Page 87 of Unholy Union
“You asshole!” I shout as we flip again, “if I lose my lunch, it’s going in your lap!”
When it’s over, I nearly collapse as we dismount. My legs wobble like gelatin. I shove him hard in the chest.
He winces. “Ouch. Down, principessa.”
“Serves you right!” I brush wind-whipped curls from my face. “That’s what you get for dragging me on two near-death experiences.”
He chuckles, then he slips his arm around my waist, tugging me close as the crowd flows around us.
“Are you scared of heights?”
“I think I amnow,” I grumble.
“I think it’s adorable when you scream.”
Before I can roll my eyes, he tucks a wayward curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary on my cheek. My breath hitches as our gazes lock on each other and we’re almost drawn into another moment like earlier in the garden.
But I’m the one interrupting us this time.
I clear my throat and grab his hand, reclaiming control.
“My turn!” I announce, dragging him off in the opposite direction.
He lets me lead him, glancing around curiously. “Where are we going now?”
“You’ll see.”
We pass more stands, some shops and rides, even an arcade, and finally stop in front of the electric raceway. The miniature cars are all candy-colored, zipping around the track under a net of lights and steel rails.
Cato cocks a brow. “Really?”
“Yes, really. What’s the matter, Valente?” I say, smirking. “Don’t tell me the big, bad capo is scared he’ll lose to the delicate little principessa.”
He grips my hip with a hard squeeze and lowers his mouth to my ear. “More like the question is, what do I get if I win?”
His voice is thicker and huskier than usual, the question sending an instant pulse of lust quaking through me.
I turn toward him, slowly sliding my hand up his chest until my fingers reach the collar of his shirt. A growing part of me wants to abandon any pretense of this raceway and go find somewhere private to let out our sexual frustrations.
I’m pretty sure Cato would be up for it; he’d immediately agree.
But I opt for teasing him right back instead.
“How about,” I murmur softly, tugging on his shirt collar, “you’re the only ride I get on tonight?”
His jaw hardens, eyes darkening. I can practically see the filthy thoughts running through his mind as I step away from him and start toward the entrance to the racetrack.
We’re strapped in and ready to go five minutes later. I’m in the gold while Cato’s blue.
The second the signal flashes green, Cato’s shoots out like a bullet, streaking into the lead. He races with a smooth confidence that almost crosses into arrogant territory.
He’s racing to win.
But so am I.
I don’t panic as I keep on his tail, hovering close enough that his lead never grows. I’m lurking like a shadow that he can’t outrun as we close in on the first lap.
He doesn’t think I’ll catch him. He’s so used to being the predator, the one in control, the one out front.
