Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
What do you get when dinosaur drivers crash their cars?
Tyrannosaurus wrecks.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
“Ihad no idea Formula 1 was that exciting. I always thought it was zoomie cars only turning left and driving in circles.” Bash stood and stretched, amped from the race and the sheer joy of watching Arabella’s delight with the race and the outcome—not to mention her intoxicating presence.
So many times he almost leaned over and kissed her, but he didn’t want to disrupt her pleasure in her happy place.
More than that, despite the passion she’d displayed a week ago in the driveway, Bash wasn’t sure how she’d respond to any advances he might make.
He was slowly learning this complicated woman, but she was essentially still a stranger to him.
And vice versa. He also got the distinct sense something god-awful had happened to her to force the creation of those formidable walls.
He wanted time to figure out how to bring them down, not sabotage his own efforts by acting too fast and inadvertently causing her to put up another one
From her perch on the couch, Arabella’s eyes strayed to his exposed lower abs and then darted back up.
She played unaffected, but he could see the rate of her breathing increase.
Testing a theory, he stretched again, twisting his torso side to side, his athletic pants slipping just a bit further down to reveal more of his hard-earned Adonis belt.
Bash swallowed a victorious smile at the burning of her gaze exactly where he’d wanted it. “Right, Arabella?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Zoomie cars in circles.”
Arabella blinked rapidly and shook out her hands, fanning her face for a moment, then laced them again.
Her cheeks had flushed a becoming shade of pink, trailing down her neck and under what he’d quickly deduced was a Red Bull Racing-branded performance shirt.
She couldn’t meet his eyes, looking everywhere but at him.
Bash wondered if he got close enough, would he scent the glorious aroma of arousal? Eau de Arabella…
“You’re thinking of NASCAR.” She coughed and cleared her throat.
“And actually, that’s a fallacy. The original stock racing was on horse racing tracks, which were counterclockwise.
Hence the”—she waved her hand in a circular motion—“prominence of left turns. But now there are a few road course races, therefore more variation in layouts, including left and right turns. But I still prefer the experience of Formula 1. So, uh, yeah,” she finished awkwardly, tucking her hair behind a delicate ear.
Bash grinned. Was his queen nervous? Maybe even a bit hot and bothered?
“Ok, yep. So give me a second, ok? Be right back.” Arabella darted toward the kitchen.
“Cool. Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“There’s a powder room just off the hall,” she called over her shoulder.
Bash took care of business and washed his hands. Arabella’s soap was boring—no scent, and sort of medicinal. He made a mental note to have Jared order some of the apple spice scented, foaming kind he liked. When he returned to the living room, movement caught his eye in the kitchen.
Remy whipped around to face him, slamming the freezer closed in the process.
His lips tilted up. “Did you just…have your head in the freezer?”
Arabella’s cheeks remained flushed and it didn’t seem to be from embarrassment. Or—unfortunately—from arousal.
Was she having one of those flash thingies? He’d never seen one in action. All the women he’d dated were too young for that particular affliction. But a co-star had once overshared about his wife’s symptoms. Bash was still scarred from the idea of a dried-out pussy. He shuddered.
Arabella hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the large, stainless-steel appliance.
She frowned at him, clearly clocking his reaction to the memory.
He watched in fascination as she assumed the mantle of warrior queen, which he recognized from his first sight of her as she firmly castigated her wayward resident.
“If you must know, I was having a hot flash.”
Hot flash. That was the name. Bash nodded, trying to nonverbally convey that his shudder wasn’t directed at her.
“I don’t have them frequently anymore. But when I do, sometimes it helps to have the freezing cold on my skin.
I haven’t had one in a while, but when they hit me, it’s like being boiled from the inside out.
I must have gotten too worked up from the—from the race.
Too much excitement…” she trailed, gamely trying to keep her regal bearing.
Bash’s heart softened into a pile of mushy, besotted goo in his chest. How hard must her life have been that her default stance was coolly defensive? Those were some wicked shields. What his almost-bride needed was a healthy dose of TLC. But would she accept it?
Oh fuck it.
He strode across the room into the kitchen and straight toward her.
Arabella backed up until she was pressed against the appliance, her chin lifted. And trembled.
Not taking a moment to second-guess himself or talk himself out of it, Bash reached a hand up and cradled her cheek.
Tucking a sweat-dampened tendril at her temple behind the shell of her ear with his other hand, he then rested it gently along her neck.
The frantic tattoo of her pulse battered against his fingers.
Slowly, he lowered his face to hers, pausing just before his lips reached hers, carefully telegraphing his intentions in case this wasn’t what she wanted. Consent mattered, and he braced for a push away, all the while lying to himself that he’d be ok with the rejection.
