style="font-size:15px;"> He had no right to slide his gaze over her body in a slow, seductive caress, trying to remember the sight.
The boots moulded to her calves shuffled uneasily. ‘Stop it!’
‘You don’t like it.’
Statement. Fact.
‘No. I don’t.’
Why? Because the extraordinary chemistry bothered her? Or because she was experiencing it with the man who’d stolen her happiness?
While the reminder punched him in the heart, it didn’t stop him from saying, ‘So why don’t you take the compliment for what it is, baby? The truth.’
Crossing her arms over her chest, she hiked her chin up. ‘But I don’t want practised compliments from your repertoire. They mean nothing to me. I merely want you to do your job.’
Knife to his gut. Fully deserved. For the first time in his life he rued his reputation.
The smooth skin of her brow nipped and he realised his emotions must be seeping through the cracks in his façade. He schooled his expression with ruthless speed as his guts twisted in anger. One false move with this woman and he’d be finished.
‘Look, Finn….’ She sighed softly. ‘I know you want to win this race and you’ve held the title for four years, but positioned at the back…? It’s too risky an endeavour for even you to try and take the lead. I don’t think anyone has ever done it before.’
If that wasn’t a red rag to a bull he didn’t know what was. He was also pretty sure being careful wasn’t the name of the game.
‘So just try and get a decent finish and come back here with the car in one piece, okay?’
For a second he thought he saw fear blanch her flawless complexion. Fear for him. And something warm and heavenly unfurled in his guts. Until he realised she merely wanted the car back in one piece. Idiot.
‘Yes, boss,’ he said, with a cheeky salute as he sealed up the front of his suit.
‘Good,’ she said, and the word belied the cynicism in her eyes. ‘Now, get your backside in that car and let’s see some St George magic.’
Walk away. Finn. Walk away and stop playing with her like this. You cannot have her!
‘You think I’m magic?’
‘I think you display a certain amount of talent on the track, yes.’
‘My talents—
‘If what is about to come about of your mouth has any reference to bedroom antics I will knock your block off.’
Finn cocked a mocking brow. ‘I wasn’t about to say anything of the sort. My, my—haven’t we got a dirty mind?’
‘Liar,’ she growled, long and low, like a little tigress, and he almost lost his footing as he backed out of the garage.
How did the woman do it? Make him feel alive for the first time in months. Make his smile feel mischievous and his body raw and sexual when no other woman could.
Narrowing her glare, she lifted one finger and shook it. ‘I don’t like that smile, Finn. I really don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever stunt you’re about to pull…’
The scorching rays hit his nape, the crowds chanted his name and he unloaded his charismatic arsenal and licked his lips. ‘Trust me, baby.’ Slanting her a wink that made her blink, he veered towards the Scott Lansing race car. ‘Trust me.’
Finn was sure she muttered something like, Not in this millennia, and he smiled ruefully. If she had any sense she’d remember that.
Inhaling long and deep, he infused his mind with the addictive scents of hot rubber and potent fumes that stroked the air—as addictive and scintillating as the warm, delicious redhead he’d left back at the garage.
Within ten minutes he was packed tight behind the wheel, the circuit a dribble of glistening molasses ahead of him, pushing his foot to the floor until the groans and grunts of the powerful machine electrified his flesh. Oh, yeah, he was a predator, with a thirst for the high-octane side of life, the thrill of the chase. One goal—to win.
Pole position. Middle or back. Dangerous or not. Didn’t matter to him.
This race was his.
Trust him. Trust him?
‘What the blazes is he doing?’ It was, quite literally, like waiting for the inevitable car crash.
One of the engineers whistled through his teeth. ‘Look at that guy go. Phenomenal, isn’t he?’
‘Crazy, more like,’ she muttered. Zero self-preservation. Zero!
More than once she heard the pit-lane channel go silent and probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it—if she hadn’t noticed him do that thing last night and this morning. Almost phasing out as some kind of darkness haunted his gaze. It was disturbing since he was renowned for his awesome ability to concentrate with such focus that nothing else existed but his car hugging the tarmac.
A battalion of bugs crawled up her spine and she glanced back at the shaded screen hanging in the garage.
‘Grand Hotel Hairpin. Just ahead of him. Holy Toledo! It’s a pile-up.’
Her heart careening into cardiac arrest, she held her breath, waiting for the iconic red Scott Lansing car to clear the haze of dust and debris. Come on, come on. Stuff the car. Don’t you dare kill yourself. I will never forgive you.
Serena wondered at that. Decided it was because she hadn’t managed to coax the truth about Tom’s death out of him yet. Tom, who should be here. Racing in this race. Doing what he’d loved best.
A fist of sorrow gripped her heart. Too young. He’d been just too young to die. And despite everything Finn was too young to be chasing death too.
She had to swallow in order to speak. ‘Where is Jake?’ With a bit of luck he had more sense.
‘Still holding fifth.’
A cackle of relieved laughter hit her eardrum as Finn’s car flew past the devastation to take third place.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, breathless and more than a bit dizzy.
‘I do.’ Her dad stood alongside her now, his attention fixed on the same screen. ‘Whatever you said to him has obviously worked, Serena. What did you say?’
‘That I was his new boss.’
Michael Scott’s head whipped round with comical speed. ‘What?’
‘Worked, hasn’t it?’ she said, knowing full well that her impulsive mouth had nothing to do
