CHAPTER 57
So he forced himself to give her more in return.
“And it reminds me of where I never want to go again.” He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t jumped from his bed and demanded that he take her home. That she didn’t hate him.
“Is that why you never let me take your clothes off? Why you wore a T-
shirt when you were swimming with Zeus?”
“Almost no one has seen my tattoo. I’m careful to make sure they don’t.” She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, right where it felt as if his heart was beating only for her.
“So that makes me special, doesn’t it?” Hauling her tight against him, he wanted her to feel the power she had over him. To know that she’d made his life good in a way it never had been before. In a way he’d never thought it could be.
“So special you make me ache when I look at you.” Her gaze roamed his face. She followed the look with her fingers.
“You changed your life, changed who you are. If you ask me, you should let everyone see it.”
It stunned him that, like Sally, she saw his mark as a symbol of triumph rather than as the evidence of his worthlessness. She wanted him to recognize it, too. Just as Sally had said, Nathalie was good for him. In that moment, as he held her tight in his arms and she held him right back, Darius vowed to do everything in his power to prove he could be good for her as well. He wouldn’t let her down. No matter what.
“I still can’t believe you rented the entire Baler Seca Raceway,” Nathalie said a week later.
“How is that even possible?” The man could do anything. He wasn’t just amazing—he was completely overwhelming. Darius hadn’t sprung this trip to the racetrack on her, but checked with her first whether it was okay before mentioning it to her brother.
“I swear,” he’d said,
“we’ll keep it to one hundred twenty, tops. Slower in the turns.”
One hundred twenty. He’d said it as if she should be reassured by that number. She wasn’t, of course, since one-twenty was way too fast. But he had promised to keep her brother safe, no matter what. And despite the blitz of fear at the thought of her brother going that fast in a car, she realized she trusted Darius.
Trusted him with Zion in a way she’d never trusted anyone else. Darius mechanic, Luis, had trailered the Cobra down to the Monterey Peninsula. Its paint job gleamed in the summer sun as it sat on the track. They’d both taken Friday off work for this, but the raceway wasn’t empty. There were people working, mechanics along pit row, golf carts whizzing by. Zion and Darius had helped Luis roll the Cobra out of the trailer.
Nathalie had been expecting a gruff old guy with grease under his nails, but Luis was younger than Darius, and reminded her of Ethan in some of his early racing movies. In the pits, Darius had introduced them around, never letting go of her hand, the same way he’d kept her close when he’d introduced her during intermission that night at the theater.
She’d been half expecting pictures of her and Darius in the society blogs after that night, but there’d been nothing. Most likely because she hadn’t even been worth the question, Who’s the mystery woman with Darius Spencer? Darius, with his constant attention, erased any slight from the thought. Who cared about the society pages when he gazed at her with such heat, desire, and sweet emotion in his eyes? Luis, Darius, and Zion were leaning over the open hood of the car out on the track, a small crowd of onlookers two steps behind observing the pre check procedure as if they were preparing for a flight around the world.
“What do you think, Zion?” Darius pointed at something Nathalie had no clue about.
“Should we change the timing?”
“That sounds good, Darius,” her brother agreed, his concentration intense. It was serious stuff when Darius asked his opinion—and it always made Nathalie smile. And fall just a little bit more for her deliciously sweet billionaire.
“Yep,” Luis added.
“Changing the timing will give you a little more torque and squeeze out a little more speed.”
Nathalie had no idea what any of that meant. She wasn’t entirely sure that Zion did either, but he nodded gravely. She felt another flutter of emotion in her stomach. Darius was so good to Zion, making him feel a part of things, as if he were a man instead of a kid. Luis was pointing into the engine.
“But you’ll have to watch out on the turns or you might lose the back end.”
A bald man gave Darius a wrench as though he were a nurse handing the surgeon a scalpel. Every visible inch of skin except his face was armored with tattoos. His name was Kent or Connor or something with a hard sound to it. There’d been too many names for her to catch. Everyone watched in silence, as if they were all holding their breath, Nathalie included. She didn’t want the extra torque if it spelled danger. Before she’d worried only about Zion.
