Revived (Revved Series Book 2)(13)

There’s a dimple etched deep in his cheek. It only works to increase his handsomeness.

I feel a ripple in my chest.

You’re his therapist.

I take a step back.

“I’ll see you at six, India.” He turns and begins walking down the stairs.

Closing the door, I realize that’s the first time he’s called me by my first name, and hearing him say it with his sexy Brazilian accent…well, let’s just say the feeling it leaves me with is amazing.

And that’s not good.

It’s not good at all.





I FELT SOMETHING when my arm brushed India’s. Something intense.

A simple brush of our arms, and exhilaration rushed through me.

The thing is, when touching women, I haven’t felt anything since the accident. No connection. Nothing. I fuck to forget, not because I want those women.

And I’m pretty sure India felt our connection, too. I saw the way her cheeks flushed and how she curled her hand around her arm where we’d touched.

I affect her.

I wasn’t sure if I did, but now, I’m pretty damn sure that I do.

I like her. But I don’t want to fuck this up because I really think she can help me. After last night, I need her help more than I realized.

It’s almost six p.m., and I’m on my way back to India’s office.

India. I love the sound of her name each time I say it.

And I love how her voice sounds when saying my name.

I wonder how it will sound as it screams from her lips while I’m fucking her.

I can’t fuck her.

Balancing the coffees I just picked up from Starbucks with the takeout sandwiches, I push through the door into her reception area.

It’s empty, as she said it would be.

It’ll be just her and me here. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, to be honest. I don’t know if I can trust myself not to make a move.

Jesus, I’m a grown man. I can control myself around her.

I give a knock on her door before letting myself in.

She’s sitting at her desk, talking on the phone. She smiles those red lips at me, and I feel my cock stir to life.

Down, boy.

The smile still on her face, she lifts a finger, letting me know that she’ll be a minute.

I give a nod and then put the coffees and the bag containing the sandwiches down on the table. I take a seat.

“Sounds good. Okay. See you later. Love you.”

Love you?

She’s definitely not married, as there’s no ring.

Does she have a boyfriend?

Of course she has a boyfriend. Look at her.

Hanging up her phone, she gets up from her chair and walks over to where I’m sitting. She takes her seat across from me. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries. I brought coffee and a couple of sandwiches in case you haven’t eaten.”

Her eyes flicker with surprise, like I’m the first guy to ever bring her food.

“I haven’t eaten. That was really thoughtful of you, Leandro. Thank you. But please let me reimburse you for the coffee and sandwich.”

She makes to get up, but I stop her with my words. “No. My treat.” I wave her off.

She pauses for a moment and then lowers her butt back into the seat. “Okay. Thank you.”

Reaching over the coffee table separating us, I hand her one of the coffees, and in the exchange, I make sure that my fingers brush hers.

Why I do that, I have no clue.

Okay, I do have a clue. I want to see her react to me again.

My eyes search her face for a reaction, but I get nothing this time.

Feeling a bit deflated, I pick up my own coffee and rest back in the chair.

“I got you a black coffee,” I tell her. “I wasn’t sure if you took milk or sugar.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some tiny milk capsules and sugar sachets.

“Black is perfect.” She smiles, the cup by her lips. Then, she takes a sip.

She drinks black coffee and wears red lipstick.

She’s fucking perfect.

“So, I was thinking”—she puts the coffee back down—“about how we should approach your treatment going forward.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, am I right in thinking that you feel that to get your life back, you need to be able to race?”

“I don’t feel. I know,” I say with surety.

“Okay. So, of course, you need to talk about the accident, get those feelings out there for you to deal with them. Clearly, bottling them up isn’t working for you. I thought, while we’re doing that, we can work on getting you back in a car.”

All my muscles stiffen up, and she notices.

“Baby steps,” she says softly. “What I mean is, I was thinking we could go outside, sit in my car, and do our session in there.”

I lift a brow. “Your methods are a little strange. Anyone ever tell you that?”