Tool

Page 9

But he tries to do right by me.   This deal is a lot of money, and it's Beau's company.   He's concerned about my "brand" – of course, he's also concerned about Marlowe Oil's brand.   That's where I come in – I can make big oil "cool and approachable" for millennials who don't trust big corporations.

If it were anyone else but Beau, I'd have said no to the whole "face of the company" thing.   I don't want to tour Japan and smile pretty for the cameras, just like I didn't want to do that bullshit photo shoot with the models either.   Sure, three hot blondes made it less painful, but I'm a racer.

I want to race.   I miss the rush of adrenaline, sitting on the bench for the past two months.   No amount of working out can match the rush I get going a hundred and fifty miles an hour on the back of a bike.    You can't replicate that shit doing anything else in the world.

Except maybe when you're fucking.

But hell, good sex like that, the life-altering kind that mimics the rush of racing?  That shit happens once in a lifetime, maybe.

I think that's the way it would have been for me and Delaney.   I've thought about that a lot.   More than a lot.   Fuck, I've jerked off to her memory a thousand times.   We never got quite that far.

And now Beau makes me feel like a jackass in front of her, a child who needs babysat because I can't be responsible enough to take care of myself.   I'm an idiot for convincing myself that Beau thought I was a good investment, an adult and not an irresponsible kid.   But that's exactly what he thinks, just like everyone else.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost don't even hear the knock on the front door.   There's no way it's Beau coming here to apologize; if there's one thing Beau doesn't do, it's admit he's wrong.

I pull the door open, and Delaney stands there, looking nervous as hell.   And hot.   Hot and nervous as hell, in my doorway at eight o'clock at night.   Shit.   I'm already aggravated and pissed off -- and now I'm getting hard, too.

"Can I come in?"  She tucks her hair behind her ear, the same way she used to do when she was nervous.   I guess some things don't really change after all.

"What, did you trek all the way down here to gloat about how you're going to babysit my ass in Japan?"  I stand in the doorway, blocking her entry.

"Why am I the bad guy all of a sudden, Gaige?" she asks.   "I thought we were getting along. "

"Getting along?"  I ask, feeling a surge of anger.   I'm not irritated with her; I'm angry because I agreed to do this thing I don't even give a shit about, because I thought her father respected me, but it turns out he doesn't.   I know I shouldn't be taking it out on her, but I can't seem to help myself.   "Yeah, we used to get along, didn't we?  Did you come down here to see if you could help yourself to that old style of getting along?"

Delaney's face colors red, the way it does when she's angry, or embarrassed, or upset.   She's probably all of the above right now, I imagine.   Does she think I forgot what passed between us?

"Don't take it out on me because you're pissed off, Gaige O'Neal," she says, punctuating her words by poking my chest with her fingers.   I wrap my fingers around hers, pulling her against me, and she inhales sharply, the hiss of air audible in the silence of the evening.

"Pissed off?" I ask.   Her body feels warm against mine, and I want more than anything to kiss the ever-loving hell out of this girl.   Scratch that -- I don't want to just kiss this girl.   I want to tear her clothes off right here, right now, and plunge my cock between her legs.   "Did you come down here to the guest house because you wanted to talk about a work trip that's a month away?  Or did you come for something else?"

Delaney struggles against me.   "Let go of me, Gaige," she hisses.

"You sure you want me to, darlin'?" I ask.   I run my other hand along the side of her neck and she tilts her head to the side, into my touch.   She's practically purring as I touch her.   She looks at me, her green eyes wide.

"I don't know what you're implying, Gaige," she whispers.

"I'm not implying anything, Delaney," I say.   "I'm outright saying that you waltzed that little ass of yours all the way down here from the main house at this time of night for something that couldn't wait. "

"You should let me go," she says, but her voice is softer now, the edge from before suddenly gone.   I'd let her go if her pupils weren't as big as saucers and her breath weren't coming in short gasps.