Now her heart also went into a frenzy worrying about Darius and his need for speed. He laid his hand on Zion’s shoulder.
“Lesson one with fast cars: Sometimes you’ve got to decide between putting a few more digits on your speedometer or making sure you don’t crash. Safety first, right?”
“Right, Darius.” Darius was his hero, and Zion agreed with everything.
“We’re not going to do it,” Darius said as he handed the wrench back to Kent/Connor, who tossed it into the tool chest.
And Nathalie’s tension eased. Darius loved speed, but he wasn’t crazy. He wouldn’t take unnecessary risks, not with Zion. And now, she realized, not even with himself. She didn’t know if it was a change she’d brought about; she only knew it was a worry she didn’t need to carry any more. Darius wouldn’t let anything happen.
“Okay, let’s do it.” Darius slammed down the Cobra’s hood.
“Thanks, Dude.” Okay, maybe the guy’s name was Dude.
“We’re ready.” He clapped Zion on the back.
“Are we gonna get on the track now, Darius?” Her brother was vibrating with energy.
“We are. And we’re going real fast today, too.”
But even as he said it, Darius looked at her with silent communication, making sure she was still okay with it. He was so careful with her and with Zion and it made everything inside her melt as she gave him the barest of nods. And a smile.
The one he sent in return flipped her inside out with pure sweetness. Their small audience lined the fence as Darius handed a helmet to Zion.
“There are rules for safety here, so you have to put this on.”
“Cool.” Zion beamed as Darius helped him with the chin strap.
“It’s like Grand Prix.” Another of Zion’s favorite old movies. Her brother waved at her from the passenger seat, his smile filling the entire open face of the helmet.
Darius started the engine, and the spectators gave a cheer as the vibration of the motor rumbled in her chest. Nathalie couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like on race day with a horde of high-powered cars on the start line. And then they were gone, leaving only a rush of wind behind them and the phantom roar of a crowd.
The scream of the car carried across the infield of the racetrack. She counted seconds that seemed to go on forever, then a minute, two minutes. The air moved first, as if it were dragging the car, then they blew past in a blur, Zion shrieking with delight. Her heart was in her throat, but it didn’t top out there, rising up until she thought her head might explode. Or maybe that was the rumble of the motor pounding against her skull. They flashed by her four more times, raising her hair each time, until it fluttered back down in their wake. Darius finally brought the Cobra to a stop right in front of her.
“Wowowowow.” Zion was pulsing with so much energy he couldn’t even get the harness undone.
Darius helped, then reminded him,
“Don’t forget the pipes are hot when you get out.” Zion climbed out with exaggerated movements.
When he was free, he ran so fast he almost barreled right into her. Somehow Darius was right there, too, a hand on their arms to steady both of them.
“Your turn, Nathalie, your turn.” Zion was high on the thrill of the ride, his eyes shining brightly under the rim of the helmet.
Darius didn’t say anything, simply looked at her with those intense eyes that did amazing things to her body—a blush of heat, butterflies in her stomach. I love you. Even now, she could hear him saying the words in that beautiful, harsh, wild voice. In those early weeks with him, Nathalie had tried to use common sense, tried to keep things under control.
But since that night in his penthouse a week ago, she couldn’t even remember the definition of common sense. With every touch, her resistance melted. Her head told her to go slow, but when she was with Darius, she wanted to hit the gas, rushing headlong wherever he wanted her to go. And all she wanted, every moment of every day, was this wonderful, sweet, and incredibly sexy man. One who’d trumped an unimaginable past.
Which was why she couldn’t say no, not to anything. Especially when she’d just let Zion ride beside Darius. She shouldn’t allow her brother to do something she wasn’t willing to do herself. As if he could read her mind, and knew that the answer was yes, Darius said,
“Zion’s helmet should fit you.” He tugged at the chin strap and helped Zion pull it off.
