Racer
Page 35
“Hey,” I greet, a familiar warmth sweeping over me as his eyes flick down to me. “I’ll get your coffee, you go sit with my dad.”
He glances at my dad, then at me, and it feels as if there’s something so hot inside of him that his eyes look like pools of tender heat. “Lana. I want to talk to your dad, formally date you.”
My eyes go wide.
His eyes sparkle with devilish playfulness as I open my mouth, but I can’t say a thing.
A wave of giddiness washes over me, but I wave it off as I wave off his comment.
“He’ll likely say no anyway, so don’t make any dinner reservations.”
I say this mostly teasingly but Racer teases me right back, leaning forward enough that I quickly sense the girls in the restaurant shooting jealous glances my way.
“Get a sexy outfit ready, I mean to take you out—repeatedly.” He allows me a glimpse of his dimple before he heads off to order his coffee, and I head back to my dad, feeling frustrated that he won’t let me take care of him like all the men in my life do.
“G’morning, Mr. Heyworth,” Racer greets minutes later in his low, deep voice as he joins us at the table. I shove a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth to try to hide the way I’m blushing.
“Well, no rain in the forecast …” my dad begins, because the weather is always such a huge part of a racing weekend. “You glad for that?”
“Wet or dry, I can handle my ride,” Racer answers.
Gosh, I must have sex on the brain because I choke a little and both men glance at me in concern—but then Racer’s gaze seems to shift as he realizes what I must be thinking. And that damn dimpled smile appears as, beneath the table, he reaches out and gives my thigh one tight little squeeze.
I can barely keep my heart from stumbling on every damn beat as they keep talking race cars, and I keep waiting for that look, that stolen touch, that dimple, those eyes, this man.
Racer
“So you, Racer Tate, my number one, want to date my daughter?”
I watch Lana’s father across the desk in his hotel room as he deliberates on what I just asked him. “Yes, sir.”
“Seems to me you were already dating her?”
“I want to do it with your permission.”
I drum my fingers on my thighs. This is fucking important. There’s sweat on my damn neck and I don’t think I ever expected to be right where I am—sitting here, asking for a father to let me date his daughter. He’s my boss, a man I work with and fucking respect. Lana is also crazy about him. So I sit in this damn chair, because when I asked for a word with him this morning, and Lana’s father told me to sit down if I wanted to chat, I parked my ass down and it’s damned well staying here until I get what I want.
“You have my permission,” her father agrees, watching me closely. “On the condition you vow that you won’t lose focus, Tate. What you’ve been doing this year …” He trails off, shaking his head in bewilderment as he motions to me with both hands. “I have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined HW Racing would come this far. I owe that to you—that drive of yours, something I’ve never seen in my lifetime. Even with past champions.”
“Thank you, sir. I owe the opportunity to you and Lana.” I nod, still drumming my fingers.
Heyworth glances at my hands. I stand up and brace my feet apart and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. I hold eye contact, my voice determined. “I care about your daughter as much as I do about the championship, and I won’t fail you in either case.”
“Good.” He stands too and comes around the desk to look at me.
“My daughter …” His expression softens, and his voice changes. “If I ever thought that you’d hurt her, Tate, I would see to it that you never set eyes on her again. Even if I had to sacrifice my team in the process,” he warns.
“I understand, sir.”
“I’ve never seen her this happy. Never. Even before you came along,” he adds, slapping me on the back.
My chest swells like he just blew all the air in the planet into my lungs.
Fuck me.
I make her happy.
“Thank you, sir.” I nod and Heyworth grabs his room key and his sponsors cap. “Okay then. Now back to business. We have a race to catch. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
We cross the hotel lobby. Lana waits for us by the car, speaking on the phone—maybe future hotel reservations, or plane tickets, or lunch.
My damn brain gets away from me.
She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot. In the skimpiest little shorts I’ve ever seen on a girl. I can see her breasts under her T-shirt; her ass perfectly hugged by those shorts; her lovely toned legs exposed; her hair up in a ponytail. She speaks on the phone and her lips are moving, but her eyes—yeah, those beauties are on me.
I keep walking. My damn heart kicks faster and harder into my ribs. My hands clench as my mind keeps running away from me.
And it really gets away from me.
I see her in my place at St. Pete. I see her with my kids, our kids. I see her in bed every morning. I see her sleeping in my arms, every damn night. I see her driving my car, laughing because I can’t stop giving her instructions on how to shift gears right. I see her and cannot stop seeing her. I see her smiling, laughing, her lips shaping my name as I feed her everything in me and of me and about fucking me.
