That stirs something in my stomach that feels thrilling.
I’m surprised to find I’m enjoying seeing Kian like this. I’ve got so used to him being an insufferable asshole that the change is freaking me out. Except, it’s not. Instead, I feel settled. Comfortable.
Peaceful. It’s the only word I can think of to describe Kian’s state right now. There’s a thick fan of brown lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks and a smattering of sun-induced freckles across his fair skin. He’s not wearing the forced, tight smile he often puts on around me, when it’s like he’s constantly biting his tongue and trying not to let on to the rest of the world how much he despises me.
I smile to myself as I admire him now. And then those same lashes start to flutter, and I am plunged into the most awkward moment of my life as we lock eyes.
Busted!
We’re sharing a bed and I’m lying here, awake and staring at him while he’s shirtless and drooling into my pillow. A line of sweat rolls down my spine and I don’t think I can pretend the cause is anything other than the man in my bed.
It takes one too many seconds for me to look away from him, and when I look back, he’s jumped out of bed.
There’s a panicky look on his face as he paces for a second, like he’s trying to recall why he’s here. I’m still watching him – I can’t seem to stop – and when he notices, he disappears into the bathroom.
He’s probably trying to think of a way to leave without this being awkward – although that ship might have sailed. He’s been here for hours and hours, looking after me, and he fell asleep beside me. It’s more than someone who acts like he hates me should ever do.
I hear the water start to run in the basin and I prepare myself for the inevitable uptight excuse he’s about to deliver and the sharp exit he will make back to his own room. I hate that I’m almost disappointed that he’s leaving, because why should I care what Kian Walker does with his day off?
Yet when he returns from the bathroom, he just hands me another wet washcloth and I can’t deny that the cold material against my forehead makes me feel a hundred times better. I also can’t deny, even though it causes something to twist up in knots inside of me, that I like the way he takes care of me.
‘You know,’ I say, ‘if we can do this, surely we can find a way to get along. Truce?’ I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I feel completely wrung-out that’s making me consider trying or if it’s the fact he’s looking at me with something other than pure disgust in his eyes, but I’m running with it.
‘A truce? A compromise?’ he asks wearily from where he’s now perched on the edge of the desk. Sadly he’s put his shirt back on.
‘Trying each other’s worlds. You want me to give your yoga, media training, early-bedtime life a go, but you should try my way, too. Isn’t that the definition of compromise?’
I think for a second that he’s not going to go for it. He’s made it crystal clear that he doesn’t approve of my lifestyle. I don’t even know if he’d have a good time if he did come out for a drink after a win or whatever, but it’s worth a try.
‘Define your way?’
I roll my eyes. He makes it sound like a boring business deal.
‘Relax a bit, come out for drinks to celebrate, maybe even go to a club.’
There’s a look of utter terror in his eyes and I almost laugh, but it gets trapped in my completely wrecked throat and turns into a cough.
Kian quickly hands me a bottle of cold water and a small voice in the back of my head reminds me to sip, not gulp, it.
‘Look, you do you, okay? But it’s not my scene. Can you imagine me getting drunk in a club? BecauseIcan’t. And dancing? Dancing is a big no.’
Sure, I can imagine he might be a little awkward at first, but I’d get him to loosen up. I’d have him grinding up a storm in no time if he’d just let me get my hands on him. A little guidance never hurt anyone.
‘You don’t need to drink or dance to have a good time. Just … loosen the strings a little. Try and relax a bit. I don’t get it – you’re nice to all of the guys in the garage and to the broader team, but it’s like you don’t want friends.’
A look of contemplation passes over his face, brows tugged tight like he’s thinking about how to respond. I know he’s wondering whether to open up to me or not. He’s trying to decide if he can trust me.
‘It’s not… It’s just…’
Well, I guess I got the answer to that one. No opening up, no trust.
‘If you come out with me after our next win, I’ll join your workouts and I’ll do the stupid media training?—’
It’s his turn to interrupt me this time. ‘You’ll find it helpful. They’ll help you tone down the sarcastic comebacks and think before you speak.’
I don’t care what he did for me – I’m not taking that!
‘Says you, who can’t keep his temper in check anytime Daddy’s mentioned. I don’t get that, either – you’ve already had a better career than him, like, twice over and you could probably make thatthreetimes over if you don’t retire this year.’
