My hand drifted down the soft fabric of her jersey as her chest heaved and my brain emptied of everything except the desire to cover her breast with my palm—
‘Colin, stop.’
I rolled off her with a jerk, breathing hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand over them, hard, for a second or two, before sucking in a deep breath and arranging her facial expression. She hopped neatly to her feet and took several steps away. It wasn’t exactly food for my ego, seeing her shake off that kiss as though it had been another of my stupid pranks.
We obviously hadn’t made as much progress as I’d thought.
‘Sorry, I—’ She couldn’t seem to find the end of that sentence.
‘You don’t need to apologise.’
‘No, it was a bad idea and it got out of hand. Your dad’s right.’
I didn’t care which bit of my conversation with Dad she was referring to. I stood and crossed my arms. ‘Dad is not the one who decides whether I kiss you or not. You are – for your own reasons.’
She shook her head with a sigh. ‘There’s more than just us in this game. You race in three weeks.’
‘I’ll do my job in three weeks. You’re not going to ruin my performance – unless I pull a muscle during sex.’
She seemed to stumble over that word. ‘We shouldn’t. I’m a bad influence on you – I’m in a different place in my life.’
That statement shafted me painfully – mostly because I knew she was right, but I hated that she was right. She hadalwaysbeen in a different place and she always would be, especially when she went home after the Tour.
‘Don’t you start with the “get your head in the game” shit,’ I mumbled.
She peered at me from under a scrunched brow. ‘The world will be watching you this time.’
‘Because of you,’ I commented.
‘Partly,’ she agreed. ‘But mainly they’ll be watching the new guy grow into his talent, writing a few stories of battles and feats of endurance.’
I gritted my teeth against the flare of fight in my stomach. She patted my arm, the action affectionate, but not in the way I wanted from her.
‘It’s your time now. For better or for worse, mine is over.’
Chapter 17
Leesa
He flinched when I flashed the bright light at him, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, trying not to think about the last time I’d apologised to him – for ordering him to kiss me and then changing my mind. Trying not to think about that kiss was like telling myself not to imagine a zebra. I could still feel his hair under my fingertips, his tough, hard body – the panic when my brain fast-forwarded to ripping clothes off and then exploded with doubts.
He hadn’t exactly been overcome by romantic urges – I’d ordered him to kiss me. Logic dictated he had to be attracted to me, but was that just an indiscriminate biological function and I was a convenient partner? Did that even matter?
My thoughts interfering with my sex drive was not a new thing and I didn’t like my chances of switching it off and sinking into a fantasy on the grass under the summer sun. Colin would probably tease me if he knew the hoops I had to jump through in my head just to make myself comfortable enough to have sex with someone.
The strangest part? I kind of regretted not pushing through my reservations. It might have been worth some emotional discomfort for a heated fuck with Colin while the summits looked on. That way, I might have worked it out of my system, rather than remembering the texture of his lips and the brush of his fingertips along my throat as unfinished business.
The spotlight accented the pale freckles on his skin, creating shadows at his cheekbones, sculpting his mouth. He looked fair against the black background I’d set up using screens and a poster with the client logo on it. He watched me intently, his expression unreadable. The illuminated lines of his face felt more familiar than I expected, not only from the past ten days of seeing him through a camera lens, but from earlier memories. He looked his age that morning, a just-grown-up 25.
When I’d been 25, I’d felt the age of the world. Only later had I realised how much my blithe decisions would affect the rest of my life irreversibly.
‘Get him to turn a little to the left.’ It was early in the morning in LA, but Morgan had insisted on having input while I set up the interview.
Colin dipped his head to peer at my phone, where I’d propped it up on a chair. ‘Good morning.’
‘Hey, sweetie,’ Morgan answered with a smile. ‘You’re doing great.’
