Page 29 of Drive To Survive

I shoved at his chest, and this time he stopped. As he moved slightly away, I had enough space to duck to the side.

“What’s wrong?” He pushed a hand through his dark blonde hair, and it stood on end.

“I’m leaving.” I straightened my top and kept my eyes trained on the floor.

“Why?”

I refused to make eye contact, instead switching my gaze to the door handle, my route to freedom. “Don’t go near Mr. Wilson again, Nico. It’s my issue. I’ll deal with it.”

“Everly, what the fuck are you doing?”

I briefly raised my eyes to his, then looked away again. “This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have kissed me, and I shouldn’t have let you. Now please, move.”

For a split second, I thought he was going to refuse and I’d have to yell for help and hope Adele was still at her desk praying for a trickle of gossip to reach her. Hell, if I had to fight my way out of here, past the slab of granite currently standing in my way, she wouldn’t get a trickle. She’d get a tidal wave.

Nico expelled a breath and then, without saying a single word, stepped to the side.

My fingers trembled as I turned the door handle, and my knees virtually knocked together on the short walk back to the main office. Adele’s mouth was agape as she watched me approach.

“Everly, is everything okay?”

I nodded curtly, my body language and facial expression letting her know, in no uncertain terms, I wasn’t in the mood for idle gossip or to brief her on what had happened behind Nico’s closed door. Given our raised voices, she probably heard the whole thing anyway.

Climbing into my car, I rested my head on the steering wheel. I could still feel Nico’s lips on mine. Warm, firm, luscious. He’d kissed me only because I’d riled him up about Rhett, not because he wanted to. A man like Nico Palmer, all hard lines and alpha maleness, wouldn’t take kindly to threats from anyone, let alone a woman. That kiss had been meant to put me in my place, not as a precursor to something more. He’d made it perfectly clear on several occasions that nothing would happen between us.

And it was about time I started listening.

NICO

Everly drove out of the parking lot, the taillights of her truck disappearing a few seconds later. I swiped a hand over my face. Goddammit. I hadn’t intended to kiss her, but now that it had happened and I knew the taste of her lips, the way her breasts crushed to my chest, the feel of her shapely hips beneath my roughened hands, the memory would haunt my dreams forever.

I shouldn’t have touched her, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have fucking kissed her. All I’d done was ignite the embers in my belly instead of dousing them. Everly had made no secret of her attraction to me or her desire to kill me with kindness in some vain hope she could shine a light into the darkest corners of my heart. And now that we’d kissed, and especially given that much tongue and a hard-on that could knock a ball for a straight home run, she’d know I was just as attracted to her.

She didn’t fool me; it was her fury at what she saw as interference that’d sent her storming off. The unexpectedness of the kiss had tipped her off-balance and smothered her anger, and that was the very last thing she intended to happen. She wanted to stay mad at me, and I guessed I deserved it.

With the benefit of hindsight, I should’ve spoken to her first before poking my nose into her business, but when I’d seen that dark, angry bruise on Rhett’s arm, and he’d told me how he got it, an urge to protect him had overcome me. He wasn’t mine, and I had zero rights to step in and defend him, but that hadn’t stopped me. Good thing I went, too, because that Wilson fucker was a dick. I could see why his kid was a bully. He’d learned at the knee of an expert—his old man. Poor little bastard didn’t stand a chance. His future was already set, even at the tender age of six.

I’d meant to talk to Everly and tell her I’d warned Wilson off last night, but as I’d picked up the phone to call her, Tate had appeared at my door. He made some bullshit excuse about him and Madison having a few vacation days before he headed out to Azerbaijan, but he didn’t fool me. He’d drawn the short straw to check up on me. Still, I’d been thrilled to see him and by the time we’d finished talking about the school and how well it was going, it’d been too late to call Everly. I’d vowed to call this morning, but from the second I’d risen from bed until now, I’d been yanked from pillar to post and had forgotten the entire episode with Wilson. Just my luck for his missus to confront Everly before I’d had a chance to get to her first.

I flopped back into my chair, but the moment I did, the alarm on my watch went off. I glanced at the reminder and sighed. Dammit. I’d forgotten all about my physio appointment. After the embarrassment of trying to get up Everly’s front steps, I’d committed to going more regularly, even if I did think it was a complete waste of time. The movement I had now was the best I could hope for. My physiotherapist had as good as told me precisely that. Then again, I supposed it meant I got to keep the movement I did have, rather than expecting some miracle to give me back what I’d lost.

Not that it made any difference these days. Almost two years since the accident, and Formula One had moved on. Even if I woke tomorrow with full movement in both ankles, I wouldn’t get the offer of a coveted seat. At thirty-one, I was a has-been, and nothing would change that.

I grabbed my keys and locked my office door. Adele gave me a questioning look as I approached, one I ignored.

“Off to physio. Back later.”

“Sure thing, Nico.”

Her voice sounded far too bright and filled with a promise that I wasn’t off the hook. She wanted details, and she’d drill until she got them. Good luck to her. She wouldn’t find out what had happened in my office between me and Everly, not from me, anyway.

Ninety minutes later, I walked out of the physio’s office, and although I’d never admit it to her, my ankles were marginally less stiff. I didn’t expect it to last, but for now, the limp I’d become accustomed to hardly showed.

Feeling like celebrating, and with a clear calendar this afternoon—despite telling Adele to expect me back—I pulled up Tate’s number and hit the call button.

“If you’re calling to ask me to bail you out of jail, I’m busy.”

I laughed at his greeting. “The cops haven’t caught up with me yet,” I joked. “Just wondering what you’re doing, and if you say, ‘Madison,’ I’m putting down the phone.”

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