Page 29 of Start Your Engines

“Later,” he says as the cat mews louder. Everyone remains focused on their earlier jobs. “What do I do with her? I can’t take her home, but I don’t know anyone in this city.”

I’ll leave the crash issue for now, but we’ll revisit it. I’m buoyed by the fact he doesn’t know anyone in the city. Maybe he wasn’t coming back from a hookup. But if his insomnia has returned, I need to learn why. I purse my lips. As I stare at how he rubs the kitten’s chin, she lifts her head and closes her eyes, relishing the touch. The gentle way he brushes her fur with his finger makes my heart flutter.

I stretch my hand and stroke her head. Connor’s full-lipped smile drains all my adrenaline from me, and I take a slow breath.

“I know someone in the city. I have a friend.” I nearly choke on the word friend. “I have a vet buddy who can help.”

Connor’s shoulders relax as he continues to coo over the kitten and stroke her head. “It’s alright, baby. We’ll have you safe soon.”

My belly flips. I need to return to work but want to stay here. “Keep her hidden and safe, okay?”

I head back to my screen, blinking repeatedly to forget the images of Connor’s delicate fingers and soft coos.

CHAPTER 14

Connor

Senna leadsme into an empty waiting room with paintings and photos spread across a wall. A snarling bulldog labelled, “Mabel, our cutest girl” is next to one of a python with the name Edna emblazoned across it. I shudder.

My kitten sleeps soundly in a pink and white fleece blanket against my chest. My heart beats in rhythm with her little breaths, and I struggle not to test that she’s okay. As we travelled in a car Senna borrowed, my hands brushed the kitten’s ribs. This poor girl would have died if I hadn’t struggled to sleep and walked the city.

It’s the one positive from the last twenty-four hours.

It’s always been difficult to sleep the night before a race, especially so recently since I haven’t settled in any kind of rhythm due to the time difference and it only being several races into the season. But that image of Senna as a sexy boss, with her usual sass and attitude, did a number on me. Every time I closed my eyes, I recalled her team shirt straining against her chest and those long legs I want wrapped around my head. Inevitably, Antoine and his winks got into my thoughts, too.

Senna hasn’t asked any more about my insomnia, but she will. My thoughts are cut short by a male voice. “Senna, you’re looking as gorgeous as ever.”

My shoulders tighten, which causes the kitten to wake up and chirp angrily at me.

“Sorry, little one,” I whisper before turning to a man with more muscles than a powerlifter addicted to protein shakes laughing with my Senna. No, my boss, Senna. She’s not mine in any other way.

I grit my teeth and offer the stranger a sour glare, but he only has eyes for her.

“Do you want to come through with the kitten?” He beams at Senna, but then he sees me, and his mouth turns down at the corners. He replaces it with a fake smile, which I mirror. “And your…friend.”

When she doesn’t correct him with the words subordinate, driver, or nemesis, a genuine smile replaces my faux one. It’s a win I’ll hold as close to my heart as this kitten.

“Connor Dane,” I say, introducing myself, but he’s walking towards the back, forgetting me.

I walk behind Senna and the vet as their arms brush against each other’s. Technically, his flexing muscles brush against her arms. I bet I could take him in a fight, though. I might not have his bulk, but I’m a scrappy bastard when I fight for something that matters.

Senna laughs at something he says. I turn my cap around so it faces backwards when I witness him touch the small of her back to lead her into the treatment room. I used to make her laugh like that. My heart aches at the realisation I’m more likely to make her cry than laugh these days.

As we crowd into a small sterile treatment room, I clutch the kitten and ease her onto the metal table. She wakes slowly, blinking her big eyes. All the stress of the last twenty-four hoursslips away as the fluffy ball of cuteness stares at me like I’m her hero.

“Hello,” the bodybuilding vet says to my kitten. “You can call me Brad.”

Of course he’s called Brad. I roll my eyes until I catch Senna staring at me. I blink several times and mumble, “Must have cat hair in them.”

She stares into my eyes, searching for the hair. A hint of amber gives her eyes a glow that reminds me of autumns kicking leaves and laughing. I can’t look away. She reaches for my face, and I hold my breath, desperate for her touch, yet I still attempt to hide yearning from owning every part of my face. Her thumb brushes my cheek, and my skin tingles.

I whisper, “I think it’s still there,” when she starts to pull away.

My entire being craves her touch.

I breathe in her orange blossom scent as she hesitates, her hand in the air. My eyes drop to her mouth as she wets her lower lip. I can’t breathe as she touches me again, her thumb brushing my cheek. The softness of her touch makes me shiver.

“You know, stray kittens commonly have fleas. You should probably flea bomb or wash everything this one has touched,” Brad says, side-eying us. I’ve never wanted to punch someone more.

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