Assured (Soul Serenade #2)(34)

She let’s me hold her.

Something I’ve never wanted to do.

Unexpectedly, it’s all I want to do.

With her.

Only her.

She pulls away and I fight the urge to groan in protest. Looking up at me with those big green eyes, I don’t know if she’s about to ask questions, or if she’s just trying to figure out what the hell is happening, but I don’t give her time to do either. Instead, I lean down and place a soft, tender kiss on her lips.

That’s another first for me. There was never a reason to show tenderness or emotion. Hell, with half the women I’ve been with, my lips didn’t get close to them.

I slide my fingers between hers and lead us to the line. Taking our places, I lean against the fence and pull her back into my arms. This time, it has nothing to do with convincing her to spend the night in my bed and everything to do with her.

Just her.





Another shift. Not sure what it is, but everything is once again . . . different. He’s holding me in his arms like I’m his. I know I should protest, pull away, but the feeling is like none other, so I’m going to roll with it. Give myself today to bask in the illusion that this is real. That he doesn’t want anyone but me.

It’s wrong on so many levels. I’ve never been one who can detach my feelings, but I will deal with the consequences. In this moment, I feel . . . cherished.

As we move up in the line, his hands never leave me. He’s either holding my hand, my hips, or his arm is slung over my shoulder.

And the kisses . . . he’s taking sweet Cole to a whole new level with the attention he’s raining down on me today.

A girl could get used to this.

“You ready, sweets?” he asks, lips next to my ear.

Peering up at him, he’s wearing a smile that seems to light up his face more often than not these past few weeks. “The question is, are you ready to get beat by a girl?” I fire back.

He throws his head back and laughs before releasing his hold on me to pull a hair tie from his wrist. I watch as he gathers his long locks and wraps it all up in a messy bun. Let me be clear, Cole Hampton can rock a man-bun. It’s not really been my thing up to this point. I’ve seen pictures all over my social media, and there are very few who capture my attention. Cole, though, he’s got it. He rocks it, and I can guarantee there are panties dropping everywhere when he does.

Hair contained, his hands rest on my hips as he pulls me in to him. Leaning down, he replies, “Bring it, baby.” His brown eyes are sparkling.

Lethal.

He turns me in his arms so I’m facing the track, and I see that it’s finally our turn to race. I sprint toward the front cart, knowing I’ll need every advantage I can get. It’s been years since I’ve been on one of these things. I don’t know where Cole is; I’m too focused on strapping myself in and getting comfortable in my seat. After the attendant checks my seat belt, I place my hands on the steering wheel, excitement coursing through me. I feel like a kid again.

Wheel gripped tight, my eyes stay glued to the light, one foot on the brake, the other poised over the throttle. I’m a woman on a mission.

Finally, the caution light pop’s up and it’s time to move. I race off the line and the attendant yells to “Slow down.” I know he’s yelling at me. I’m not supposed to dart out of the gate, but I’m excited and I really, really want to beat Cole. Bragging rights are a beautiful thing, especially when it’s against a man’s man like Cole. I can see him brooding over the loss already. The thought only fuels my excitement.

I drive as fast as I can without getting the stink eye and shaking fist from the attendant. I want to turn around and look for Cole, but I refuse to break my concentration.

As I come around the last corner, I see the green light and a teenage girl waving a plastic flag. Green means go.

Game on!

I punch the gas and hold on tight. The wind is whipping through my hair and laughter bubbles out of me. I take the next curve without lifting from the throttle and slide through the corner like I’m Danica Patrick. I can feel my face splitting with the grin I’m wearing. I’m having a blast, and it’s for me. Not to beat Cole, although that would be a bonus; right now, I’m just enjoying the moment.

Our group of racers must be good because we don’t have one caution. All fifteen laps, I keep the throttle matted to the floor and fly around corners, laughing and grinning like a fool. When the caution light comes on, I slow my kart and drive back into the lineup. I wait until we’re given the all clear to unbuckle my seat belt and climb out. My feet barely hit the pavement before I feel his strong arms lift me up.

“Hell yeah! You killed it out there!” He squeezes me tight before placing me back on my feet.

“You got beat by a girl,” I tease him.

I don’t get the response I expected. “Sweets, I’m six-foot-four and weigh 180 pounds. What are you, five-six and a buck ten? Your cart was lighter than mine,” he tries to rationalize my win. “Besides, I’m good with you beating me.”

That’s the part I didn’t expect. “Oh, yeah? And why is that, Mr. Hampton?”

His hand on the small of my back, he leads us away from the karts and through the exit gate, away from the mass of people. He stops next to a pillar, turning so he’s leaning against it. His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me close.