Emme was engaged to a man who treated her exceptionally well and was someone everyone adored.

Yep. The New Year’s Eve I spent fucking Canaan Jackson was going to my grave.

Hopefully, the toe-curling thoughts of him would die sooner rather than later.