Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(86)

Chase looked far too comfortable, far too sexy lounging against the passenger door, camera in hand. “Smile.”

She scowled at him. “Why are you taping me?”

“Because you’re driving and I’m bored out of my f*ckin’ mind.”

At least if his hands were occupied he wasn’t crunching on sunflower seeds. Or touching her. If the man put his hands on her while she was driving, she’d wreck his precious truck.
“Besides, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, right?”

“I’m from California. I don’t even know what the hell that barnyard saying means.”

“It means I answered your questions over the last few weeks, it’s time for you to answer mine. Pains me to admit it, but your Gestapo tactic worked.”

“Yeah?”

“You know stuff about me I’ve never told anyone.”

But I want to know everything about you. I’m as obsessed with you as you are obsessed with riding bulls.
Chase fiddled with the camera. “Whoa. You can get really close with this.”

“Are you getting shots of my nose hair?”

“Nope. I’ve zoomed in on your nipples. Think cold thoughts, baby.”

“Chase.”

“Think of what I did to you last night. That was pretty hot.”

Her grip increased on the steering wheel even as her toes unconsciously curled. Chase’s hungry mouth sucking on her clit. His fingers tweaking her nipples. Proving his mastery over her body, restraining her arms, denying her release, and building her to a frenzy with each lick. Each touch. Each whispered promise of ecstasy until she shattered with an epic orgasm that made her scream. Then he’d made love to her with such exquisite tenderness she’d melted.
“See? It worked. You’ve got that dreamy look you get right after I f*ck you.”

And so much for the basking. “Ask your damn question.”

He chuckled. “Least favorite food.”

“Eggplant. Slimy, nasty stuff. No matter how it’s cooked it tastes like dog shit.”

“I’d hafta agree.”

“Same for zucchini. Our cook used to try and hide it in other dishes, but I always could taste it. Blech.”

“You had a full-time cook, growing up?”

“Maria wasn’t live-in help, but she came every day. Sometimes she cooked lunch, but most the time it was dinner. Why?”

“Most people I know don’t hire out for them kinda domestic jobs. To be honest, you don’t act nearly as spoiled as I thought you would.”

“I think there was a compliment in that somewhere. Anyway, my mom worked a lot, expanding the hotel business. Cooking dinner and cleaning up the kitchen was the last thing she wanted to do after spending fourteen hours at the office.”

“Gotta ask this, Hollywood. Did you have a nanny?”

She shook her head. “My dad stayed home with me and my brother when we were little. He jokes he can change a tire and a diaper in ten seconds flat. I told you he’s a mechanic, right?”

Chase lowered the camera and squinted at her. “Wait a second. Dumond. Is your dad the Dumond in DRT—Dumond Racing Team?”

“Yeah. He started the team in our garage.”

“Holy shit, Ava. DRT is my favorite NASCAR team. Darby Janeville had an amazing season last year with that second place showing in Darlington—”

Ava held up her hand. “No offense, but you might as well be speaking Chinese. I don’t follow NASCAR. Haven’t much cared for racing.”