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“Sure,” Carrick says on a smile.

  “Will you sign my cap?” Ticket Counter Guy pulls off the Formula 1 cap he’s wearing.

  Carrick nods, and Ticket Counter Guy hands it over along with a marker.

  “You a racing fan?” Carrick asks while he signs his name.

  “Huge fan. Me and my younger brother always watch on TV. You’re our favorite. My brother’s gonna be gutted that I met you, and he didn’t.”

  “You ever been to the Prix?” Carrick asks.

  “No.” Ticket Counter Guy pulls a face of discomfort. “Tickets are too expensive for a guy who works on the counter at the karting ring.”

  I feel a little pull in my chest.

  Carrick must feel it, too, because he says, “What’s your name?”

  “Sulaiman.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sulaiman.” Carrick hands him the cap and marker back. “Write down your and your brother’s names and your address for me, and I’ll have two VIP tickets couriered to your house.”

  Sulaiman looks like he’s just been punched in the face—in the best kind of way.

  “Really?” he asks wide-eyed.

  “Really.” Carrick smiles.

  I’m watching Carrick, intrigued, and I can see it in his eyes—how making other people happy makes him happy.

  Now, I get it—why he has to pay for everything. It’s not about showing how much money he has. It’s about being able to make other people feel good with his money.

  There’s a big softy buried underneath all that alpha and sexual ego.

  And it just pulls my heart straight in his direction. I’m currently having a hard time keeping a hold of it.

  Sulaiman quickly scribbles his details down on a piece of paper and hands it to Carrick, who folds it up and puts it in his wallet.

  “I’ll have the tickets sent to you tomorrow,” Carrick tells him.

  “Thank you so much.” Sulaiman reaches over, grabbing Carrick’s hand and shaking it. “I can’t tell you how much this means to us. My brother will be so happy when I tell him.”

  “Wait till I’m gone to call him though ’cause I’m not here, remember?” Carrick taps his nose.

  Sulaiman does the same thing. “Got it.”

  “I’ll see you and your brother after the race.” Carrick starts to walk away, and I follow.

  “Bye! And thanks again!” Sulaiman calls after us.

  “That was a really nice thing you did,” I say. Walking alongside Carrick, I bump his arm with my own.

  Glancing at me, he shrugs. “If it means I get half an hour of peace with you without race fans turning up, then it’s worth it.”

  “I don’t think that’s why you did it. I think you saw a guy who doesn’t have much, and you wanted to make his day.”

  He stares ahead, as he speaks. “I was never dirt poor like that guy back there, but we didn’t have a lot either. Everything we did have, my dad put into my racing, so I kinda know a little of what it’s like to be skint.”

  I feel a swelling in my chest. I have to press the heel of my hand there to contain it.

  I did know that about Carrick. He’s not your typical comes-from-a-rich-family-into-the-rich-sport driver. He came from a modest background, and both he and his dad have worked hard to get him to where he is now.

  “You’re a big softy at heart, Carrick Ryan.” I nudge him again this time with my shoulder.

  He gives me a look of horror. “Fuck, don’t go saying that in public. You’ll kill my image.”

  “God, yeah, we wouldn’t want that to happen.” I let out a chuckle. “So, is this another secret I have to keep?”

  “Hmm…I guess so.” He glances at me, a smile in his eyes.

  “I’m gonna lose count of all these secrets I have to keep for you,” I tease.

  “Well, if you play your cards right, you might get to be one of those secrets.”

  And there he is.

  I roll my eyes, scoffing. “In your dreams, Ryan.” I give him a little shove in the direction of the exit out to the track. “Now, get your arse out there, so I can beat it.”

  “Ha! That’s definitely in your dreams, Amaro.”

  “We’ll see.” Lifting my chin, I give him a haughty look as I pass him by, heading to the marshal.

  Once we’ve had our safety talk with the marshal and Carrick’s signed an autograph for him, too, we’re suited up in track overalls.

