Page 3 of Speed Trap

“I’ll make sure Ryan sees a trainer and provide him with anything else he needs,” I said to fill the charged silence. My voice came out thick and dry.

“You’ll get him therapy after your driver attacked him?” Hawk’s fury iced over, one perfectly formed eyebrow rising in an elegant arch.

The man had better eyebrows than most women I knew. It wasn’t fair.

He stared straight through me, piercing my soul. A flush started beneath my jacket under the honed demand of his gaze, prickling along my skin. I shifted my shoulders beneath the leather that trapped a layer of heat to my skin, seeking cooler air.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t want to get in between two angry men.”

I’d grown up with a sister and two older brothers, and had learned early on not to get in between them when fists swung.

Hawk glowered at me. Power and dominance rolled off him in veritable waves.

He’s the asshole. And the competitor. And you hate him.

But he’s a very hot asshole.

My heart thudded at a sprint in my chest that only drove my discomfort higher, arousal hot on its heels slamming into me. I watched a man be abused by someone I worked for, and now, beneath the gaze of a furious and dangerous man, I was getting turned on.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I swallowed and considered taking a step back, but some deep, primitive part of my brain warned me against showing any form of weakness to this man. I hadn’t been in the wrong, and I hadn’t started the ongoing animosity that appeared to be escalating daily between our teams. Stepping back felt like admitting to a guilt I couldn’t own.

But you didn’t step in to stop it either.

Locked in his amber gaze, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape.

“Hawk,” Ryan cut into our silent argument.

Exhaling hard, Hawk stepped back and ran a hand over his dark hair, working his fingers through it, like a model. Or a spoiled, private school boy. Which nearly all the drivers were, to some extent. Born to well-off families who funded their fledgling careers. Their PR teams primped and primed them for media releases and the end result were often unruffled drivers whose mental tenacity rivaled that of an elite soldier.

“Yeah. Okay. Give me your number.” Hawk held out a hand.

“What?”

“Give me information so I can speak to you when I have him arrested.” Hawk forced the words out between gritted teeth and the slash of a smile that chilled my overheated core.

“It’s not necessary.” Ryan placed a hand on Hawk’s shoulder, his back to me, though I could still hear his words. “Walk away, KC.”

Hawk broke his hold on my gaze, dropping his attention to his friend. His teeth ground audibly, and I winced.

His glare shot straight back to me.

Wrong move, Cooper.

Hawk’s eyes narrowed, following my movement. The corner of his lip turned up, and his gaze switched from fury to asshole in less time than it would take him to cross the starting line.

My body reheated under his leisurely assessment, and when his gaze caught and held mine again, I’d had enough.

Pushing through my stasis, I sidestepped Hawk’s unbearable intensity and addressed Ryan. “I really am sorry this happened to you. What can I do to try to make it right?”

Beside me, Hawk snorted. We both ignored him.

Ryan smiled. “Sure you don’t want to shift teams with an attitude like that? You don’t belong with someone like Benson.”

The man’s good humor floored me almost as much as his comment, and in an instant, I recognized him. Ryan Hadley was Hawk’s crew chief, and from the little my mind dredged up about his team on short notice, I recalled that they were firm friends going back a long way, though there must have been ten years between them.

“All on contract, I’m afraid,” I said through tight lips as Hawk muttered something under his breath. “And it sounds like I wouldn’t be the best fit.” I extracted my phone from my jacket pocket and handed it to Ryan.

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