I exhale and shove my hands into my jeans as we reach her. Hell I’m trying to get a grip of my damn dick which responded to all that, which knows shit about manners considering her dad is next to me.
“Good morning, boys!” she greets us.
“Morning,” her dad says with a smile, kissing her cheek.
She glances up at me next. Her smile even more fucking extraordinary than the last. Every muscle in my body engages. Every fiber of my body and synapse in my brain fires the hell up with her near.
I nod at her in a good morning and head up to open her car door, taking the keys her father extends out to me as he takes the passenger seat.
She slides in and brushes my hand with hers as she does, and my hands itch to touch her so much that I shut the door and clench them in fists as I come around to take the wheel and take us to the track.
Once we arrive the guys are working on the cars, and I watch Lana disappear into the motorhome, giving me a look. I follow after her.
Lana
“What did my dad say,” I ask the man who’s taken over my every thought as I hear him come in behind me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, pressing in behind me, his hands all over me all of a sudden.
The vibrations coming from his low, manly groans are transferred over to me through his hot mouth. They make me tingle all over. His fingers start to play with the low hem of my shorts and I feel his erection through his racing suit. I almost laugh against his mouth because those suits are made of thick stuff. But apparently he’s made of thicker stuff …
I tilt my head back and feel my eyes roll towards the back of my skull as he lazily starts to suck the side of my neck.
“You better not give me a hickey,” I breathe. As if he would ever listen.
“Hmm, really? That makes me more determined to give you one,” he murmurs mischievously.
He’s been so cocky. So territorial. So … hot for me.
I feel his hand up my shorts, and his fingers start to rub my lips against my panties. My breath catches in my throat. I feel my panties getting soaked and his satisfied male groan tells me he likes my body’s reaction to his touch. He reaches up to tear my tee over my head and my shorts off my body so that I’m standing naked in front of him except for my thong. Which he immediately takes care of, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the side as he pushes my legs apart.
“Racer,” I breathe, burying my face in his neck, feeling exposed.
He kisses the top of my head and leans back a bit, boosting me up on his arms and carrying me to the small office in the back of the motorhome.
“Shh baby, let me see,” he croons as he sets me down on the desk and shuts the door behind us.
I’m so wet I think I’m going to leave a wet mark on the desk. I tell Racer this and he curses, “Fuck that’s hot, baby.”
He glances at my dad, then at me, and it feels as if there’s something so hot inside of him that his eyes look like pools of tender heat. “Lana. I want to talk to your dad, formally date you.”
My eyes go wide.
His eyes sparkle with devilish playfulness as I open my mouth, but I can’t say a thing.
A wave of giddiness washes over me, but I wave it off as I wave off his comment.
“He’ll likely say no anyway, so don’t make any dinner reservations.”
I say this mostly teasingly but Racer teases me right back, leaning forward enough that I quickly sense the girls in the restaurant shooting jealous glances my way.
“Get a sexy outfit ready, I mean to take you out—repeatedly.” He allows me a glimpse of his dimple before he heads off to order his coffee, and I head back to my dad, feeling frustrated that he won’t let me take care of him like all the men in my life do.
“G’morning, Mr. Heyworth,” Racer greets minutes later in his low, deep voice as he joins us at the table. I shove a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth to try to hide the way I’m blushing.
“Well, no rain in the forecast …” my dad begins, because the weather is always such a huge part of a racing weekend. “You glad for that?”
“Wet or dry, I can handle my ride,” Racer answers.
Gosh, I must have sex on the brain because I choke a little and both men glance at me in concern—but then Racer’s gaze seems to shift as he realizes what I must be thinking. And that damn dimpled smile appears as, beneath the table, he reaches out and gives my thigh one tight little squeeze.
I can barely keep my heart from stumbling on every damn beat as they keep talking race cars, and I keep waiting for that look, that stolen touch, that dimple, those eyes, this man.
Racer
“So you, Racer Tate, my number one, want to date my daughter?”
I watch Lana’s father across the desk in his hotel room as he deliberates on what I just asked him. “Yes, sir.”
“Seems to me you were already dating her?”
“I want to do it with your permission.”
I drum my fingers on my thighs. This is fucking important. There’s sweat on my damn neck and I don’t think I ever expected to be right where I am—sitting here, asking for a father to let me date his daughter. He’s my boss, a man I work with and fucking respect. Lana is also crazy about him. So I sit in this damn chair, because when I asked for a word with him this morning, and Lana’s father told me to sit down if I wanted to chat, I parked my ass down and it’s damned well staying here until I get what I want.
