“But I’m a therapist, and I know better.”
Cradling my glass to my chest, I head upstairs. I look in on Jett as I pass his room. I see him sleeping in bed, his TV still on. I go in and turn off his TV. Kissing his forehead, I close his door behind me.
I go into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.
I need to call Dan, break things off with him. I hate that I’ve deceived him like this. He’s a good man, but clearly, he’s not the man for me. I think I’ve always known deep down. But I just wanted a good guy, a safe guy.
Not a hotheaded racing driver.
God, why do I always want the wrong man?
Finishing off my drink for Dutch courage, I dial Dan’s number.
He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, you.”
I feel sick at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”
“How are you doing?”
“Good. Look, Dan, are you okay to talk?”
“Hang on…” I hear a door open and then close. “Go ahead. Is everything okay?”
“Not really.”
“India?”
“I can’t see you anymore.”
“Are you being serious?”
“I’m sorry.”
He blows out a breath. “Why?”
“I just—”
“If you’re going to say that it’s not you, it’s me, you might as well just hang up the phone now.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “I like you, Dan. I do. I just don’t feel the spark that I should…and I…I have feelings for someone else. I’m really sorry.”
His silence is painful.
“And have you fucked this someone else?” he finally bites out.
His words surprise me because I’ve never heard him speak this way before.
“No, of course not! He kissed me, but I stopped it. Then, I came home and called you.”
“Who is it?”
“I…that doesn’t matter. I’m just so sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. Good-bye, India.”
The line goes dead.
I fall back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands.
When did my life become such a mess?
The moment I met Leandro Silva.
I can’t go on like this, driving myself crazy. And I can’t keep treating him, not after tonight.
There’s only one thing I can do.
I’m going to have to refer him to another therapist and cut him from my life—permanently.
I curl my arm around my stomach, pressing against the ache the thought leaves inside me.
“YOU OKAY IN THERE?”
My hands are gripped around the wheel. I move my eyes to Carrick, who’s standing outside the car, by the driver’s door.
Giving a nod to him, I slide down the visor on my helmet with a click. “I’m fine.”
“I’m in your ear. Talk to me if you need to.” He taps his finger to the earpiece he’s wearing that will connect us while I’m out on the track.
I give another nod, not taking my eyes off the road ahead.
With his hand, he taps the roof of the car and moves away to stand in the pit to watch me.
We’re at Silverstone. I’m driving Carrick’s Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. This will be my first time back on a track since the accident
Since I drove India’s car, I’ve had the growing urge to get back out here.
I had rented a car the very next morning, as I wanted to keep driving. My car is still fucked, after I smashed her up, so I had a garage take my car to fix her.
For the last few days, I’ve been driving around on my own for hours at a time, building my confidence. Driving on my own was a risk but a huge achievement for me.
I had taken the car out on the highway to feel some speed but it didn’t feel enough and that was when I knew it was time to get back on the track.
Even though I made the decision to do this, I still felt afraid at the thought.
I wanted to call India, but I couldn’t.
So, I called Carrick, and here we are.
Truth is, I could have used any car. I just needed someone here with me.
I really wanted that someone to be India, but I haven’t spoken to her since the kiss on Wednesday. It’s Saturday now.
I’m trying to give her space, let her come to me. I was hoping she would have come to me before now. The days passing aren’t leaving the best feeling in my gut, but I know that charging in there with my guns blazing, demanding she talk to me, won’t help shit.
India needs to be approached with thought and caution.
I have my appointment with her on Monday morning, so if I haven’t heard from her before then, then that will be the day we talk.
And we will definitely talk. If not more.
I know for sure she wants me now, so there’s no stopping me. She can deny it and say it can’t happen, but it will.
The chemistry between us is off the charts. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I don’t intend on walking away from it. I’ve felt her body under my hands. Seen the way she responds to me. There’s no stopping that kind of desire, no matter how hard she might try.
I turn the engine on, and rev it. The car vibrates beneath me. Tremors run up my arms. My heart starts to beat like a motherfucker. My mouth dries.
I blink against the onslaught of fear coming for me.
The barrier coming toward me.
Smoke. I can smell it in my nose. Taste it on my sandpaper tongue.
Feel the pain in my bones.
Stop.
That was the past.
Lightning doesn’t strike twice.
Unless you’re a seriously unlucky fucker.
A laugh escapes me.
“You okay?” Carrick’s voice comes in my ear.
“Yes. Just realizing what a sick fuck I am.”
“I could’ve told you that years ago.” He chuckles. “You good?”
I blow out a breath. “Yes.”
My arms are still shaking down to my hands. I grip the steering wheel, willing myself to calm down.
It’s a good job I’m not taking out my Formula 1 car. I knew I wouldn’t be up for that just yet. I need to get used to being back out here, and being in control of a car at high speeds and being comfortable with it again. Carrick’s Bugatti is a good car to do it in.
