Cross the Line

CHAPTER 12

Dev

If it were possible to die from blue balls, I’d be deceased by now.

Between the dry spell that’s lasted what feels like a fucking lifetime and Willow’s big brown eyes all over me, saying things her lips refuse to, I’m pretty sure my dick is going to verbally scream for help at any second.

Sure, I could do something about it. Most people around here – honestly, most of my fellow Americans – don’t know who I am, so it’s unlikely the rumour that haunts me will be an issue. I could hit up a bar, pick up a random chick, and take her home. But knowing my luck, it would blow up in my face, and I’d end up with a new scandal on my hands. Something else to piss off Argonaut and finally end my career.

And, I’ll admit it, I’ve got enough money and clout to get the number for a service that would send a gorgeous woman right to my door, but paying for sex doesn’t do it for me. More power to the sex workers who enjoy their jobs, but I don’t think I’ll ever be one of the guys who employ their services, even though I know several people in the paddock who do.

Which leaves me with the option I’ve been relying on for weeks and the inspiration I’ve been using since that night in Austin: my hand wrapped around my dick and Willow on my mind. And I’ve got new material to add after today – the wind blowing her dress up around her hips, exposing the daisy-printed bikini bottoms that barely covered her perfect peach of an ass.

I was a gentleman at the time and pretended not to notice. But now? My mind is racing with nothing but filth as she steps into her house and turns to close the door, flashing me a small smile as she does.

I head for my house and move straight upstairs to my bedroom and the en-suite bathroom. My parents are in Malibu for the day looking at Alisha’s wedding venue, thankfully. Because one afternoon with Willow, and I’m sporting the biggest fucking hard-on known to man. Bless the macaron bags I managed to hide it with on the way inside. If not for their divine presence, this probably would have scared Willow away for ever.

I’m out of my clothes and in the shower in the blink of an eye, head pressed against the cool tiles and hand gripping my cock as the water rains down. Her smile materializes in my mind first. Plump lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them, dimples flashing in her cheeks. From there, I imagine her slender neck, the swell of her breasts covered by the thin cotton of her sundress, the breeze catching the fabric and lifting it to her waist. Faded, pale stretch marks map her hips and ass, tempting me to trace each one, to dip between her thighs and elicit soft gasps from her. To feel her pussy gripping me. To bring her so high she cries out my name and shatters under my touch.

I’m coming in record time, eyes squeezed shut and braced on one forearm. It would be embarrassing as hell if I had company. But fuck it. This is just what Willow and scandal-imposed celibacy does to me. I’m like a goddamn teenager all over again.

When I’m finished in the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and grab another to dry my hair. A muscle in my shoulder twinges as I lift my arm. Shit. It’s been a while since I’ve been tossed around by waves like that, and I’m undoubtedly going to be sore tomorrow. Considering I gave Mark the week off, I don’t have anyone to fix me if I mess anything up too badly, so I pull on a pair of swim trunks and head out to the hot tub in the backyard – my makeshift physical therapist.

The sun has nearly set by the time I step out onto the deck, the twinkling lights Dad installed switching on automatically above my head as the sky darkens. The hot tub sits two steps down on the lower portion of the deck, where it can barely be seen from the house, and the tall fence to the left divides our yard from the Williamses’. The small opening Oakley and I cut out in the back corner is still there, never boarded over, even though neither of us could fit through it any more. Only Herman, his family’s St Bernard, uses it these days, and even he’s pushing it size-wise.

After flipping the cover off the hot tub, I ease one foot into the water and then the other, sinking down until I’m fully submerged in one of the lounge seats. I drop my head back and groan as my muscles ease little by little. A press of a button has the jets firing up and hammering between my shoulders, but I’m distracted from the relief when the flickering of a light catches my attention.

From my vantage point, I can see the second floor of the Williamses’ house, and the light is coming from Willow’s bedroom window. The blinds are open, and there she is, an orange box in one hand and a macaron in the other. She stops and takes a bite, tilting her head back in pleasure as she chews, black curls tumbling down her back. Like someone has called for her, she glances over her shoulder, and her lips move. Then she’s heading over to the window.

My breath hitches as I wait for her to catch me watching, but her eyes stay trained on the door as she pulls the cord for the blinds, closing off the glimpse I had of her life.

As I’m beginning to realize, even being with her for hours on end doesn’t feel like enough any more. How I went months without seeing her after the bad decision we made – okay, fine, the bad decision I made – I’ll never know. But now that she’s back in my life . . . Yeah, I’m fucked.

Completely and utterly fucked.

So, I do the only thing I can. I close my eyes and lose myself in the memory of that night – the one when everything changed – once again.

