“Sex god. Stud. Fuck-me-baby-use-that-big-cock-of-yours-on-me-show-me-the-stories-about-you-are-true.”
Okay, I’m definitely blushing now, and there’s no hiding it.
“I get the point,” I say, lifting a hand to cut him off, to which he chuckles. “And what do you get called after sex?”
He looks away from me to stare at the sea of people before us. His expression turns…changing to something I don’t understand.
“Bastard. Arsehole. Selfish-arrogant-prick-who’ll-one-day-be-a-washed-up-race-car-driver-who-no-one-cares-to-remember.”
I feel the air shift, the temperature in the room dropping a few hundred degrees, and I realize that he means it. He really believes what he just said.
This beautiful talented man thinks he’ll end up alone.
I stare at him, stunned. How is it even possible he thinks that?
Carrick’s eyes are now currently trained on his drink, like he thinks all the answers he seeks are in there, and he just looks so goddamn lonely that I want to wrap my arms around him.
But I can’t.
So, I attempt to make him feel better in the only way I can right now—humor.
I put my glass down. “Well, that’s bullshit because I’ll remember you.”
His eyes lift from his whiskey. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I won’t be able to forget you because we’ll have been married and divorced twice, and you’ll still be in my life because we’ll have kids whom you pay a hefty child support for. And I’ll feel sorry for you because, by that point, you’ll have aged really badly, after getting kind of ugly and fat, so I’ll give you a sympathy shag every now and then.”
“You paint quite the picture.”
“It’s a talent.” I shrug.
“Yep, you bought me the second time as I’d burned through all the millions you gave me from our first divorce.” I lift my glass, taking a sip of champagne.
“And how did I get you the first time?”
“Sex. I was young and naive.” I grin, expecting him to smile back, but he’s not.
There’s something in his stare that has my heart beating faster, my breath disappearing, and my eyes looking away—while I try to find air.
I focus my eyes where his just were, on the people milling around and chatting, some out on the dance floor.
Anywhere but on the man beside me.
The man who is becoming increasingly dangerous to me with each passing second.
Carrick leans in, so his arm is pressed against mine, close to my chest. It feels like he’s actually burning my skin through his clothes.
“I’m sorry about people monopolizing my time tonight.”
I flash him a smile. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re the star attraction, and I’m your arm candy.”
“You do make for good arm candy, especially in that dress.”
“I know, right? I’m totally rocking the classy look.” Okay, the fizz is really starting to go to my head.
“More than you realize.”
Something dark and unexplained is in his tone that makes my pulse ratchet up.
Taking a sip of his drink, he nods in the direction of the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”
“Um…I don’t know. I’m not really a dancer.” And in these shoes, I’ll probably be lethal.
“Lucky for you, I’m an awesome dancer. I’ll dance for the both of us.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “God, you’re so—”
“I was going to say cocky.”
“Endearing, isn’t it?”
He grins, and then he takes my almost empty champagne glass from my hand and puts it down on the bar. Grabbing my hand, he starts to lead me off, only just giving me a chance to grab my clutch off the bar top.
Usher’s “Caught Up” starts to pump through the speakers as we walk to the dance floor. I watch as we pass by people, how they look at him…like he’s a glowing light and they are the moths drawn to him.
Carrick’s presence just commands attention. Take away the racing, the fame, and I think he would still be the same.
Confidence and virility just breathe from him as naturally as the air from his lungs.
I also see the looks I’m receiving from women, looks I’ve been receiving all night. Luckily for me, those looks of distaste and jealousy just bounce right off me. Being an only female in the working world of men toughens a girl right up.
What I am actually feeling from the envious looks is a tremendous buzz. They want him, and he’s with me. Well, for tonight anyway.
Carrick stops us in the middle of the dance floor and turns to face me.
I feel awkward. I’m not really sure what to do, where to put my hands. I’m also holding my clutch, which makes it even more difficult.
Should I put it on the floor? It’s just so pretty and new. I don’t want it to get ruined.
Deciding to keep my clutch in hand, I rest my wrists awkwardly over his shoulders.
Taking my clutch from my hand, he shoves it in his jacket pocket. Then, he takes my hands. Lifting one, he places it on his shoulder. Keeping hold of the other, he wraps his fingers around it. Then, sliding his free hand around my waist, his fingers press gently into my back, pulling me closer.
I’m trying not to tense, but his nearness and touch are driving me crazy. Neurons are firing like bullets to my nerve endings, igniting fires that shouldn’t be lighting for him.