“Look at you.” She fluffed the flatness out of Zion’s helmet hair. He wriggled away just like a kid whose mom rubbed dirt away with a lick of her fingers. Darius smiled as he watched the exchange.
“Okay, Zion, back behind the fence so you can watch.” Darius pointed to the other side of the chain link.
Then he pushed the helmet down over her head. She was glad for the open-face style, so she could see his eyes, memorize the lines of his mouth, catch his scent. He jiggled the helmet slightly, but the foam inside fit snugly against her ears.
“It’s good.”
He tilted her head back and dealt with the chin strap, sneaking in a kiss before saying,
“Hop in.” The car was low, the seats deep.
“At least I’m wearing pants this time.” He glanced down at her legs.
“I like you in tight jeans. But the skirt was fun last time, too.” He gave her one of his wolfish smiles.
“For me, at least.” Leaning over her, he drew the shoulder harness down on both sides. Where the touches had been light and fast that first day they’d met at the airport—a hint rather than a promise—now he caressed, lingered, made sure every single piece of nylon was in exactly the right place.
She forgot about the spectators. She forgot about Zion. Forgot about everything but the gorgeous man beside her as he reached down between her legs with slow, seductive movements. He hooked the strap into the harness, his fingers brushing her inner thigh. Heat, his hands, her body. Quicker breaths, as if she were anticipating the speed, anticipating his strong hands on the wheel. And on her.
“Ready?” The question was loaded with alternate meanings, especially when accompanied by the look he gave her, the way his gaze dipped down to her mouth, held there, then slid back up to meet her eyes. She was ready. So ready. She gave him a standard thumbs-up. The engine roared through her chest when he pumped the gas, then settled into a steady rumble inside her. He started slow, increasing speed gradually.
It wasn’t an oval track with only four turns, but a road course with twists and curves. He’d shown her and Zion an aerial map. They went into the first hairpin turn at fifty miles per hour. His speed climbed as they went up the hill by the lake where they’d entered the track. Then they were going faster, faster, faster. Though he braked and downshifted into the turns, he throttled up coming out of them.
Despite the harness, her head was jostled and she had to hold onto the door so she wouldn’t be thrown around in the seat. It was like a roller coaster, up, down, around. Adrenaline fueled her blood like gas fueled the car. The corkscrew turn barely slowed him down. Her eyes teared in the wind.
Even with the helmet, the noise was deafening, the air whistling past them, the thunder of the engine as he powered up, its whine as he decelerated. They blew through a short straightaway, then he braked into the next turn. She glanced at the speedometer as he came out of it. Sixty. Then he jammed his foot onto the accelerator on the long straightaway past pit row. She didn’t see Zion.
She couldn’t make out faces or even bodies, there was just a blur. By the time the speedometer hit one-twenty, she was pressed fully into the seat, one hand on the door, the other wrapped around the harness so her neck wouldn’t snap. And they were flying. Flying so free that she closed her eyes, and there was only the sense of speed, the rush of wind, and the shriek of the motor. She was high. She was wild.
She needed Darius to touch her, but he couldn’t take his hand off the stick shift. And yet he was so close she could feel his heat beside her as if it were burning right off the engine. Speed was the drug. Darius was her pusher. She’d wanted to control the habit, but she was starving for more as she shouted,
“Do it again.”
And he did, taking her around the track over and over, until she was nothing more than hot skin, hard bone, and exhilarating, utterly breathless sensation.
* * *
Later, Darius had taken Zion around again while Nathalie watched. She’d stood on the sidelines, vibrating like voltage through an electrical wire. Darius had felt the same, his body charged, his skin sizzling to the touch, his heart hammering in staccato beats. As for Zion, he’d chattered like an excited squirrel.
Speed affected them all. And when her brother said he wanted to drive back in Luis truck to Darius house, where Mrs. Oswald was waiting for him, so that they could talk cars the whole way, Nathalie agreed readily. Now, Darius and Nathalie were headed up Highway 1 alone, the others out of sight.