——

It’s Saturday night in Austin – that night – and I need to go the fuck to sleep.

Mark has already worked on my shoulders and neck so I won’t be stiff when I get into the car tomorrow. Chava has been over our travel plans for Mexico next week. Jani has succeeded in pissing me off beyond belief with her little videos. And thirty minutes ago, after hours of playing video games with me, Oakley left my hotel room so I could get some rest.

But sleep eludes me. All because I can’t stop thinking about Willow.

She’s been on my mind since Wednesday night when we were all shit-faced at the club for Oakley’s birthday. Her in that tiny dress, curls loose and tousled, the kind of sexy that had my eyes lingering for way too long. She’s usually girl-next-door cute, but with that much skin on display and the heated haze in her eyes . . . Fuck, she was nothing short of a fantasy.

I can still feel the warmth of her skin, of her soft hips under my palms, of her hands over mine. I can hear her murmuring, ‘What would you have done, Dev?’

That’s the thing. I still don’t know what I would have done if I’d noticed her crush on me sooner. I haven’t stopped agonizing over it since she asked, pushing myself to analyse every encounter she and I have had over the years and contemplate whether there was a chance when I could have made a move.

But if her feelings for me were so obvious, how could I have missed them? How could I have overlooked her for so long when I could have had everything I’m aching for? Was I that oblivious?

The answer is a bathroom door slamming open and being furiously accused of kissing his sister. Oakley. Oakley is the reason I missed every clue and hint and damn neon sign Willow tossed out there. Time after time, he was there to intercept them. He kept the blinders over my eyes and forcibly encouraged me to push Willow firmly into the she’s family category. He made sure I viewed her as an annoying tagalong and nothing more.

But Willow is not family. She’s not my little sister. She’s never been annoying or underfoot. Not to me. Never to me.

Yet I’ve always kept my distance. Arm’s length. Eyes averted. Convincing myself that she’s an extension of Oakley when she’s been her own person all along. And it’s taken me until this very week to realize that.

Burying my face in a pillow, I barely hold back a scream of irritation. The universe has got to be playing a joke. The gods that hold my fate in their hands are enjoying fucking with me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel like I got hit by a Mack truck of bullshit emotion all because a girl confessed that she likes me. Or used to. But based on how she responded to me, I’m willing to bet it’s still a thing.

I’m not cocky enough to think I can have any woman in the world, but I race fast cars and make millions and have the looks and smile that drop panties. I’m loved by moms and daughters alike, a cheeky bastard with a penchant for flirty quips and dirty one-liners in interviews. I’m a goddamn delight, and women like to tell me as much. Usually without the use of words.

So no, I’m not unused to confessions of crushes and batted eyelashes. I know how to handle a love declaration in a moment of passion and the tears that come when I say I don’t feel the same way. I know how to avoid entanglements that end in drama. I know how to get myself out of trouble.

Except Willow makes me want to dive headfirst toward it. She’s got me contemplating whether I should get out of bed and go find her. Because if I do, maybe there’s a chance I can sleep tonight. I’d hate her for messing with my race weekend rituals if I wasn’t so enamoured with her – and if I wasn’t stuck reminiscing about loaded words and an almost less-than-innocent touch. Fuck, I’ve got to get it together.

What’s messing with me the most is how we just . . . let it drop. Once Oakley told me to never make a move on his sister, I didn’t bring it up with her again. Not the next day at breakfast, where we were both hungover as shit. Not Friday when she stopped by the pit before heading out for a day in Austin with her friends. Not today when she congratulated me for qualifying P12 and sat near enough at dinner that I could have pulled her for a private conversation without garnering any suspicion from her brother.

We’re both pretending like nothing happened, like those damning words never left her beautiful mouth. But I can’t pretend any more, and I have to—

A light knock on the door drags me out of my half-baked plans to stalk down to her room and tell her how fucked-up she’s got me. Blowing out a breath, I roll out of bed and pull on a T-shirt and sweatpants. I’m not about to answer the door in boxers, even though it’s probably someone who’s seen me in far less than that over the years. I think I’ve been naked in front of Mark more times than any woman I’ve ever slept with.

But it’s not Mark, or Chava, or Oakley on the other side of my door. It’s not even Jani or Patsy come to torture me.

It’s the current bane of my existence.

‘Hey,’ I greet Willow, blinking in surprise. Shit, did I conjure her? Could she feel me thinking from floors above? Am I about to find out I’m actually a wizard? ‘What are you doing up here?’