I’m going to take this car around the track, like I’ve done a million times before. Nothing is going to happen to me.
Deep breath, in and out.
I realize that my hands are no longer shaking.
I feel a sense of self-satisfaction bleeding into my veins.
Control. That’s what it is about.
I just need to take hold of my fear and manage it. If I’m good at one thing, it’s control. I thrive on it. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac for me.
I shift the stick into first.
Breathe.
One…two…three…
Easing off the clutch, I hit the accelerator and take off.
I’m at a hundred kilometers in no time.
This car can move.
One sixty.
My heart is starting to pound against my ribs.
Fear and adrenaline.
I can see the wall approaching with the corner I need to take.
My hands start to shake. Sweat trickles down my face.
Don’t lose it now, Silva.
Think of anything but the accident.
India.
The way she tastes. Her perfect mouth. How she felt wrapped around me while I kissed her.
Easing my foot onto the brake, I take the corner. Back on the straight, I ease the accelerator back down, pushing the speed up a little further.
Creeping back to a hundred.
One forty.
One sixty.
Two hundred.
The sound of metal crushing splinters in my ears, sounding so fucking real.
I hit the brakes.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
>
It’s just in my mind.
Think of India.
What she’ll look like naked. How she’ll feel when I fuck her.
I press back on the accelerator, taking the car back to two hundred.
More. I need to take her higher.
I can do this.
I press down a little more.
Two twenty.
My heart is pounding, and I can’t calm it.
So, stop fighting it, and use the adrenaline to push yourself further.
Imagine fucking India. That this car is her body. How hard I’m going to ride her. How high I’m going to take her.
Two sixty.
Bend her every which way I can. Fuck her hard and fast against every surface in my house.
Three hundred.
My head between her legs, tasting her, making her scream my name.
Three twenty.
India on her knees at my feet with my cock between those bee-stung lips of hers.
Three forty.
Coming inside her. On her tits. On her face. Marking every part of her with my cum.
Three fifty.
I’m fucking doing it.
Parting my lips, I blow out a breath, sweat dripping past them, into my mouth.
“Three fifty! You’ve fucking done it!” Carrick’s elated voice comes in my ear. “So, does this mean you’re back, Silva?”
I pull in a deep breath, slowly blowing it out. “Yeah.” I grin. “I’m definitely back.”
I burn up five more laps before coming back in.
Carrick is waiting for me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Getting out of the car, I pull my helmet off and then my balaclava before running a hand over my sweat-soaked hair.
“You looked good out there,” he says.
“I fucking felt good.” Shutting the car door, I round to his side.
“You think next time you can get in an F1 car?”
Putting my helmet down, I strip my coveralls down to the waist, my T-shirt clinging to my skin. I’m hot from the adrenaline still pumping around my body. “Yes, I think so.” As I say it, I feel doubt, so I quickly quash it.
“Next week?” Carrick asks.
“No, tomorrow. I don’t want to fuck around. I want to get back in and get back training.” I can barely keep still. My body is pumped.
“About time. I haven’t had any decent competition for a while.”
“I’ll be kicking your ass out there next season.” I laugh as I toss the keys to his car back to him. “What are you doing now?” I ask him. “You want to grab a beer?”
I feel like I need to do something. Going home right now just doesn’t seem like an option.
What I really want to do is fuck, but I’m not screwing some random to relieve an itch.
The only one I want to scratch this itch with is India.
“I can’t. I need to go home and change. We’re having dinner with my dad. Why don’t you join us?”
“No, but thanks.” I wave him off, hiding my disappointment.
Owen Ryan is not my favorite person. Not that I’d ever tell Carrick this, but I think his dad is a total jackass.
“You got something better to do? Or someone?” He grins, raising his eyebrow.
Carrick knows about me kissing India. I don’t usually talk about my personal life, but I know I can trust Carrick.
“Nope.”
“You still haven’t heard from her?”
“No. I’m giving her time to come around.”
“You think she will?”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I know she will.”
“Well, keep me updated.” He starts to back away, heading for his Bugatti. “Let me know when you’ve finally nailed the good doctor.”
Laughing, I shake my head at him.
I pick up my helmet and head out to the parking lot to my rental car. I toss my helmet on the backseat and head home to take a shower. I park my rental Mercedes in the driveway and head inside. Picking the mail up from the mat, I head to the kitchen. I toss the mail on the counter, and then I notice that the top letter has India’s office stamp on it.
I tear the envelope open. My heart suddenly has an uneven rhythm.
My eyes scan the letter.
Dear Mr. Silva,
I feel that I can no longer treat you effectively. I have included a referral for another therapist.
I wish you all the best for the future.