“Were you scared on the track?”
“Terrified.” But even now, he could hear—could see—the thrill flowing through her. He’d been euphoric.
He never raced other cars on the track. He was always racing himself. But with Nathalie in the car, he hadn’t felt like he needed to outrun his past anymore. She’d heard it all. And she was still here beside him. For the first time ever, speed had been just for fun, rather than the need of a junkie desperately taking his hit just to make it through to the next day.
He touched her hand in the close confines of the car and he heard her breath hitch at his touch. Even her skin seemed to be humming with electricity as she suddenly said,
“Take this exit.” With nothing more than three small words, she flipped his switch, turned him on, powered up his engine.
Which was exactly what he knew he’d done to her every time he’d pushed his foot to the floor and blown past her speed limits. He finally saw the same thing she had—a motel, one of the better chains, but nothing like his usual luxury.
“There,” she said, pointing. And it required only that one husky word to throw him nearly to the edge. He took the exit.
“I could have paid for the room.”
“No.” Nathalie had gotten a great deal of pleasure out of charging the bill on her credit card. It was fun, as if she were having an illicit affair with a slick race car driver.
All she’d thought about in the car was getting her hands on him. And his hands on her. The moment the door closed behind them, she fisted his shirt and pulled his head down to hers. Her blood was on the boil as she kissed him—deep, wet kisses that made them both desperate.
“Did you bring a condom?” She couldn’t believe herself—Miss Sawyer making demands. Taking charge.
Better than that, feeling totally comfortable doing both those things. He patted his back pocket.
“Always prepared, just like a Boy Scout.”
“You—” She tapped his chest.
“—were never a Boy Scout.” Grabbing his shirt again, she turned and dragged him to the bed.
“You’re a black warrior.” A fire flared in his eyes, one that she knew had to match the fire in hers.
“My black warrior.” With the flat of her hand on his chest, she pushed him down onto the mattress.
“And I want you bad.” The curtains were closed, the room dim, and his eyes were as dark as blue midnight. And hot.
“Not as bad as I need you, sweetheart.” Nathalie slid out of her sandals and climbed onto his lap.
With her thighs along his, she slid down hard against him. His hands on her butt, he hauled her even closer, until every ridge and bulge enticed her through their jeans. God, she loved the feel of him. The hard muscles, slick skin, delicious mouth.
“I want to ride you the way I rode the Cobra today,” she said, her lips almost touching his.
“Only I want your hands, your arms, to be the straps keeping me safe.”
“Jesus.” His breath caught in his throat as though even the idea of her being on top was too much for him.
She bit his lip. A love bite. Then leaned down and practically jerked the T-shirt off him. If she could have had him in the car at high speed on the freeway, she’d have done it. This was the next best thing. They tore at the front of his jeans, Darius undoing the button, Nathalie sliding the zipper.
She stepped back onto the carpet to let him get rid of everything and swiped her T-shirt over her head. She’d never gotten naked so fast, and she didn’t even let him climb fully up the bed before she was on him again. Her hair fell forward, cocooning them.
“You made me crazy in the Cobra on purpose, didn’t you?” He grinned a Who me? smile. But then his expression grew serious. And loving.
“I want to give you everything,” he said in a voice made raw with desire and emotion.
“Everything you want. Everything you need.” The next thing she knew, he’d sheathed himself. In one desperate move, she took him fast.
Hard. And oh so right. The rush shot to her brain as he gripped her hips, arched, and went so deep there wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t filled with him. His skin was hot, his body hard. She was soft and liquid. They were a perfect match.
“Nathalie.” He looked up at her and let her see all the way into his soul.
“What you do to me—” She reveled in the sweet sound of his surrender. Bending to the tattoo on his arm, she licked it, her tongue rasping like a cat’s on his flesh.
“Mine,” she whispered.