Her eyes don’t quite meet mine when she looks up from the carpet. They dart from my face to over my shoulder and back again. ‘I was looking for Oak,’ she explains, twisting her fingers in front of her stomach. ‘I locked myself out of our room when I went to the vending machine. I thought he might be up here with you and I could get the key from him.’

I shake my head, mostly to clear away my earlier thoughts. I didn’t conjure her, but it sure as shit looks like fate’s out here conspiring again. The question is whether it’s for or against me. ‘He left about a half hour ago.’ The guy’s probably down at the hotel bar chatting up three different women right now. ‘If you want, I can go down to the front desk with you and get another key card made.’

With the soft redness flooding the high points of her cheeks, I almost expect her to decline and rush away. But instead, she nods and lets out a relieved breath. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

I don’t at all, especially since destiny brought her to my doorstep. Might as well take advantage of it.

‘Not one bit,’ I answer as I pat the pockets of my sweatpants to make sure I have my own key. ‘The room’s in my name anyway, so it’ll be easier that way.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, shifting back to let me out after I slip on my sneakers. ‘It was so silly, I literally left the key sitting on the dresser.’

‘Happens to the best of us,’ I reassure, holding out an arm, motioning for her to lead the way to the elevators.

‘Actually, is it okay if we take the steps?’

I smirk. ‘You still don’t like elevators?’

As I fall in beside her, she lifts her chin indignantly, daring me to tease her. Which I absolutely will. ‘I avoid them if I can.’

‘You got stuck once, Wills.’ I can’t stop myself from laughing. ‘And it was for all of five minutes.’

‘Once was more than enough,’ she huffs, shooting me a glare. ‘Now some of my stress dreams involve getting stuck in an elevator that drops out of nowhere. My knees would prefer the elevator, but my anxiety doesn’t.’

‘Okay, okay, I get you. Stairs it is.’

I haul open the fire door to the stairwell and hold it so she can go first. I’m up on the ninth floor, so this won’t be a quick trip, but I suppose that works in my favour. Now I have time to gear up to what I want to say, actually say it, and deal with the aftermath.

Willow grasps the handrail on the left, taking each step like she’s afraid of missing one. She’s wearing sensible sneakers with her white sundress, but I can’t fault her caution. Little mistakes for her can result in big consequences. I know the feeling.

When we reach the landing on the eighth floor, I finally clear my throat, hoping it will help settle how hard my heart is beating against my ribcage. I’m not nervous, so I don’t know what its problem is. No, not nervous at all . . .

‘Willow, about the other night,’ I prompt. ‘I—’

‘We don’t need to talk about it,’ she cuts in, her eyes firmly locked on the steps as we round the landing and start on the next flight.

Good thing we have seven more floors to go. Clearly, this isn’t going to be an easy conversation. ‘No, I think we do.’

She blows out a breath, keeping her head dipped and her eyes down. ‘Can’t we just leave it alone? I said some things I shouldn’t have and put you in an awkward position. I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just forget it and move on.’

I blink, taken aback by her apology. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

‘Of course I do. I made things weird between us.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ I wet my lips, giving myself the opportunity to formulate my response and calculate how I want to approach this. ‘But you did make me realize a few things.’

Thatgets her to look up. Wide, skittish but cautiously hopeful eyes meet mine. And then she trips.

Racing has given me the gift of near-superhuman reflexes, honed over thousands of hours of drills, so I barely think about what I’m doing when I throw an arm out to catch her. I loop it around her waist and haul her back against my chest, nearly sweeping her feet off the ground. On contact, the breath leaves her lungs, and she clutches my arm, pressing back against me like I’m her only lifeline.

I like the feeling more than I care to admit.

‘Oh my god,’ she exhales, slowly regaining her wits and her balance before she peels her trembling fingers from my forearm. ‘Thank you for keeping me from breaking every bone in my body. That was close.’

There’s no way I’d let her get hurt. Never have, never will. Especially now that I’m coming to terms with what she’s brought to life in me.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I’m sure she feels it. ‘You good?’

She nods, which should be a cue for me to let her go, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.

Her body’s warm and soft against mine, and her sweet perfume floods my senses. I’m struck by the thought that I could have held her like this ages ago if I hadn’t been so fucking oblivious.

‘I’m okay,’ she says, almost a whisper. ‘You can let go now.’

‘I don’t think I want to.’

That’s my confession. It’s on par with hers from the other night, but she laughs breathlessly in response, like it’s a joke, and drops her head back against my chest.

‘I can stand on my own,’ she promises, her deep dimples flashing as she grins. ‘You don’t have to worry about me tripping again. I’ll be more careful.’

‘That’s not what I meant, Willow.’

She freezes, then lifts her head slowly. Her smile has been completely wiped away. If the deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes is anything to go off, she’s not going to ask me to clarify.

