Racer (Real Book 7)

Racer

We drive along the streets of London, the wind in her hair, before I park us at a cliff overlooking the Thames.

“All right, come here, Lana.”

She hops out of the convertible and walks forward while I pull out some food and a cooler of drinks from the trunk.

I set them down and pull her down with me. She seems curious as she watches me open a bottle of wine, sized perfectly for one, and gifts me with a damn gorgeous smile when I hand it over to her.

“Time someone took care of you for a change,” I gruff out, dropping a kiss on her lips.

I fiddle with my phone, setting it up to play music via Bluetooth. I scroll through my library looking for one of the ones I know she likes. I play Favorite Record and turn the car volume up.

Her eyes light up when it starts playing, and she seems impressed. “You remember.”

“I pay attention.”

She flushes pink.

“This is such a nice spot.” She looks around at the river and at the city lights of London.

“I told you that you’d go out on a drive with me and never be the same again.”

“Ha.” She rolls her eyes, and I’m chuckling and reaching out to push her hair back.

“I’m into you, girl,” I rasp, shifting to stare into her eyes.

“Yeah?” she breathes.

“You know it,” I say, swooping down to kiss her, but before I do, I force myself to hold back and tease her. “And because I’m clearly sweeping you off your feet, I thought it fair to warn you of some of my more unsavory traits.”

“Oh, wow, thank you, that’s thoughtful.”

I start counting with my fingers. “I’m a very light sleeper, and I like the room to be so damn cold a morgue couldn’t compete. I’m also stubborn as fuck; I always get my way.”

“Are you going to get your way with the championship?” she taunts.

“Watch me get my way.” I grin.

She laughs, her eyes sparkling and flooded with happiness, her cheeks so pink I can notice her flush in the dark.

“We’re doing well with the championship,” she says, setting her bottle aside.

“Second place is not good enough,” I say, staring out at the Thames. “It’s first or it’s nothing, as far as I’m concerned.”

She eyes me in wonder, then out at the city as she draws her knees up to her chin and takes a sip of her wine. “Clark will play dirty.”

I shrug, taking a long gulp of my bottle too as I lean back on my elbows. “I can play all kinds of ways.”

“Did you always want to race?”

“Always.” I wink at her. “Since I was a tiny thing, I grew obsessed with cars. The noise they make, fuck it turns me on,” I growl, and she laughs, her eyes heavy.

“You broke the law for years just so you could get away with racing.”

“I’m not ashamed of it.”

She’s quiet. “Does it help with the BP?”

“I think so, yes.”

She nods and smiles sadly. “The year you were diagnosed, I think that was the year David died.”

Our eyes meet. My girl. She’s MY girl. And she’s still hurting and I can’t make it go away. “I’m sorry,” I say, straightening.

Maybe he was meant to love her for a time, but I’m loving her forever.

I shift my arm and pull her close, and I raise the volume of my phone, and the car volume hikes up.

I pull her to my chest, and she sets her bottle aside and snuggles close to me, and I growl against her hair.

My senses heighten with the addictive scent of her, feel of her, look of her. I just want more. I know that when you’re in a life-or-death situation, your senses clear, your mind is sharp as fuck—every detail stored in your mind because one of those details can mean the difference between life and death.

Happens when I’m racing.

Happens when she’s around. Because every detail of her, every fucking word, every thing about her, is fucking life.

“I want to taste you,” I gruff in her ear.

Her eyes widen.

“I want your pussy melting beneath my mouth and the rest of you, too. “

I tug her skirt up to her waist, revealing her violet-colored lace panties.

“Racer.” She’s trembling.

“Would you like that, Lana?”

“I think so.”

“Then take my hand, baby. Go on. Take it and show me your favorite places, show my fingers.” She does. Taking my fingers to her nipples. I growl, squeezing. “Now my mouth.”

She takes my head and guides it to her belly button.

I set a kiss there, tracing her belly button with my tongue.

She gasps and guides my head even lower, parting her legs. I ease up and smile down at her, easing her panty aside with my thumb.

She’s shaking as she watches me go back down to those soft, sweet curls.

I lick her.

One long lick.

She gasps and shifts beneath me, getting closer to me, and I kneel before her; I grab her by the hips and part her legs, sliding down to bury my mouth in her sweet-as-peach sex once more.

This time I don’t come up for air; don’t fucking want it.