But his prickly queen surprised the hell out of him. Of course she did.
Resting one hand on his chest, Arabella slid the other around to the back of his head, where she gently anchored her fingers in his hair. “Kiss me, Sebastian. Please,” she whispered, sapphire eyes churning with some unspoken emotion.
“With pleasure, my queen,” he replied, just as softly, and then closed the rest of the distance.
Unlike the previous Sunday, he dove right in, plundering her mouth, which tasted faintly of the citrus-infused water she’d been drinking. In-fucking-toxicating. He tilted her head, tangling his tongue with hers. Tasting. Tempting. It wasn’t enough. Never enough.
He tugged her closer, grinding his hard length against her stomach and raining kisses along her sharp jawline and the satiny, elegant neck below it.
Chills erupted across her skin and Arabella moaned, pressing into him and whimpering little cries of passion, her hand snaking between them toward the iron in his pants.
Need to stop. Don’t want to stop. But you have to stop.
Bash didn’t want to scare away his jumpy angel with too much too soon.
His mind flashed to the memory of her pressed against her car door as they broke their embrace last Sunday.
He knew…he just knew if they took it too far before Arabella was truly emotionally comfortable, she’d regret it and erect even more imposing fortifications around her heart.
There was also the not-so-small concern that, for the first time in about thirty-five years, Bash feared coming in his pants.
Either that, or he was about to zoom past the point of no return, accelerating into the Happy Land of Fucking.
It had been more than two months since he’d broken up with Poet, and Bash hadn’t fucked anything except his hand since.
He had fresh rubber, as it were, and if he didn’t call a halt to these proceedings immediately, he would overtake her sweet pussy.
Bash smiled at his internal F1 jokes. He’d always been a quick study—useful for inhabiting a role.
“What’s with the smile?” she murmured against his lips, grinding against him.
Bash groaned, fighting for the will to stop. He didn’t want their first time to be him slamming into her as he pinned her against the fridge. Although…that was a fucking hot image, and now he knew he had to manifest that shit at some point.
“I think we need to pump the brakes, Angel.” He pulled back, utterly enchanted as she slowly opened her eyes, as if waking from a peaceful dream, those sapphires smoky with desire.
As the smoke cleared and the shield came down, the emotion in her eyes shuttered.
“Why? Is it—am I not sexy enough?” She couldn’t maintain eye contact, gnawing on her lower lip that was pleasingly plumped from his attentions. “I know I’m not your usual—”
“Angel,” he growled, cutting her off, “look at me.”
Her eyes stayed focused down. Totally out of character. This had clearly hit her in a vulnerable spot and she almost seemed…scared.
“Angel,” he began again, then tucked a forefinger under her chin, tilting her lovely face up so she had no choice but to look at him. “You are so fucking sexy I can barely stand it. I’m stopping out of respect for you. So we don’t go too fast. Nothing wrong with taking our time.”
Arabella’s eyes flitted between his, as if trying to ascertain the truthfulness of his words. “I thought maybe the hot flash turned you off.”
Bash leaned down and brushed his nose against hers. “Not a chance. It just means you’re steamy. I like steamy.”
She smiled at him, but her eyes filled with emotion he sought to decode. Sadness. Fear? “I saw your reaction when I took my head out of the freezer.” She rolled her lips and released a breath on a shuddering exhale. “You looked…disgusted. Maybe angry.”
Bash’s heart broke in his chest. Some fucker had done a number on his queen, and he wanted to find the bastard and shred him into slivers. Then blend the slivers into slurry. Then bury all that under runny cow shit.
Did Arabella like cows? He liked cows. He met a spicy romance author once who loathed cows.
Focus, Bash.
He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. She fit perfectly.
“What you saw, my queen, was a flashback to a massive overshare from decades ago courtesy of a filterless costar. That, and nothing else.” He kissed the top of her head. “Well, maybe a bit of amusement. I mean, your head was in the freezer.”
He grinned at the shake of her laughter in his arms, relief coursing through him. Pulling back, he examined her closely. Her eyes had brightened, and she had stopped abusing her poor lower lip—that was for him to do. And in much different circumstances.
“Do I—do I really turn you on?”
His confident queen needed her consort to bolster her. And he was, quite literally, up to the task. He reached for her hand and placed it on his still painfully hard cock, which jumped at the attention.
Her eyes widened. Then a sly grin danced on her face. “I guess you moved to the hards.”
He barked a laugh, nudging against her. “I hear it’s the best for my…pole position.”