Page 4 of When I Had You

Running my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair, I don’t know why I haven’t already walked away. “It’s been . . . interesting, but I, yeah . . .” I thumb over my shoulder.

“Yes, you should run along.” With her eyes set on mine, a winning grin graces her face. Just as I turn, she adds, “It was good to finally meet the great Cash Ryan.”

Is she for real?

“Fucking Ryan,” I grumble, tired of this game, and walk away.

“Cash?”

I make the mistake of giving her my attention once more. She eats it up, serving me some of my own medicine in the form of a wink. “And you still owe me a phone. Babe.”

“Cute. Real cute.” Can’t say I didn’t try to stay sunny, but when push comes to her literal shove . . . “Considering those red-soled shoes and the designer bag wrapped around your body, I’d be willing to wager that a phone is the last thing you’re worried about when your last name is Westcott. So I’ll take this interaction for what it really is—foreplay.”

She bursts out laughing. “You think highly of yourself, but foreplay, or anything else of that nature, is the last thing I’d ever want to do with you.”

“All I can hope is that you’re as good in bed as you are with banter.”

“Better,” she says, leveling me with a glare. “But you’ll never know.”

She walks away and I let her, but I swear to God those hips shimmy for me. Little Miss Westcott has Oscar-worthy acting skills where her brothers are concerned. But I see right through her.

“Ryatt. Scale. Now,” Hansen shouts again.

“Yeah. Yeah. Coming.” I head toward the other side of the paddock, where he and Darren wait for me to record my post-qualifying numbers but stop to glance back. Though I know she’s already gone, I’m still left grinning in the aftermath of our collision.

2

Marina Westcott

What an asshole . . .

My hands are still fisted as I bump the door open with my hip and step outside into the sunshine. The burn of rubber still lingers in the air, and the sound of engines and announcements has followed me out back. Despite my efforts, it’s race weekend, so there’s no escaping the crowds at the track.

“Hey, Marina?”

Noah’s voice reaches me before the exit door closes. I brace the door and wait for my brother to catch up. “What’s up?”

Grabbing the door, he lets it fall closed while we walk out together. “Are you taking off?”

“To the hotel, but I don’t leave Miami until early in the morning. I was told to be back tomorrow afternoon just in case we need rehearsals.”

“You’ll be at dinner, then? I’d like to hear about life in Vancouver and how you’re doing.”

Despite a reputation that he honed like a knife of being a player, Noah has always had a heart of solid gold. He never cared what others thought about him unless they mattered to him. Like his wife. Liv has never taken his love for granted. And he loves her to the end of the earth and back again.

A girl can only be that lucky to find the guy of her dreams willing to fight for her. They sure don’t exist in Hollywood.

I didn’t realize how tense I was, probably from the encounter I just had with that jerk of a driver, until my shoulders eased. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He grins, looking up at the cloudless Miami sky. “Okay.” His tone tells me he’s not falling for my cliché response. He always could see right through any act I tried to put on, whether it was for my parents, who always had too much faith in me to make wise decisions, or my oldest brothers, who tried their best to connect with me despite our age gap. Eight years between me, the youngest, and Loch, the oldest of the siblings.

Maybe it’s because we’re closest in age and spent the most time together, but Noah knows the real me. He was there for me through my teenage heartbreak and taught me not to take anyone’s crap, especially from a guy. When my Broadway show closed just two weeks into its performance run, and I wanted to hide from the world, he helped me hold my head high. He’s always been there for me . . . when I’ve let him.

I haven’t let him for a few months because I don’t want to discuss the turmoil of my life. And because if he finds out about Corbin cheating on me, he’ll kill him, and if he doesn’t do the job, Harbor will, and then Loch will make sure there’s no evidence to convict. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.

I find myself grinning, not about murder, but is it so wrong to want to see Corbin scared out of his mind? Probably . . . I still smile.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, studying me. “What’s on your mind?”

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