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They melted on her tongue. Like literally. And the taste… “From scratch?”
He shrugged. “Is there any other way?”
Seriously. The man could write the book on how to be the best boyfriend. Ever. Boyfriend. Was that what he was? She glanced away, stirring her soup. She was getting way ahead of herself. Sure, they’d fallen into a routine of sorts, but they’d both been so busy, the only time she saw him was at night, and they spent most of that making love.
“Why did you start racing?” The question just sort of fell out her mouth, and, surprised, Regan glanced up, watching him closely. He took a bite from his biscuit as if considering his answer and then spoke.
“John took me to the dirt track, next county over when I was about thirteen.”
“John?” Now that was surprising.
Wyatt nodded and played with the edge of his napkin. “He thought it would be good for me. I was having a hard time with some stuff, and he…” He shrugged, his face shuttered, his jaw tight.
“We don’t have to talk about this, Wyatt. I was just curious is all.”
But he kept on as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I was in the car when Mom died. We’d been to the grocery store. I remember she bought me a huge bag of sours and then told me not to open them until I got home.” He smiled then, a sad, wistful sort of thing that tugged at her. It took hold and held Regan tight.
He looked up suddenly. “They were my favorite thing in the world. Mom used to tell me that it was a miracle my teeth weren’t rotted out of my damn head, but…she still bought them.”
He paused and cleared his throat. “I saw the whole thing. I was in the back, keeping an eye on my mom so she wouldn’t see that I’d opened the bag of sours. I was stuffing them in my mouth, two at a time, trying to eat as many as I could before we got home.” He frowned. “No. She said she had to meet someone. Someone Dad worked with. So, we’re cruising down the road, and I see this car coming at us. Like a straight line. A shot of big, black American metal. I wasn’t scared or anything. I mean, the car would pull back to his side. He had to, right?”
There was a long pause, and Wyatt’s eyes dropped once more. He grabbed the napkin back and shredded the edges. “But he didn’t. And my mother did nothing to avoid it. It was like she was driving the car but not really seeing anything. In that last moment, I tried to scream. I tried to warn her. I tried to get to her, to make her turn the wheel, but my seat belt… I couldn’t get it undone.”
Regan’s heart broke for the little boy who still lived in this man. She was silent because she didn’t know what to say. What words of comfort could she offer him now?
“After it happened, I guess I blacked out. Found out later I had a lot of internal injuries, and I’d lost so much blood that for a few weeks after, they called me the miracle kid. But the only thing I remember from that day, other than that big, black car headed toward us, was opening my eyes and seeing all those sour candies on the seat and the floor.”
Regan sat back in her chair, suddenly cold.
“But that doesn’t really answer your question about the dirt track. See, John was a hard-ass. After the accident, I had a difficult time being in a car. Being in any kind vehicle, really. If it had a motor in it, I was freaked out. Once, in the middle of the lake, I jumped out of the boat because the Sea-Doos buzzing around made me anxious. John yelled at me to get back in, but I refused, so he left.”
“What?” Regan’s mouth fell open in shock.
“I swam halfway across the lake to get back to shore. He didn’t get it. The fear… It was a fear that would leave me sick to my stomach. Paralyze me. It made me weak, and he hated that. He thought that forcing me to drive would help.”
“Wyatt,?
?? she breathed, getting to her feet. Her heart ached, and she needed to do something. She walked around the table and stood beside him, feeling unsure and inadequate.
“Thing is? The bastard was right. I was shaking so bad the first time I got into one of those cars, I could barely get the key in the ignition. But all it took was one spin around that track, and suddenly I was free. Free of the fear. Free of the memories. The images from that day.” His voice lowered. “I was free of him, and I never looked back.”
Regan’s hands crept around his shoulders, and when he turned to her and placed his head against her chest, she damn near cried. They stood like that for a long time. So long she was pretty sure her delicious soup was cold and those biscuits were probably hard. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t hungry for food. She was hungry for that connection only she and Wyatt shared. She couldn’t explain it. And truth be told, she didn’t give a crap.
Gently, she pulled away, loving the way his eyes darkened as she reached for the tie around her waist. One deft movement and the robe slid from her body to pool at her feet. His sharp intake made her feel powerful. Alive.
Wanted.
She reached for him and pushed him back in his chair. She positioned it the way she wanted and undid his jeans, her body already hot and wet and ready. He was just as ready, and she bent down, taking all of him into her mouth. Enjoying the feel of him, the hardness wrapped in velvet. The way he let go.
She wanted him to forget about the blackness. If only for a little while.
Regan licked and suckled. She took him deep and teased him until she knew his control was weak. She massaged his balls and moved her hands deftly up and down his shaft, then tore her mouth away and kissed him with a fervour she hadn’t felt before. Something was different. This was somehow more real.
His hands were on her breasts, and his mouth trailed a line of fire to join them. With breaths falling rapidly, Regan straddled Wyatt and sank down on him fully, taking every inch of his cock deep into her warmth.
“God, Regan. You feel like fucking heaven.”