But that’s fine. She’s going to get it anyway, because I can’t hold it back, even if this isn’t the most romantic place for a confession. It’ll be memorable, at least.

‘What you said to me at the club,’ I murmur, loosening my grip so I can shift her to my side. I don’t want to miss even a flicker of an expression. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Thinking about you.’

‘Dev, don’t,’ she whispers, slipping out of my grasp and backing against the handrail. She grasps it on either side of her hips, bracing herself. ‘You don’t have to do this.’ Her throat moves as she swallows hard, and her words are a little stronger when she speaks again. ‘You don’t have to pacify me. I’m fine. I’m over it.’

‘Pacify you?’ I repeat, nearly scoffing in disbelief. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

‘Obviously.’ She sidesteps down one of the stairs, still clutching the rail, and I follow without hesitation. ‘You make people feel better when they mess up. It’s just what you do. Who you are.’

The statement throws me off-kilter and halts my movements. Sure, I like to keep the peace and keep my life as chaos-free as possible, but that doesn’t mean I’m constantly placating the people around me. Right?

But shit, is that what she thinks? Is that what I do? Is it what I’m doing right now?

The answer is a resounding fuck no. I’m not doing any of this to make her feel better about her confession. I’m doing it because I’m so hung up on this girl that I can’t sleep. And I’m so focused on her that I barely care that I have a race tomorrow, one that I’m going to be woefully unprepared for. Her admission the other night opened floodgates that were being held back by a rusty lock, and now I’m stuck dealing with the onslaught. I’m selfish enough to want her in the disaster zone with me.

‘That’s not what I’m doing.’

She takes another step down, making it to the next landing, and I follow. All the while, she keeps her back against the concrete wall, but her chin is lifted in defiance.

‘And you didn’t mess up,’ I say. ‘All you did was tell me how you felt.’

She scoffs. ‘Yeah, and I was drunk when I said it.’

With one more step, I’m in front of her. Toe to toe. Crowding her. ‘But does that mean it wasn’t true?’

To her credit, she meets my gaze and holds. Her lips turn down as she searches my face, though I’m not sure what she’s looking for. ‘Why do you care?’ she finally asks.

‘Because I can’t get you out of my head.’ My hands find the dip of her waist as she inhales sharply, and I drive my point home. ‘Because I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if Oakley didn’t interrupt.’ I splay my fingers across her back, pressing gently, nudging her to me. ‘What I wanted to happen.’

‘What you—’ She cuts short, her lips parting and closing as she blinks, like she can’t believe what I’m saying. With a huff, she tucks a curl behind her ear, ignoring it when it springs forward again. ‘Are you fucking with me right now?’

The blurted curse coming from her mouth has me tempted to laugh, but the open vulnerability on her face has any inclination dying in my throat. She truly doesn’t believe me. Even with my hands on her body. Even after I told her I can’t stop thinking about her, she thinks it’s a practical joke.

‘I’m not messing with you,’ I say, my voice low, like I’m talking to a scared animal ready to bolt. ‘Maybe this seems like it’s coming out of nowhere. And maybe it is, I don’t know. But, Willow, what you said, it made me see that . . .’ Suddenly, the words dry up in my mouth, and nerves choke me. But words aren’t doing shit in this situation anyway, so maybe it’s time to shift to a new drive mode. ‘You know what? Fuck it.’

And I finally do the one thing I haven’t stopped craving for days. I sink my fingers into the silken hair that spills over her shoulders, tug her head back, and turn her face up to mine. Her lips are parted, and her eyes are wide, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she doesn’t try to pull away as I slide my other hand around her waist again.

We’re so close that I could count each fleck of gold in the caramel sliver of her iris. I’m almost tempted. But there’s something I want more.

‘Dev,’ she murmurs, chest heaving against mine. But it’s not a warning. It’s an invitation.

The world goes hazy around the edges when our lips finally meet. I wish I could say that it didn’t, that everything about this feels wrong, that I want to pull back and wipe away this mistake of a kiss before it goes any further.

But I can’t. I can’t do anything except tug her closer and let her soft heat melt into me. I can only fist her curls in my hand and slide my tongue across the seam of her lips. I can only squeeze my eyes shut and lose myself in her.

She lets me in easily, kissing me back, letting me take what I want and say everything my words can’t express. But she must know exactly what I’m trying to tell her, because she presses her palms against my chest, then moves them upward to clutch at my shoulders, keeping me close, giving me more. I’ll gladly take it all.

My veins ignite. Fire rushes through me. And Willow fans the flames with her sweet sounds of pleasure, her stuttered breaths, and her quiet moans. It’s better than anything I could have ever dreamed of.

