Page 40 of Formula Dreams
My hand cups the side of her face, thumb grazing the line of her jaw, and I realize… maybe I can be gentle.I kiss her deeper—like she’s the only one who can erase the bad parts of my life.The cameras.The noise.My mother’s voice still echoing in the next room.
Francesca’s fingers are in my hair now, gripping like she wants to keep me there—or maybe it’s to keep herself from falling.
We’re both breathing hard, mouths barely parting before finding each other again.Her teeth graze my lower lip, and I groan, the sound guttural, involuntary.
This isn’t about lust, although that’s lurking.It’s everything I’ve denied myself.Everything I thought I buried.
For one wild, thrilling moment, I force myself to believe that nothing else exists.I feel and then I acknowledge that I like this way too much.
Until the doubt creeps in.
I pull away and we’re both breathing hard.Her lips are swollen, her hands still curled into my hair.
“This is a bad idea,” I mutter, my forehead dropping to hers.
She doesn’t agree.Doesn’t whisperI knowor pull away like I expect.
Instead, she says, “Why?”I look at her, her eyes never leaving mine.“I mean, sure, it’s messy,” she continues.“And you’re broody as hell.But there’s a connection here, Ronan.Attraction.Interest.Chemistry.Call it what you want.But don’t pretend it isn’t there.”
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 upin 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.
