Chapter 7 #2
“Fuck me,” I growl, reminding myself to be a gentleman. “That’s the one.” I release a sigh, equally exasperated and getting hard watching her walk toward the bathroom. What the fuck have I gotten myself into with her?
Trouble.
Bad decisions.
“Don’t go to bed without me.” She closes the door before I can respond, reaffirming that this woman never hears the word no.
I run my fingers through my hair, debating if I should go through with this. My dick has already made its decision, but that’s how I got off track last time.
A woman.
My kid.
My career going up in flames.
I don’t think I’m the guy who will break her heart. She needs to have something on the line for that to happen. When it comes to me, she’s safe in that area. “Hey, Marina, I think—”
The door slides open, and words cease to exist when she leans against the inside frame wearing one of the undershirts I left in the bathroom. “Hope it’s okay I borrow this?”
“Yeah.” I gulp like a teen whose fantasy came to life. “Sure.”
Her hair is looser, and her curls have softened over the hours, as if she’s run her fingers through the strands like I did.
Her legs are tan and somehow look even more shapely coming out from under my white tee than the beaded blue dress she was wearing.
It’s her face that’s utterly captivating, though.
Washed free from makeup, she’s prettier than when made up.
An ache in my chest reminds me to breathe, so I suck air into my lungs, unable to take my eyes off her.
She smiles, and I know my world will never be the same. “I think you’re right.”
“About?” I ask, lost to whatever we’re talking about.
“It’s late.” Ah. “We’re not thinking clearly.” Walking toward the bed, she stops on one side while I remain standing at the foot like an idiot. “Do you still want me to stay?”
“I do,” I reply without hesitation.
Her smile is softer as if the night’s gotten a hold of it, her lids heavier as she climbs into bed.
She slips under the covers and lies back to watch me.
I start on my shirt and unbutton it. The air around us has shifted, the energy winding down instead of running off adrenaline.
“I’ll leave before you wake up,” she whispers, “I promise.”
The intimacy is thick, making me shift in the newness of it. I don’t spend time with women like this anymore if I ever did. We’re not caught in foreplay or the aftermath of having sex. I don’t know what this is, but I’m not opposed to experiencing it with her. “You don’t have to rush out of here.”
Her smile returns, making me not give one fuck of a care what tomorrow brings. Tonight, I want this with her. I want to hold her, to kiss her, to listen to her fall asleep in my arms.
With only my boxer briefs on, I climb into bed and slide next to her. She caresses my cheek, staring into my eyes. “The bad boy of racing isn’t so bad when you get to know him.”
“I’ve worked hard for that reputation. Don’t ruin it for me.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I catch a genuine grin shaping her expression just before she rolls onto her other side, facing away from me. I lay my head on the pillow and wrap my arm over her, pulling her frame against me as she molds her body to mine.
I kiss her shoulder because I want to, but I shouldn’t because I know the truth.
I’m already in too deep.
I’m so screwed.
I bolt upright to the sound of banging on the door. My eyes burn from the daylight flooding through the doorway from the wall of glass in the living room.
The blinds are open.
Fuck.
Memories of Marina pushing the button come back, but there were other bigger distractions for me to remember some minor details, like closing them again.
Marina.
I reach out but find nothing except twisted sheets beside me. “Marina?” I get up as the banging continues and make my way toward the door. “Marina?”
There’s no sign of her in the bedroom.
Maybe that’s her.
Maybe she went out for coffee.
Maybe she grabbed some breakfast for us.
No shoes.
No bag.
No beaded dress.
Unless she left my shirt in the bathroom, that’s also gone.
I scrub my hand over my face and then look through the peephole. Shit. This can’t be good. Popping the locks, I open the door. “Noah—”
He barges in.
“Come on in,” I add, moving out of his way since he seems to be on a mission.
He stops just inside the living room and turns back, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” As if he can’t stand still, he lowers his arms, his phone in one hand and the other fisting at his side. He puts more distance between us when I come closer.
What little control he appears to have over his anger is slipping. “What the fuck, Cash?”
“Good morning to you, too.” Morning . . . oh shit. “What time is it?”
He glares at me. “My sister aside—”
“Your sister aside?” I ask, searching for my phone. It clicks just before I enter the bedroom. Fuck. He knows. “I can explain, but I need—”
“I don’t care what you fucking need. Do you know the damage you’ve done?”
Holding up my hand, I say, “Five minutes. Give me five minutes, and then you can yell all you want, but I need—”
“This isn’t about me, Cash. This is about the team, the Westcott name, the—”
“It has to wait five minutes.” I dash into the bedroom and find my phone on the dresser right next to the charger, but it’s not plugged in, and it’s dead. “Fuck!”
“I tried to call,” he says, standing in the doorway.
I’m trying not to lose my shit, but I want to slam the phone against the wall. I plug it in instead. “What time is it?”
He huffs but checks his phone. “9:15.”
My stomach twists into knots, waiting for the screen to tell me it has enough power to make the call. Maybe Noah understands there’s something more pressing because he stands there, not making a sound.
Green on the screen has me scrambling to call the number. The phone rings, so I put it on speakerphone to keep charging.
“What’s going on, Cash?” Noah asks as if we’re friends again.
My heart thunders in my chest, making me wish I could pace the floor. “I need to talk to my son.” It rings two more times. “Please pick up. Please pick up.” When the phone answers, the words race from my mouth, “I overslept. Can I—”
“Leave a message after the beep.” Beeeeeep . . .
If this phone weren’t the only connection I have to my son when I’m traveling, I’d crush it. I hang up and drop onto the end of the mattress, sinking forward and covering my face with my hands.
“Talk to me,” Noah says, his tone leaning toward concern now.
I can’t make myself sit straight as disappointment races through me. I look up, covering the rest of the distance. “I was supposed to talk to my son at eight this morning. She only gave me that one chance to reach him.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“She uses every opportunity to get back at me.” I push up, dragging myself back into the light of the living room. I sit on the couch as he takes the chair Marina possessed for too short of a time last night.
“I know you like to talk to him before a race, but you can’t let this define your day.”
“I won’t.” I don’t know whether I even believe myself at this point.
He taps on his phone a few times, then sits on the coffee table in front of me. “I hate piling more shit on top of you, but the media is having a field day this morning, and my brothers are fucking furious.”
Marina.
I still play dumb, glancing between the phone and him. He picks it back up and reads, “The bad boy of racing wins the heart of racing royalty.”
Scrolling, he flashes a photo of Marina and me . . . Fuck. We’re holding hands as we exit the nightclub. “Beauty and the Bad Boy.”
He says, “You’re not rested. It was careless and—”
“I can explain.”
“You better because they’re discussing the procedure to fire you.”
Fuck my life.