Revved(52)

I hear water running in the bathroom. Moving my hands from my face, I stare up at the ceiling, forcing my breaths to even out.

The adrenaline is starting to fade. I retrace those words in my head again.

I had sex with Carrick.

Oh God. I slept with a driver. The very one I work for.

I had sex with my friend.

All of my promises to myself, and I break them in the most epic way.

What’s going to happen now?

The bathroom door opens, revealing Carrick, before my panic can properly set in.

I sit up. Bringing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them.

Carrick’s gaze is soft on me.

I feel that softness deep inside of me, like a gentle caress, and it scares the shit out of me.

I see that he has a washcloth in his hand.

“I thought you might want to clean up,” he explains, walking over to the bed.

“Thanks.”

I reach for the cloth, but instead of giving it to me, he gently parts my legs with one hand and presses the cloth to me with the other.

Bloody hell. No wonder he has so many women wanting to stay with him if he cares for them like this—aside from the obvious hotness that is Carrick and the amazing sex and orgasms he gives, of course.

All of the guys I’ve slept with have rolled over and gone to sleep the second they were done, leaving me to fend for myself.

I watch his face while he cleans me. The way his long lashes brush his cheekbones each time he blinks. The multitude of blue hues, which all blend together to make his stunning eye color. He’s perfect.

Carrick suddenly looks up, catching me staring, making my cheeks stain. Holding my gaze, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips.

My heart actually skips a beat. Stupid heart.

He tosses the cloth onto the dresser and climbs on the bed beside me. He cages me in with his long legs, his arms coming around me, and he presses a kiss to my shoulder.

I feel kind of awkward now. I mean, he’s being really sweet and everything, but I’m not sure what I should do. Of course I’ve had one-night stands before but never with someone who’s my friend…someone I work for, whom I have to see again in a few hours’ time.

Should I leave?

Yes, I probably should go. Carrick doesn’t do repeats, and I shouldn’t have done this in the first place, no matter how amazing it was. And he has a race tomorrow. He needs his rest.

Resting my chin on my shoulder, I look at him. “I should go. Let you get some sleep. You have a race tomorrow.”

His brow furrows. “No, stay.” He swallows a breath. “I really want you to stay.”

I bite my lip, scared by how much I do want to stay with him. I really shouldn’t…but I don’t seem to have it in me to fight my wants versus what’s right in this moment. “Okay.” I smile gently.

Warmth fills his eyes.

I move so he can pull the covers back. I climb inside. He gets in next to me, lying down and facing me. He brushes my hair back from my forehead.

It feels intimate.

I know, with everything we just did, and I say him brushing hair from my face feels intimate, but it just somehow does, so much more than the hot sex.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” I say, trying to change the direction of my thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“When did you get it done?”

“A week after I signed with Formula One. It was my present to myself.”

“Youngest ever driver to sign. I’d have thought you’d have bought a house or something extravagant like that.”

“Buying a house was the last thing on my mind back then.” He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess partying and women were at the forefront.” They still are.

The smile drops from his face, and he looks away. “Something like that. Anyway, I wasn’t the youngest driver. I was the same age as William Wolfe when he signed with Formula One.”

Hearing Carrick say my father’s name jolts me, reminding me why I shouldn’t be here in his bed. My heart starts to pound.

“Hey, you okay?” His fingers touch my cheek.

“Fine.” I force a smile, trying to calm my racing heart. “Can I have a look at your tattoo?” I need him to stop touching me, stop looking at me the way he is. It’s too much.

“Sure.” Carrick rolls onto his stomach, so I straddle his back, sitting on him.

The tattoo is of a fallen angel. A man is bowing down, head lowered, his wings shielding his body. There’s script right above it, spanning the length of his shoulder blades.


PAIN IS TEMPORARY. VICTORY IS FOREVER.

It’s beautiful.

I trace my finger over it. “It’s beautiful, Carrick.” Just like you.

He lifts his head from the pillow and looks back at me, chuckling. “Never tell a man that his tattoo is beautiful, babe. Tell him it’s badass but never beautiful.”