She gasps in surprise against my mouth when I tighten my arm around her and lift her off her feet. It prompts her to throw her legs around my waist and slide her fingers into my hair and grip hard, not letting me go. And I never want her to. She can keep me for as long as she wants.

With her back supported by the wall, I’m free to let my hands drift to her thighs, to the hem of her dress, and I roughly push it up to her waist. The heat of her core presses against my abdomen, daring me to slip my fingers higher to the edge of her cotton panties, to dip under the elastic by her hip.

I could do it. I want to. It would be so simple and I’m fucking desperate to feel just a little more of her. The softness of her thighs is already tempting enough, and the way she tilts her hips against me is nothing short of pure provocation.

There’s no way she can’t feel how much I want her too. But this needs to stop before it goes any further. I need to know for certain if we’re on the same page.

‘Fuck, Willow,’ I mumble, drawing back enough to suck in a breath. I press my forehead to hers, feeling like I’m being dragged out of a dream. ‘Do you get what I’m trying to say?’

She’s panting like she’s run a mile, her eyes unfocused as they linger on my lips, but she nods.

I can’t stop my hands from skimming over her hips, still under her dress. ‘You’re not the only one who feels something, all right? I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it.’

Just as she opens her mouth to respond, a door slams shut from somewhere floors below us, and it’s enough to make her startle, shocking her out of the spell she’s under. She blinks rapidly half a dozen times, then her horrified gaze settles on me.

She’s quick to snatch her hands back, to plant them on my chest again, but instead of beckoning me closer, she’s pushing me away.

As much as I don’t want to, I grasp her waist and take a step back, settling her on her feet once more.

‘You know – you know what?’ she stammers. Her fingers flit across her lower body as she smooths out her dress again. ‘I can go down to the front desk on my own.’

It takes me a few seconds to register her words. That’s . . . it? Is she really going to ignore what just happened? ‘We still need to talk about—’

She holds up a hand and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath in and holds it for a beat before looking at me once more. ‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ she declares. The words are a knife driving into my gut. ‘And it won’t happen again. It can’t. We both know why.’

The knife twists, because I know she’s right. ‘Look, we should—’

‘Don’t, Dev,’ she interrupts, her voice firm. ‘Just don’t. Let’s forget about it.’

The problem is, I can’t. I don’t think I ever will. And now that I know what she tastes like – sugar and the sweetest sin – I’ll never be able to get her off my mind.

——

Water splashing against my face has me spluttering and sitting up. My heart is still racing as the memory cuts out and I’m dragged back to reality. Ramrod straight now, I scan the yard, looking for the culprit, and when I spy Chava standing on the deck, I groan and slump back down. At least I’m not about to be murdered.

‘Man, how long have you been in this water?’ he asks as he looks me over, concern written across his face. ‘You’re redder than Mark when we leave him in the sun for more than five minutes.’

Our poor pale friend tends to turn the colour of strawberry jam when the sun finds him. I’ve never had the misfortune – god bless melanin – but apparently sitting in practically boiling water has the same visual effect.

‘Fell asleep.’ I mumble the lie, running my hands over my face. ‘Thanks for rescuing me before I drowned.’

‘That would be one way to get out of your contract,’ he chirps. He then holds up a plastic container. ‘I brought cake.’

‘I knew I kept you around for a reason.’

I haul myself up onto the edge of the hot tub, keeping my feet in the water as Chava toes off his shoes and does the same across from me, the container resting beside him.

‘What did you get up to all day?’ he asks, slowly kicking his legs. ‘I saw your board out front. You hit the water?’

I nod and drag a hand through my hair, still reorienting myself in the present as the night air brings my body temperature back down. ‘Yeah, Willow wanted to get some shots of me surfing, so we spent a couple hours out there.’

‘Oh, Willow wanted to spend time together, did she?’

I dip a hand into the water and splash him, leaving him cursing as he swipes it off his face. ‘It was purely professional, you dick.’

‘Uh-huh, sure,’ he says when he recovers. ‘When are you going to admit you’re into her?’

I glance at the Williamses’ house and back again. There’s practically no chance anyone is going to overhear our conversation, but I still drop my voice. ‘When I’m sure Oakley won’t murder me.’

‘Ah, so when hell freezes over.’ Chava nods sagely. ‘But honestly, man? I say go for it and deal with the consequences later.’

‘That’s because you’re a shit-stirrer with a death wish.’

He snorts. ‘You do dangerous stuff every day.’ But then he levels me with a look that has my head spinning all over again. ‘What’s one more risk?’