Page 24 of Heartbreaker

“Yes. But also… I’m tired of being the bad boy. The hot-tempered one that people want to poke at to get a reaction. It’s not who I am anymore.” He takes in a breath and lets it go as I place the first bandage. “Sometimes I don’t know if I ever was that person. I made that version of me years ago, when I first got into Indy. I was always reckless, a little wild and untamed, but that was just on the track or in the arena. I always knew what I wanted, and I knew better than to do anything that would fuck that up.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh and looks down at his hands, where his knuckles are split.

“What got you suspended?” He makes a face, then winces as it tugs at his eyebrow.

“I went out partying one night. I was already on thin ice but I won big, and the guys begged me. I hadn’t been out in a while, trying to stay out of trouble. When I went out back then, trouble always seemed to find me. Because of that, no one had really been talking to me, so I was kind of… I don’t know. Eager for the companionship, I guess.” My stomach churns at the thought of poor Rome trying to clean up his act and losing all his friends along the way. “I kept getting free drinks sent over, and I drank way too much then went home with a woman. She wasn’t wearing a ring. I remember checking for that. But no one cares about that part, of course. The next morning, it was all over the papers.” He lets out a deep sigh, as if this has been weighing heavily on him.

“Turns out, I’d slept with one of our top sponsors’ wives, and once word got out, he wanted me off the team. The next few days were a whirlwind of calls and meetings, trying to cover things up, but it was no use. By Monday, the sponsor was threatening to cancel the contract if I wasn’t removed. The board concluded that I was to be suspended and put on leave for the season.”

“Wow,” I murmur, genuine shock in my words. I knew why he got suspended, and Demi and I figured out that the sponsor issue was the cherry on top of a long list of problems leading to his inevitable suspension. It sounded so cut-and-dried at the time, but hearing his side of it brings clarity to a story I didn’t fully understand.

“Yeah. It was… not great. Now I have a year to clean up my act and prove I’m not a liability.”

“That’s why you were on top of your trailer,” I say, it all clicking into place. He winks at me with his good eye.

“You got it.” There’s a moment of silence, and I open my mouth to ask something else, but he beats me to it. “So? How’s it lookin’, doc?” he asks. He’s clearly trying to change the subject, and I let him.

“I need to cover it, but you’ll survive. Still pretty,” I assure him, because it’s true. I think he’d need a hell of a lot more than a punch to the face to change that. I grab a bandage to cover up my handiwork, open it, and put it in place.

“There,” I say, my voice a whisper as my thumb gently brushes over the bandage. “All better.”

“You should kiss it, I think,” he says, and my breathing halts. “That’s what you do to a boo-boo, right?” I roll my eyes, but I can’t ignore the way my pulse is pounding. His hand lifts, and he points a finger at the bandage. “Right here.”

My pulse pounds, but despite my better judgment, I tip my head back, shifting up just a bit, before pressing my lips softly to the spot I just covered.

“Better?”

“Hurts here, too,” he says, pointing to his cheek. His voice has dropped, the tone low and dangerous.

I should step away.

I should pack up this first-aid kit, head back to my room, and then take a cold shower to remind myself why I’m really here. Instead, I shift, pressing my lips to his high cheekbone, where, to his credit, a bruise will definitely form.

“Good?” I ask, my voice breathy. It hitches when he steps even closer between my legs, one hand moving to rest on my hip, the other coming up to cup my chin. Despite the aggression I just witnessed, the touch is featherlight, gentle, and caring—a contrast to the version he shows the world.

“I think I need one more,” he whispers. He’s so close; his whispered breaths ghost along my face, then his hand on my chin shifts, pointing to his lips. “Right here.”

I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t give in, but there’s a magnet that pulls me to Rome, my body shifting without my mind telling it to. My hand slides over his shoulder and pulls him closer. His fingers shift, cupping my cheek, tipping my face up. After the barest moment of hesitation, our lips are pressed together. A low sound travels from his throat and settles in my belly, warm like honey.

It’s a perfect first kiss: warm lips pressed against mine, soft and gentle, his body close. But I need more.

So I take it.

My hand reaches out, gripping his T-shirt and pulling him closer until I can hook one leg around him. He groans deep, the sound reverberating through me and making me gasp. He takes that opportunity to slide his tongue between my lips, and I moan when I taste him for the first time, a mix of dark coffee and something so very Roman, I can’t decode it.

Kissing Roman DeLuca is like racing, all adrenaline and instinct and speeding along, hoping to god nothing bad happens, and I already know it could be terribly addictive.

His hand moves to my hip, gripping me there as if he’s afraid I’m going to disappear, and the one on my cheek glides back to behind my head, fingers sinking into my hair and tugging just a bit, pulling a soft moan from me.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He groans, his hips moving forward and pressing to my center. I feel he’s hard, something that sends my desire higher. His hand in my hair guides my head, taking what he wants, positioning me where he needs me to continue giving me the deepest, hottest kiss of my life.

My mind is reeling, trying to think of ways to get closer, to get more, to feel him all over when the door opens, and reality comes crashing in in the form of my partner.

THIRTEEN

When the door opens, Rome breaks the kiss, his face snapping toward it. His face is pure fury, clearly intending to yell at someone, until a hesitant look crosses his face. Dazed, I turn to the door, expecting to see his dad, the press, Courtney, or another driver.

Instead, it’s Demi, looking both thoroughly entertained and incredibly apologetic.