Page 68 of Start Your Engines

CHAPTER 34

Connor

Her legs are impossibly smooth,like silk. I bite my lip. Does she taste as soft as she looks? Spending these days with her has made me want to shout my feelings from the rooftops. I want to get a reaction and know she wants me as much as I desire her.

She focuses on the cars flying around the track on screen, her hazel eyes swirling with amber and burnt orange.

I need to enjoy the friendship and get over myself, yet I grip her legs again. She must moisturise hourly, or more likely, she’s a fucking angel. She’s wearing her tiny denim shorts again, but I refuse to look above her knees. I grip her legs tighter to stop my hands from drifting.

“I have a question,” she announces.Please ask me if I love you so I can get on my knees and prove my answer with my tongue.My cock begins to harden, and I will it to calm.

“Sure.” I clear my throat.

“You said that before a race, you’ll run through everything you hate about racing.”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“You don’t wear headphones like the other drivers before a race. Why is that?”

This is an appropriate question from a friend. I can’t fuck things up. But I can’t stop my eyes from drifting up her legs and higher. Shit, her nipples are pressing against her T-shirt.

“Connor?”

I move her legs off me and stand, walking a few steps to the kitchen part of the open-plan house. I force distance physically and hopefully in my head, too. “No reason. They all do it because they have music they listen to, but I don’t. Do you want a drink?”

“You don’t have music, or you don’t want to listen to music?” She stands and follows me.

“I don’t have music to listen to. Is this important?” I wring my hands together.

“Yes. So you don’t have a song you listen to when you get ready to race?”

Her toes touch mine as she lifts her head and pins my gaze. Everything about this woman is unrelenting, and I can’t resist it. And I’m trying. I’ve been trying most of my life.

“I thought that was something only boxers did and people who are crappy townie drivers.”

She gives me a playful shove. “No, you didn’t.”

“I’ve never found my song, so listening to music before racing distracts me and frustrates me. So what?”

I try to walk away, but she grips my hands.

“But every driver on this circuit has one. I have one for when I go into meetings.”

“Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain,’” I reply with a smile that’s erring on cocky.

She shoves me again, although she’s blushing and grinning this time. “Yes, and sometimes ‘The Man’ by Taylor Swift.”

I lick my lips. “And do you have a walk when you listen to ‘The Man’? Because I’d like to see that. It will help my song research.”

“The only thing you’ll see is me flicking you the Vs as I walk away.”

“I like the idea of watching you walk away,” I say with a wink that makes her shake her head as a grin broader than the sky takes over her face.

“Back to the song. I’ve got a couple, but one jumps out.” And then she walks to her bag, her gait slow. I swear she gives her butt an extra wiggle.

A grunt escapes my mouth, and she looks over her shoulder, her brows furrowed. I shrug and lick my lips as I stare at her butt. Senna sticks her middle finger up at me as she grins. I’m a dickhead, but I think she likes that.

She likes me. Fuck. I can’t stop messing with her.

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