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NICU
Once I made sure Jewel had eaten, I took a shower with her. Using the full extent of my self-control, I didn’t fuck her. It was a close thing, though. We got dressed, and I gave her a pair of pants that were a holdover from when Tasa lived in the city. We were twins and had spent more than the average amount of time together before she ran off.
Jewel had to wear one of my plain black T-shirts. I reveled in the knowledge that she was in one of my shirts. She tied a knot at her abdomen, showing off a sliver of skin that made me want to eat her up. Fuck, no other woman tested me like she did. She was so goddamn sexy, I had to forcibly restrain myself from dragging her into bed.
As much as I wanted to take her again, I was on a mission. I wanted to share with her the part of my life, outside of my family, that kept me sane. Focused, I hustled her out of my apartment before we missed the main event.
She didn’t know it yet, but I was taking her racing.
I didn’t keep my racing vehicles in the basement parking lot of my building. As convenient as the building parking was, it wasn’t conducive to tinkering with my cars. I drove her to the Sky Garage Penthouse in downtown Manhattan, where up on the fourteenth floor, my two beauties had a spectacular view of the Empire State Building.
Jewel skidded to a halt in front of my two identical Bugatti Chirons. I was a twin, so of course I had to honor that by having two of the same models, one electric blue and the other cherry red.
Her head whipped in my direction.
“What is this?” she asked incredulously.
“These are my girls. Meet Betty and Veronica,” I replied with a grin.
“You’re kidding me, right? You did not name your cars from an awful Archie comic book.”
“Nah, just joking,” I conceded. “I haven’t named my cars after imaginary women.”
Nodding, she looked at them, but then immediately turned back to me. “But you’ve named them, haven’t you?” she declared.
She was quick on the uptake; I’d give her that.
“I have,” I admitted.
“Well, what terrible names have you given your fancy metal death boxes.”
I barked out a laugh. This girl.
“Blue and Cherry.”
She gave a fake shudder. “Only marginally better.”
“So what’s the surprise?” she asked, cocking her hip out. She looked at me suspiciously. “I don’t need a car.”
“They’re not for you,” I retorted with a laugh. “Each of these babies is worth over two million dollars.”
She gulped. “Oh, wow, I was not expecting that.”
“Yeah. Wow is an understatement,” I countered, opening one of them and waving her toward the passenger’s side. “We’re going to race one of these so-called metal death traps, as you eloquently called them.”
She stumbled midstep. “Race them?”
“Yup,” I replied smugly, eyeing her from my position in the driver’s seat as she hovered near the open door hesitantly.
“As in we will drive this thing in a race today?” she clarified.
“Yep,” I repeated with an encouraging wave of my hand. “Hop in.”
She took a step back. “Uh…I don’t think so.”
“Jewel,” I warned. “Nothing is going to happen to you. It’s a little amateur drag race. No biggie. You’ll be perfectly safe with me.”
“Why do you want me to do this?” she asked, her head tilted to the side.