  We’ve definitely come on at the right time as there’s only the two of us here using the track. The karts are out waiting on the track for us.

  I pull the band out of my hair, letting out my ponytail. I won’t be able to get the helmet on with my hair up like that. It needs to be tied into a plait, which is how I always wear it when I’m in a garage or at the track.

  I’m running my fingers through my hair, getting the tangles out, when I see Carrick watching me.

  The heat in his eyes is discernable, but I play it off.

  “You’ve never seen a girl do her hair before?” I say with a tilt of my lips.

  “I’ve never seen you do your hair before. And I’ve never seen it down either. Looks nice.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks flush. “But it’s not staying down.” I start to quickly plait it. When I’m done, I fasten the band at the end.

  Carrick is still watching me.

  And the way he’s looking at me is making me want things I really can’t have.

  I pull my fireproof balaclava on, covering my face. “You getting yours on? Or are you delaying ’cause you’re worried I’m gonna beat you?”

  He grins widely. “Prepare to get your arse kicked, Amaro.”

  I love winding him up about this. Seriously, there is no way I’m going to beat Carrick out here, but it’s fun making him think that I think I can.

  I’m not a bad racer, but I’m definitely no champion like him.

  Carrick pulls his balaclava on, covering his gorgeous face, and then he brings his helmet down over his head, keeping his visor up. He puts his gloves on.

  I pull my own helmet on and then my gloves.

  “Ready?” He jerks his head in the direction of the karts.

  “Yep.”

  We walk over to the karts, and an idea strikes me. Carrick never lets anyone pay for anything, and I’m guaranteed to lose. So, I’m thinking a bet is in order, and I know he won’t be able to turn it down because he’s too competitive.

  “I think we should bet on this race.”

  He turns his face to me, so I can see his eyes through his still open visor.

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “Yep.”

  “All right. What are the terms?”

  “Loser buys dinner.”

  He pauses for a minute. “Deal.”

  He puts his gloved hand out to me, and I shake it.

  Smiling to myself, I snap my visor down and climb in my kart.

  Carrick gets in his beside me.

  The marshal stands at the side of the track, green flag in hand.

  We’re on for fifteen minutes. Looking at probably less than a minute a lap, it’s going to be about fifteen laps.

  He holds out three fingers, indicating his countdown.

  Three…

  Two…

  I rev my engine.

  One.

  Flag goes down, and we’re off, zooming and building speed down the track.

  Carrick is ahead of me but not as far as he should be, and I know he’s holding back for me.

  I should take it as a nice thing, but I’m competitive by nature, and it just pisses me off. I don’t need sympathy.

  We’re racing around, but Carrick isn’t putting too much distance between us. He’s either trying to wind me up or be kind.

  Well, whatever it is, it’s bugging the hell out of me.

  My killer instinct kicks in, and I now have to win this race no matter what.

  When I eventually see the marshal on the track, he’s showing the white flag, telling us we’re on our last lap, and I alread
y know what I’m going to do.

  I’m going to win, no matter what.

  Carrick is still just ahead of me, and I know he’s just waiting until the last corner to get through, and then he’ll fly off and cross the finish line.

  Yeah, not going to happen, buddy.

  We approach the final corner.

  I see my opportunity coming up. We’re down at forty kilometers per hour to take the corner, so I take advantage. Instead of slowing further to take it like Carrick is, I keep speed and clip the back end of his kart, spinning him off the track and onto the dirt.

  Ha!

  Glancing back to check that he’s okay, I see his kart on the dirt, and Carrick’s head is turned my way. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s pissed.

  Laughing to myself, I slam my foot on the pedal and zip over the finish line.

  The checkered flag comes down, and I win.

  Winner!

  Grinning to myself, I drive my kart over to the pit. Stopping, I climb out and pull my helmet and balaclava off.

  Seeing Carrick driving in toward me, I start dancing around, doing a little victory dance.

