Page 41 of Formula Dreams
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.
It’s true that my family is quite wealthy.Most people who race come from monied backgrounds because it’s an expensive sport.But once I went professional, my parents didn’t pay for anything.I earned my own money and handled everything myself.
My favorite things about this flat are the tall windows—the natural light in the morning is beautiful.I love that the building is old and has such a rich history.The hardwood floors creak just enough to know they hold stories.I like the bookshelves built into the far wall waiting for me to unpack my boxes of treasured novels still in temporary storage.
I drop my bag onto the arm of the couch and walk to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle out of habit more than anything.The cupboards are stocked with the essentials, and I start a mental list of other items I need to grab at the grocery store.
Of course, thinking of that makes me think of Ronan and our mad dash through the aisles to get the last bottle of Drivex.My lips curve remembering the feral competition in his eyes that held a tinge of passion when our fingers first touched.
Knock.Knock.
I freeze, heart leaping into my throat.I don’t know anyone here and haven’t met any neighbors.I most definitely don’t feel like introductions or entertaining if it’s a welcoming party.I move to the door cautiously, peering through the peephole.
I blink twice to make sure I’m not seeing a mirage.
Ronan.
Before I can fully register who is on my porch or even consider the implications, I unlock the door and pull it open.We stare at each other, still as statues.
He doesn’t say a word.I don’t know what to say.
But words don’t matter because Ronan steps inside, grabs my face with both hands, and slams his mouth onto mine.
He doesn’t give me time to think and maybe that’s part of his plan.
One second, I’m opening the door—heart pounding, still reeling from the tension he left behind—and the next, his hands are in my hair, his mouth in complete control of mine, and my back is hitting the wall inside my flat.
It’s not sweet.It’s not tentative.
It’s pure, driven need.
I gasp into his mouth, caught between the chilled air breezing through the open door and the heat of his body pressed against mine.My fingers fist in the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer, perhaps afraid he’ll let common sense prevail again.
I kiss him with all I have… like I want to reap something from him.
Ronan groans, deep in his throat, and lifts me like I weigh nothing.He kicks the door shut and I wrap my legs around his waist, fueled by need and instinct.I’m carried through my flat, his mouth still on mine, hands gripping my thighs so hard I’ll probably have marks tomorrow.I’m okay with that.
He drops me onto my bed, and I barely register the room tilting before his mouth is on my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone.He yanks my sweater over my head and tosses it to the floor without looking.His hands are already under my tank, skimming up my ribs, brushing under my bra.I arch into the touch, greedy for more.
“Why do you have to wear so many layers?”he mutters.