Sincerely,
Dr. India Harris
My hand tightens around the paper, crumpling it.
She’s throwing me out of her life like I mean nothing.
Yeah, well, I refuse to go so fucking easily.
Grabbing my car keys, letter in hand, I slam my way out of my house.
THE DOORBELL RINGS just as I’m about to have a soak in the tub. On a sigh, I pull my robe on, tying it at the waist, and turn the running taps off.
Kit and Jett are away for the night. They’ve gone to watch Chelsea play Manchester United at Old Trafford, so they’re staying overnight at a hotel, meaning I have the rare night to myself.
My plan was to relax in the bath with a glass of wine and feel sorry for myself over the whole Leandro thing.
I spoke to a colleague, Dr. Sanders, who I think will be perfectly suited to treat Leandro. He has great expertise in PTSD, and he agreed to take Leandro on as a patient. So, I had Sadie send out a letter to Leandro, detailing the termination of his treatment.
Did sending him that letter hurt?
Yes, it hurt like hell. But I know it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.
Now, I just have to lick my wounds and move on.
I wonder if Leandro has received the letter yet. He should have.
A flash of thought goes through my mind. What if he’s at the door?
That picks up my pace. I jog down the stairs.
Reaching the door, I peer through the peephole.
It’s him.
A rush of fear and complete exhilaration run through me.
He rings the doorbell again.
Stepping back from the door, I make sure my robe is fastened properly. I take a deep breath, and then I turn the lock and open the door.
Holy God.
He’s wearing racing overalls, hanging low at his waist, and a fitted black T-shirt is covering his amazing chest.
I have the sudden urge to pull him in here and tear that shirt from his body.
Of course, I don’t, but my body reacts to him and the scenario playing on a loop in my mind. My nipples tighten, and my insides coil.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a step forward, his gaze dark, making me take a step back.
“I came to give you your fucking letter back.” He crushes the paper in his hand, tossing it at my bare feet. “I don’t accept it.”
I lift my chin, staring him in the eyes. “You don’t have a choice.”
“No? We’ll see about that.”
He moves so fast that I barely get the chance to register it. Not that I would have done anything. He’s in my house, the door shut, and I’m turned around and shoved up against the wall in seconds.
“Wha—” I don’t get to finish that sentence because he slams his mouth down on mine.
I resist for about zero point one second. Then, I’m all hands in his hair, kissing him back like my very existence depends on it.
“Where are Jett and your brother?” His question is asked quickly and gruffly, against my lips.
I’m barely coherent enough to answer, but somehow, I manage to say, “Football match. Away game. Staying out overnight.”
He makes a low growling sound in the back of his throat.
Then, he’s kissing me again, harder, more aggressive. His hold on me tightens, and he thrusts his tongue in my mouth. The kiss is fueled with lust and anger.
I’ve never been kissed this way before.
And I love it.
God, h
e tastes good. And he smells good, too. A mixture of sweat and cars.
He smells exactly like a man should.
There are no words between us. Just hungry kissing, heavy breathing, and hot need.
His hand moves under my robe and trails up the outside of my thigh. As his fingers skim inward, I part my legs, letting him know that I want him there. When he finds me bare, he groans. His finger slides through my wetness.
He rests his forehead against mine. When I open my eyes, I find his on me, black and intense.
Then, he pushes his finger inside me. I let out a moan so loud that I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m too far gone with him to care.
His other hand opens the belt of my robe. He pushes the silk aside, revealing my body to him. His eyes go to my bare breasts. He lets out a total sound of appreciation that I feel as much as the finger inside me. His hand comes up, cupping my breast. Squeezing, he pinches my hard nipple between his thumb and finger.
My eyes close on the pleasure as he fingers me. Inserting another, he gets rougher, the heel of his hand rhythmically pressing against my clit.
I need him inside me.
I go for his clothes. Gripping the overalls, I pull the zipper the rest of the way and push the material down his hips.
His impatience gets the better of him, and he takes over. He pulls his wallet from his pocket and takes out a condom. Holding it between his teeth, he toes off his driving shoes. Then, he shoves his overalls down, kicking them off. The running shorts he’s wearing go and then his T-shirt.
Finally, he’s naked before me. Every inch of him is perfect.
He’s like a god in the purest sense of the word.
He removes the condom from between his teeth and tears the foil open.
I’m pretty sure I whimper with need.
He grins and then bites down on it, staring up at me through those long black lashes, and it might just be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I’ve never been this wet or this ready for a man in my life.
His hands go down to put the condom on, and my eyes immediately go with them. I stare unabashedly as he rolls the condom onto his impressive cock. And the girth.
Holy shit. I’m wondering if he’ll even fit.
It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man.
But I’m desperate for him, trembling with need, so he has to fit, no matter what.
Condom on, he presses me back against the wall, and his mouth finds mine again.