  Carrick slams on the brakes, parking the kart behind mine.

  He climbs out, yanking his helmet and balaclava off. He’s scowling.

  Oh, he’s mad!

  That only makes my smile wider, and keeps me dancing.

  “I can’t believe you just did that!” he exclaims.

  “Did what?” I play dumb.

  “Knocked me off the track! You fucking cheated!”

  Stopping my winner’s dance, I place my hands on my hips. “I did not cheat. I won.”

  “By cheating!” He throws his hands up.

  “Oh, someone’s a bad loser. Well, if you hadn’t been doing the pity drive, you might have thought of the move yourself and won. You’re just mad ’cause I got there first! A strategic move is not cheating, Carrick.”

  He growls, which only sets me off laughing.

  “I beat the great Carrick Ryan, and he can’t take it!” I sing.

  He gives me an exasperated look, a hand tugging on his hair. “You didn’t win because you fucking cheated!”

  “Winner! Winner! Andi’s the winner!” I chant. Lifting my hands in the air, I move my body around like I’m doing a cheer.

  “Cheater!”

  “Sore loser!”

  I’m laughing so hard now that I have to bend over to catch my breath. I currently have tears in my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard. But I do remember the last time I did laugh, and it was with him.

  It’s always with him.

  I see his feet approaching, and as I lift my head, I find he’s standing directly in front of me, his face all shades of serious.

  I wipe the tears of mirth from my eyes with the backs of my hands, still chuckling. “Beat by one of your mechanics—and a female one at that. What’s this gonna do for your reputation, Carrick? This could kill your career. You’ll be ruined if this ever gets out.”

  His lips twitch. “Am I being blackmailed again?”

  I tilt my head to the side, grinning. Lifting one shoulder, I say, “Maybe.”

  He shakes his head. I can tell he’s desperately trying not to laugh, but his eyes are shining with it.

  “Blackmail, cheating, and now blackmail again. Who are you? And what have you done with the Andressa I know?”

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” I wink, ticking his nose with my finger.

  He catches my finger, holding it.

  The instant my skin makes contact with his, it’s like something supercharged has just conducted its way through my body.

  I suddenly feel very alert and very aware of him.

  The way his chest is lifting on each breath. The parting of his lips as he exhales. How tense his body is. How very close he is to me.

  Everything is heightened. And the air thick all around us.

  I meet his eyes, and my mouth dries instantly.

  The laughter that was in them is gone and has been replaced with something else entirely.

  Something heated.

  It’s a heat I feel deep inside of me.

  His fingers slide over my hand, curling around it, gripping. “Andressa, you’re—” His voice has changed. It’s deeper, husky.

  “The winner?” I cut him off, trying to inject sass into my voice. But it didn’t work. I just sounded all breathy.

  I need to bring us back to where we were, but I don’t know how.

  He’s slowly pulling me in closer to him, closer to everything I want but can’t have.

  “Like no one I’ve ever met before.”

  Wow.

  And fuck.

  Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about kissing me right now, and I really, really want him to.

  God, I want to kiss him so bad.

  My lips are readying themselves for the action.

  But I can’t. He’s a driver. I can’t get involved with him.

  I step away, breaking the moment, and my hand slips from his.

  I see disappointment flicker over his face, but I pretend not to see it.

  Putting my helmet down on the car, my hand still burns from his touch. I clasp it into a fist to rid myself of the feel of him. I clear my throat. “So, you owe me dinner, Ryan.”

  Dinner. Shit. I was supposed to lose, so I could pay for it.

  Could I be any dumber? I’m blaming my idiocy on the brain mush he is clearly able to reduce me to.

  Turning back to face him with my feelings firmly locked away, I offer a light smile, but I can tell it’s shaky. I just hope he can’t.

  He’s still staring at me, the look in his eyes unreadable.

  I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak.