“Black Warrior.” She lay flush against him and claimed his lips with another kiss. They were one, mouths locked, bodies fused.
She took his tongue into her mouth the way she’d taken his hard flesh into her body, then angled her head for his kiss and circled her hips on him as Darius groaned his pleasure again, a rumble against her breasts. She let him guide his hands on her—until she had to have more friction or she’d die without it.
She pulled back from his luscious mouth, his sweet taste, and planted her hands on his chest both to steady herself and because she couldn’t stop touching him. His skin was hot, his muscles hard. He forced her to a beautifully punishing pace, knocking the breath from her with each slap of their bodies. She clenched around him.
“Oh God, Darius, please. Please.” He was so beautiful beneath her, his face taut, his hot eyes owning her.
All her emotion welled up her throat, her cries spilling over. But she didn’t care about the unladylike sounds she made. She didn’t care that sweat turned her skin slippery. She didn’t care about anything but the feel of him inside her...and the sound of his voice as he said,
“I love you.”
Again and again and again.
* * *
Having smoking hot sex in a motel wasn’t why he’d taken Nathalie for a ride in the Cobra. He’d simply wanted to share the speed with her because he knew how much she loved it. But she was one surprise package on top of another, always revealing a new and different layer. None was more surprising than the fact that she wanted the road warrior in him.
For so long, he’d hidden that part of himself. He’d buried it with emotionless sex in the dark, always using his past to remain separate. But Nathalie had bared him. And accepted him. She’d taken him into that motel room—no luxuries, no gifts, no lies—and given over her whole self. He’d felt the gut-deep connection just the way he felt her thumb along the back of his hand right now as they headed home in his car. He had one hand on the wheel, and one hand on her, as she said,
“I want you to know I’m not like this with anyone else. Not ever.” He knew there was no way she’d ever done those things with someone else.
She didn’t have to tell him. She was in deep, just like he was...even if she still wasn’t ready to say those three little words back to him.
“I love everything about you, Nathalie,” he said first. And while she was still blushing, added,
“I have to go to London for a couple of days. I’d like you to come with me.”
“I can’t take another day off so soon,” she was quick to say. As quick as he’d honestly expected her to.
Other women would have leapt at the chance to fly to Europe with him. But Nathalie wasn’t like those women. She was independent. And still far too wary.
“Would the following week work better?” The plant tour he’d arranged could be postponed. She found another excuse.
“At this late date, a plane ticket would cost a fortune.” He had a fortune. And more.
“I have a private jet.” Her expression shifted and he couldn’t quite read her thoughts as she said,
“You’re forgetting about Zion. I can’t just leave him like that.”
“I haven’t forgotten about him. You know I wouldn’t do that. He can stay with Mrs. Oswald and my driver can take him to school, to work, and back home again.”
“But...” She halted, and he knew her brain must be spinning as she looked at the situation from all angles, the way she always did. The way she’d always had to, ever since her parents had passed away and she’d become all Zion had.
“I’ve never left him for that long.”
“You’ve never even gone away for the weekend?” The shake of her head marked his peripheral vision, and he felt a tightening in his gut at the confirmation that Nathalie had never had a life of her own.
“He’ll be fine with Mrs. Oswald. He likes her.”
“I know he does, but that’s not the point.” He knew he was moving fast, that he was pushing hard. But he wanted this—and he knew she did, too.
“He’ll be fine. I promise. He can do this, Nathalie. It’ll make him feel like an adult.” Zion was the biggest part of her life, he understood that.
But Zion wasn’t a seven-year-old child. Yes, he had limitations, but he would be fine for two days without Nathalie. It would be a vacation for them both.
“Zion and I are a package deal.” Her voice was tight now, no longer loose, the way it had been at the motel.
“You can’t have one without the other.”
“You know I want the package deal, Nathalie. But a little freedom won’t hurt him. And it won’t hurt you, either. You don’t always have to be your brother’s keeper. And I hope one day you know that you can always ask for help from me, too. Always.”
* * *