“You have my permission,” her father agrees, watching me closely. “On the condition you vow that you won’t lose focus, Tate. What you’ve been doing this year …” He trails off, shaking his head in bewilderment as he motions to me with both hands. “I have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined HW Racing would come this far. I owe that to you—that drive of yours, something I’ve never seen in my lifetime. Even with past champions.”
“Thank you, sir. I owe the opportunity to you and Lana.” I nod, still drumming my fingers.
Heyworth glances at my hands. I stand up and brace my feet apart and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. I hold eye contact, my voice determined. “I care about your daughter as much as I do about the championship, and I won’t fail you in either case.”
“Good.” He stands too and comes around the desk to look at me.
“My daughter …” His expression softens, and his voice changes. “If I ever thought that you’d hurt her, Tate, I would see to it that you never set eyes on her again. Even if I had to sacrifice my team in the process,” he warns.
“I understand, sir.”
“I’ve never seen her this happy. Never. Even before you came along,” he adds, slapping me on the back.
My chest swells like he just blew all the air in the planet into my lungs.
Fuck me.
I make her happy.
“Thank you, sir.” I nod and Heyworth grabs his room key and his sponsors cap. “Okay then. Now back to business. We have a race to catch. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
We cross the hotel lobby. Lana waits for us by the car, speaking on the phone—maybe future hotel reservations, or plane tickets, or lunch.
My damn brain gets away from me.
She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot. In the skimpiest little shorts I’ve ever seen on a girl. I can see her breasts under her T-shirt; her ass perfectly hugged by those shorts; her lovely toned legs exposed; her hair up in a ponytail. She speaks on the phone and her lips are moving, but her eyes—yeah, those beauties are on me.
I keep walking. My damn heart kicks faster and harder into my ribs. My hands clench as my mind keeps running away from me.
And it really gets away from me.
I see her in my place at St. Pete. I see her with my kids, our kids. I see her in bed every morning. I see her sleeping in my arms, every damn night. I see her driving my car, laughing because I can’t stop giving her instructions on how to shift gears right. I see her and cannot stop seeing her. I see her smiling, laughing, her lips shaping my name as I feed her everything in me and of me and about fucking me.
I exhale and shove my hands into my jeans as we reach her. Hell I’m trying to get a grip of my damn dick which responded to all that, which knows shit about manners considering her dad is next to me.
“Good morning, boys!” she greets us.
“Morning,” her dad says with a smile, kissing her cheek.
She glances up at me next. Her smile even more fucking extraordinary than the last. Every muscle in my body engages. Every fiber of my body and synapse in my brain fires the hell up with her near.
I nod at her in a good morning and head up to open her car door, taking the keys her father extends out to me as he takes the passenger seat.
She slides in and brushes my hand with hers as she does, and my hands itch to touch her so much that I shut the door and clench them in fists as I come around to take the wheel and take us to the track.
Once we arrive the guys are working on the cars, and I watch Lana disappear into the motorhome, giving me a look. I follow after her.
Lana
“What did my dad say,” I ask the man who’s taken over my every thought as I hear him come in behind me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, pressing in behind me, his hands all over me all of a sudden.
The vibrations coming from his low, manly groans are transferred over to me through his hot mouth. They make me tingle all over. His fingers start to play with the low hem of my shorts and I feel his erection through his racing suit. I almost laugh against his mouth because those suits are made of thick stuff. But apparently he’s made of thicker stuff …
I tilt my head back and feel my eyes roll towards the back of my skull as he lazily starts to suck the side of my neck.
“You better not give me a hickey,” I breathe. As if he would ever listen.
“Hmm, really? That makes me more determined to give you one,” he murmurs mischievously.
He’s been so cocky. So territorial. So … hot for me.
I feel his hand up my shorts, and his fingers start to rub my lips against my panties. My breath catches in my throat. I feel my panties getting soaked and his satisfied male groan tells me he likes my body’s reaction to his touch. He reaches up to tear my tee over my head and my shorts off my body so that I’m standing naked in front of him except for my thong. Which he immediately takes care of, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the side as he pushes my legs apart.
“Racer,” I breathe, burying my face in his neck, feeling exposed.
He kisses the top of my head and leans back a bit, boosting me up on his arms and carrying me to the small office in the back of the motorhome.
“Shh baby, let me see,” he croons as he sets me down on the desk and shuts the door behind us.
I’m so wet I think I’m going to leave a wet mark on the desk. I tell Racer this and he curses, “Fuck that’s hot, baby.”