  Lifting his hand, he runs his fingers through his hair. Then, his lips tip up into a soft smile. “Not that you deserve dinner because you cheated…but technically, you did win. So, fine, I’m buying. What are you in the mood to eat?”

  You. I just want you.

  Resting my hand on my hip, I tilt my head to the side, clearing my mind of all my wanting-Carrick thoughts. “What am I in the mood for?” I purse my lips and then make my decision. “Local food.”

  He smiles. “Great choice. I know just the place to take you.”

  WE DROVE FOR ABOUT FORTY MINUTES, and now, Carrick is parking on the street, near what looks to be a market.

  Carrick brought us here as he knew the way, but I’m driving back to the hotel later, and I can’t wait to get my hands on this car.

  I climb out of the car, joining Carrick on the pavement. “So, where are we going?” I ask, hooking my fingers under the strap of my bag, holding it to me, as we start to walk into the market.

  “There’s this great little place just a bit farther up.”

  As we walk along, I’m looking at the stalls and storefronts, getting distracted by all the sights and smells—fresh food, clothes, jewelry. There are street artists painting portraits and some old men sitting at a table, playing a board game that looks similar to checkers. All around is traditional-sounding music, one song fading into another.

  Then, I see this little kitschy stall lined with what looks to be Disney jewelry, and that’s when I spot it.

  “Oh my God, is that a Lightning McQueen necklace?” Stopping, I turn and walk over to the stall.

  I’m a bit of a Lightning McQueen fan. Seriously, Cars is the best Disney movie ever. Give me that over Disney princesses any day.

  As I approach closer, I see that it is definitely a Lightning McQueen necklace, and it might just be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a little McQueen pendant hanging from a silver chain. I’m guessing the chain probably isn’t silver, and my neck will turn green after an hour of wearing it, but I don’t care because I want it.

  I curl my hand around the pendant, and I’m just about to ask the man how much it is when I feel Carrick’s heat press u
p behind me.

  “Why are you looking at that Cars necklace like it’s a Tiffany’s diamond?”

  I tilt my face to his. “Because to me, it is. What might be one girls’ junk is another girl’s treasure.”

  His eyes are sparkling at me in the sunlight. “So, am I to take it that you’re a Cars fan?”

  “Um, yeah.” I look at him, astonished that he even has to ask. I mean, who doesn’t like that film? “Aren’t you?”

  A smile touches his eyes. “No.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because I’m not five years old.”

  That earns him a jab in the ribs from my elbow.

  I stare at him, curious. “You’ve never seen the film, have you?”

  “No.”

  “How is that even possible?” I exclaim. My hand slipping from the necklace, I turn to face him.

  “Because, again, I’m not five years old.”

  I give a disappointed shake of my head. “You’re seriously missing out. And you call yourself a race car driver.” Pausing, my hands find my hips. “Seriously, you have to watch this film. It’s amazing. That’s it.” I make a decision. “We’re watching it when you’re free next.”

  He presses his lips together, and I can tell he’s holding back a smile. “What are you going to do? Buy it and force me to watch it?”

  “No, I already have it on DVD, dopey.”

  Something dawns on his face, and I realize my slip up.

  “You have it with you, don’t you?”

  My cheeks explode with color, my eyes going to my feet. “Maybe,” I mumble.

  “You travel around the world and take a Disney DVD with you, don’t you?”

  He’s dying to laugh. I can tell.

  I’m just dying because he now knows how big of a dork I am.

  “It’s my security blanket,” I say defensively.

  His fingers find my chin, lifting my face to his. His face is alight with humor. “You know, normal people actually have a real blanket for security.”

  “Are you saying I’m not normal?” I try to give sass under his scrutiny.

  “No. I’m saying you’re unique.”

  “Unique bad or unique good?” I bite my lip.

  His mouth kicks up at the corner, but a flare of something else is in his eyes, something a little more serious. “Oh, definitely good. You’re…unprecedented, Andressa.”

  Oh. Wow.