Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I rub the back of my neck and step away, taking space I don’t actually want.
“You heard Vivienne,” I say gruffly. “I’ve got a type, remember? Not a lot of clothes, not a lot of brain cells, and definitely not the kind of girl who expects me to be in bed beside her when the sun comes up. I’m not built for this.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I snap. “Whatever this is—it’s not a good idea. It will fail.”
But she smiles, slow and bright, like she sees through my bullshit. “You just complimented me,” she says.
I blink. “What?”
“You said your type isn’t smart.” She folds her arms. “Which means you think I am since you’re pushing me away. And I agree, I’m very smart.” She beams at me, oozing confidence, stunning in a way that has nothing to do with what she’s not wearing.
I shake my head, trying to grasp some sliver of control again. “You’re too complicated for me.”
“Probably,” she says cheerfully. “But you keep circling back, so maybe that’s the point.”
God, she drives me insane. I want to kiss her again so bad I ache. To ensure I don’t, I shove my hands in my pockets and take a breath. “Come on. Let me take you back to your car.”
She tilts her head. “No dinner?”
“No.” My tone is flat. Final. “I’m tired.”
Lie.
She watches me for a second, then nods. “All right. How about you just take me home, then? My flat’s closer than the track. I’ll have someone pick up my car in the morning.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Yes. Fine.”
She doesn’t press. Doesn’t push. And there’s a part of me that doesn’t like that. As I grab my keys and we step back into the cool night air, I get the uneasy feeling that I didn’t win anything just now.
CHAPTER 11
Francesca
We pull up in front of my flat and I exhale quietly, the familiar sight grounding me a little. It’s only been mine for a few weeks, but it’s my home now. I’m grateful the Titans’ organization had someone help me with relocating because things moved so quickly after they made their offer.
The duality of Woking is apparent with its glass towers at its center, but just a few streets over, the town shifts into rows of Victorian-era buildings tucked between corner shops and narrow lanes. My flat is part of one of those, a converted townhouse wedged off the High Street. Redbrick with white-trimmed windows and a private side gate that leads to a shared terrace garden. Three separate flats make up the structure, each with its own door, and mine is the one at the far end—dark blue with a brass number plate and a crooked hanging lantern that wouldn’t be quite so charming if it were straight.
Because I’m out of sorts after that blistering kiss, I’m comforted by the soft glow spilling from behind the curtains. It’s my home for now. While I certainly hope for a long relationship with Titans Racing, I have exactly one race under my belt and my future is unknown. I could as easily be out of a job as I could be building a solid career if I don’t perform as expected. The pressure is suffocating at times.
Ronan hasn’t said much since we left his mother’s estate, but there is a palpable tension in the space between us. He grips the wheel with white knuckles, and I’m trying not to look at his mouth again.
He pulls to a stop at the curb and shifts into park. I unclip my seat belt and glance over at him. His hands are still on the wheel, his profile unreadable in the dimming light.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say quietly.
He nods once, eyes straight ahead.
I open the door, step one boot onto the wet curb, then hesitate. “For someone so convinced this is a bad idea,” I say, turning halfway in my seat, “you sure kiss like a man who hasn’t made up his mind.”
A tiny muscle jumps in his jawline, and I’m pleased with myself for stirring a reaction. I don’t wait for a response because honestly, if that didn’t provoke him to kiss me again, nothing will. I’ll accept the defeat for tonight, but I hardly think this is over.
I step out, shut the door, and walk to my flat. I don’t look back, but sense his stare as I walk away. He knows it’s not over too.
My apartment is still and quiet, the warmth kicking in through the old radiators just enough to fight the chill. I peel off my boots and jacket, leaving them near the door, then make my way into the kitchen.
The flat still doesn’t feel entirely mine and if I have time this week, I’ll go shopping for plants and maybe a few knickknacks to personalize it. It’s nice though. Posher than anything I’ve lived in since starting my racing career, but then again, I’m making a lot more money than I ever did.