“She’s heavy on the curve. Lighten the downforce.”
“If we lighten the downforce she’ll be flying, you won’t be able to control her,” Adrian says.
Racer restlessly pulls off his Nomex down to his waist, and grabs the water I hand him. He just waits, as if he expects them to do it.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he goes back to look at the car with a look of concentration on his face.
My eyes travel along the back of his neck, the way his hair is standing up a little messy—not only because he just took off the helmet, but it simply seems like that dark hair is always perky.
I can make out the darker points of his nipples under the white shirt, and his hard chest muscles.
I try not to notice his muscular shoulders, his narrow hips, accentuated by the waistband of the Nomex suit, and I’m not sure anything this blazing hot has ever been in my eyesight before him.
I realize that my brothers are arguing, and he’s still there, waiting …
As tall as my brothers, but very defined and with a presence that makes you pause and stare and have trouble to stop yourself from staring.
After they work on the changes for over an hour, he suits back up, slides on his helmet, eases into the car, and roars back onto the track.
A thousand knots are in my stomach. He does one lap. A second lap, even faster. I can’t look away now. He hasn’t lost control, and Kelsey feels completely at ease in his hands. Hell he makes it look easy, even though I know it’s hard as fuck.
“Time!” my father barks.
“One minute twenty-six point nine,” Drake says with the chronometer in his hand, eyes wide.
Behind us, Clay speaks to him on the headset. “Keep it up. A millisecond from the fastest lap.”
When he finally pulls back into pits and gets out, my brothers are speechless, the three of them staring at him sort of with godlike reverence.
Drake is the first to speak. “Welcome to HW Racing.” Drake shakes his hand and looks at me, and smiles.
I smile back, and when my eyes slide to Racer, I realize he’s pulled off his helmet and holds it dangling at his side and is looking at me with a proud, male look in his eyes.
I start to flush.
“You killed it. I don’t think we’ve ever seen a rookie go this fast in a new car, in a new-to-him track,” Clay says.
He tucks his helmet under his arm, fists his hand and smashes it into his palm. “I knew it.”
“How did you know it?” I ask.
He smiles at me as his dimple appears. “Because I’m here to stay, crasher.”
I feel my toes curl a little under his smile as he storms to the motorhome, and I realize that Drake and Clay are both staring at me while Adrian gets busy with the motor fixes.
“Lainie, he’s an illegal street racer, okay. Don’t get too attached to him, you hear?” Drake starts to ramble. “Not personally, and not because he’s in our team. The moment the other teams catch onto him, they’ll be offering more money than we could ever compete against.”
“Don’t say that, Drake.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being a pessimist and I’m too happy today to come down from my party in heaven. Cut me a break. This is good. We had a good day.”
“Lainie …”
I watch Racer come over from the motorhome, taking the steps down two at a time, running his hands over his sweaty head. I leap to my feet and feel a little unsteady because my heart leaps a little too. “You thirsty?”
He just nods and grabs the bottle I pull out of the cooler, taking less than a minute to down it all. He gasps as he finishes it, exhales and looks at me. His nostrils flaring. “Car felt good.”
I nod, breathless. “You looked pretty good out there.”
“Yeah?”
I nod fast. “Yeah.”
And I realize all my three brothers are staring, frowning. I look away and head to the motorhome, aware of Racer following me inside, where it’s a little less windy and we can get out of the sun.
“Your brothers wanted me to do better?” He drops down on one of the couches, and he’s frowning. Clearly puzzled.
“No, they’re thrilled with qualifying.”
He raises his brows as if he’s confused about their way of showing it.
“Really. They love it. They don’t know that you’re here to stay.”
He pulls his Nomex out of his arms and lets it drop at his waist, and the white shirt under his suit is plastered to his chest so much I see his small brown nipples. I pull my eyes up, gulping when I realize he asked me a question. “Where do they think I’m going?” he asked.
“They don’t want me spending time with you.”
He laughs at that, then looks at me quietly, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Because they don’t feel you’re a good influence and want us to keep things professional at all times.”
He reaches out to touch a strand of hair with one finger. “What’s wrong with having a little fun?” he asks, his voice a little guttural as he looks down at me intently.
“It’s not the fun they’re worried about, it’s you and I having fun. Together.”
He grins, I’m laughing, can’t believe I said that.
Heat spreads over me when his eyes fall to my chest, and I see him checking out my breasts before pulling up his gaze, his lips curving sardonically at the corners—a dimple popping out in a half-apologetic, half-not-apologetic smile.
I pull in a long breath, breathing in his scent and wondering why I find it addictive, why it makes things inside of me ball up with wanting. Wanting to smell him from up close, to taste him, feel him, touch all of his male-scented body.