I drag my tongue up and down, her taste addictive. Perfect. Fucking drugging. She smells like warm girl, my warm girl, and tastes better than fresh rain.

I dip my tongue inside, deeper and harder, my hunger growing with each taste.

Her hips start rocking upward, and Lana’s kissing the top of my head, breathing faster and harder as my own breaths start to speed up.

She writhes and tries to snap her legs shut—gasping and rolling her head in the grass, out of control. I pry her legs wider open and move my head, licking and sucking her up, feeling her start to come when I lie over her, set my jean-clad cock above center, and kiss her as we grind each other on the ground, too damn hot for her to resist coming when she blows off beneath me.

I come with her.

Lana gasps as she recovers, catching her breath, and I tug her panties back into place and help her straighten, all the while watching her.

She’s pink-cheeked and heavy-eyed, and I pluck the grass from her hair, grinning as she smiles shyly up at me.

“Wow,” she says.

She sits up, her face soft after her orgasm, her lashes still heavy—her gaze wowed.

“God, those eyes,” I say, cupping her face.

“They’re just green,” she says with a soft laugh, snuggling her cheek into my palm.

“They’re everything. So fucking expressive you don’t even need to say a word for me to know exactly how you feel.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How do I feel now?”

“You’re having a good time.”

“And?”

“And you’re still hot for me. No matter how many times I make you come.”

“Oh wow, he’s so honest.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“You’re falling for me, Lana.”

Her smile fades.

“I don’t know if I should warn you again to stay away, but what’s the point? I’d only chase you.” I smile down at her, shaking my head in warning. “I’m not letting you go.”

“What?” she scoffs. “Racer, seriously, your confidence knows no limits.”

“I know what I know.”

“You don’t know shit.” She scowls and shifts, lying down on the ground and scowling up at the sky. Despite the scowl, a smile starts tugging on her lips.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret, Lana.”

Curiosity piqued, she looks at me and sits back up again, her eyes dancing no matter how she tries to hide it from me.

“I’m going to marry you,” I say.

“Is that right?

“That is absolutely right,” I croon, “and you’re going to love every single second of being my wife.”

“Is that right?”

“That is beyond right, baby.”

She leans forward, her breath at my mouth. “I’m going to tell you something, Racer,” she says, breathless when she looks at my mouth and at me. “Keep aiming for the moon, and maybe one day, you’ll catch a star.”

“Baby,” I say, cupping the back of her head and leveling my eyes on hers, “I’m aiming to catch me the worst driver in the world.”

“Racer!”

I chuckle, and she breathes, as she lies back down, “I’m still looking for the best driver in the world.”

I raise my brows meaningfully—tsk and shake my head, a sign that she should know better. Then I brace my arms on each of her sides and lean over her, my nose level with hers.

“Look into my eyes and you’ll find him,” I husk out.

Her chest starts rising and falling.

“You’ve had him inside you already …” I cup her where she’s hottest. “You have him here.” I give a little squeeze, then slide my hand upward, over her dress, and I put my hand on her left breast. “And here.”

Her eyes are shining and they widen, a little scared. At this point, I’ve worked myself up to a fever, and my heart is beating like a crazed drum in my chest.

“You love me, Lana,” I say.

Her eyes begin to glisten, and she starts to cry.

I’m confused. I sit back for a hot second, watching the tears start to stream as Lana tries to wipe them off.

“Hey, I love you.” I reach out to take her wrist and keep her from drying her tears. Instead, I use my free hand to do it and peer into her face. “I’ve never loved anything this much in my life.”

“I only ever said I love you to my family and David.” Her tears keep falling onto my thumbs.

“You don’t need to say it now. I know.” I clench my jaw, keeping her face in my hands. “I know.”

She drops her face and starts to gather the trash. “Take me back to the hotel.”

I stop her. “I won’t hurt you.”

She raises her head. “Can you honestly promise me that?”

I look down at her, something in my chest on unsteady ground. My voice roughens defensively. “Are you afraid that I’d hurt you or that you’d get hurt because I’m bipolar? Lana.”

She ignores my question and gets into the car.

“Take me to my room please.”

I slam her car door shut, furious.

I climb into the driver’s side, and Lana stares out the window on the drive back to the hotel, keeping those eyes from me.

After walking her to her room, I’m back in mine, a black spiral looming over me as I fight not to get sucked in.

I scrape my hand over my face, staring out the window, sleepless, my fucking heart down the hall and a few doors away, crying and in pain because she loves me.