Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(11)

“I don’t.” My grin expands.

She rolls her eyes, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on. Her delicate features entice me, tempting me to scoot in closer to check her out and catch a peek at her chest. But I stop myself because I have a cap of one sleazy move per day. I can’t believe I insinuated she slept with her brother. I’m losing my touch.

“You need someone to rein you in.” Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink before she shakes her head. “I mean, not me, but it’s always good to be grounded.” She puts a stray curl behind her ear.

“Being grounded is dull. I don’t drive cars at two hundred miles an hour to stay boring.”

Her lips purse and her brows pinch together. “Being grounded isn’t boring. It’s realizing that, when all of this—” she waves her arms around us—“is over, you still have people there for you in the end. Good people who are humble because no one wants to hang around an asshole.”

I’m going to guess I’m the asshole here. I sit with her words and consider my situation. But I know good people—who is she to judge me when she’s young and na?ve?

Her phone rings. “I better get going. My ride is here.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Her face flashes with surprise before she recovers. Mine probably matches hers because I can’t remember the last time I walked a girl out of anywhere except a club.

I get up from the booth and offer my hand, acting the part of a gentleman. She looks at it for a moment before placing her palm in mine. My skin buzzes at the physical contact. She shivers when my thumb runs across her palm, her soft skin smooth under my calloused digit.

Hmm. Her body reacts to mine in the same way.

I remove my hand from hers and place it on her exposed back as I lead us toward the entrance of the hotel. Our physical connection is an exciting development, one worth exploring further at another time. She sucks in a breath when I stroke my hand down the ridges of her spine. I tend to be a cheeky bastard. Her skin feels warm and soft beneath my palm, her shallow breaths matching the rhythm of our feet.

Maybe I’ll enjoy having Santiago around after all because it seems like her hanging with us will stimulate me. I want to see what other responses she has to me. Or under me. Or on top of me.

I need to get myself under control.

We exit the hotel to find her brother leaning against a town car near the entrance.

“Maya, let’s go! The driver’s been waiting.” Santiago’s voice booms off the walls.

Maya. I like the name.

She jumps a foot away from me, breaking our contact. Her eyes glare at me before she says a rushed goodbye and walks away. I shake my head, trying to rid my naughty thoughts, a gesture worth chuckling at. Her perky ass stands out, the tight black material of her dress hugging her curves. Damn. I definitely will like seeing her around.

Her brother helps her into the car before he turns back toward me. His stare speaks a silent warning I choose to ignore, instead deciding to shoot him a cocky grin and a chin tip. He disregards me and enters the car.





5





Maya


The air in the car is thick with tension, and not the good kind. Bright lights reflect off the car’s window as we pass through the city. Santiago hired a driver to take us to the gala, reminding me how I’m in over my head. A poser surrounded by the rich and famous.

“Why were you walking out of the hotel with him?” Santi seethes.

“He actually came to apologize for what he said at the press event. We chatted and then I came outside. It’s not a big deal, no need to get annoyed.”

Placating Santi has been my job for years. He tends to be a situational hothead, much like other F1 racers. High-stress situations usually call for it.

“You should stay away from him. Hell, stay away from most of the F1 drivers. They’re not here for happily-ever-afters, white picket fences, a dog, and two kids. They fuck around. A lot.” His hands clench in front of him.

“You are aware I lost my virginity like four years ago, right? No need to protect me anymore when my virtue is no longer intact.”

If looks could kill, Santi would have murdered me twice already in this car alone. Wrong joke at the wrong time. Message received.

“I don’t want to be aware. No. Keep that shit to yourself. These guys are different from boys you dated in college. They’re the ultimate fuckboys. Liquor, ladies, maybe even drugs. Who the hell knows. I haven’t hung around them much since I kept to myself with Kulikov.”

“I’ll be careful. But Noah is part of your team now. We’re all stuck around one another and I don’t want things to be awkward with us. At least not more than they have to be.”

No use denying my physical attraction toward Noah, but I can sure do my best for Santi. I owe him that much.

I give him a sweet smile while I pat his hand, hoping to calm him. His lips tip down. He must be concerned because none of my usual tactics are working on him.

“You’re my little sister so it’s my job to protect you. Be careful, okay? I can’t keep an eye on you all the time. Especially with someone like Noah. His bedroom has a revolving door and a waiting list.”

My body tenses. Thanks for the reminder. Nothing like a classic manwhore, one so stuck in his ways he can’t see straight. Good thing those types of relationships aren’t on my radar.