Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) (22 page)

Then I reached for my bra, sliding each arm through slowly and pulling the cups over my breasts. Despite being perfectly adept at clasping my own bra, I moved backward until my back was right in front of Beau.

Realising what I wanted, his fingertips brushed my skin as he grabbed the two ends and clasped the hook-and-eye fasteners.

“This is way more fun the other way,” he murmured.

“Well, if you do this now, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get to do it the other way later.”

“I’ll be holdin’ ya to that promise.”

I slipped into a turquoise sundress—one of the few dresses I’d packed for the trip.

“That dress matches your eyes,” he murmured. “And barely covers your—”

I pressed my lips to his to silence him. As I did, I grabbed his hands and circled them around my waist. When he deepened the kiss, I guided his palms down over my arse to the point where the hem of the dress flittered against my skin. With the slightest adjustment, his fingertips were underneath the dress and caressing the elastic of my underwear.

“Oh,” he said, understanding why I was wearing the dress.

“I’ve got a pair of jeans to slip on before we go, but for now, this works, doesn’t it?”

He slipped his hand further around, using the hold to pick me up and rub my pussy against his cock.

“Oh yeah, this works.” His gravelled tone told me that it was a shame I didn’t have the room for another night.

He kissed me long and hard before placing me back on the floor.

“I’ve gotta go check out now,” I said as I grabbed the last of my toiletries and did a final check over the room. “Did you want to give me directions to your home town?”

“Directions?”

“Yeah, for me to get there. Or have you changed your mind?”

“Darlin’, it’s an eight-hour drive. If you think I’m letting ya out of my sight for that long when we have so little time left, you’re crazy.”

“So what’s the plan then?”

“You’re comin’ with me.”

I tilted my head to the side.

“Not scared of a little time alone, are ya?”

Even though I kind of was, I shook my head. “Of course not.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out my bike key, and tossed it to me. “It’s on the back of my truck.”

My mouth twisted in distaste as I frowned. “You loaded my bike without asking?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I just assumed . . .”

“You just made my decision for me, you mean.”

He took a step backward. “I didn’t . . . I mean, it wasn’t like that.”

“How would you like it if I moved your truck without asking?”

He frowned but didn’t say anything.

“Exactly,” I said.

A smirk slipped across his lips.

“What?”

“I just got the image of a lifetime. You. In control of my truck. Your hands on my gearstick.” He groaned. “Now, that’s something I can’t wait to see.”

“Don’t change the subject to your gearstick.”

“If I recall correctly, you quite enjoyed my gearstick.”

“Well, it was a rather firm gearstick,” I said, moving closer to him. My hand came to rest on his groin. True to his words, he was growing hard. “Good thrust.”

He eyed the bed and reached out his own hand, rubbing across the cotton that covered my pussy. “What time’s checkout?”

“In about ten minutes,” I said. “So we have to go.”

“Ten minutes?” He slipped his hand under the waistband of my panties.

Without thought, I widened my stance.

Two of his fingers explored my pussy, slipping down over my clit. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Speed isn’t really something to aim for when it comes to that,” I teased, trying to remember the reasons I needed to stay strong and get moving. They were scattering more with every passing second. Driven away by his skilful fingers.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, drawing his fingers back out and lifting them to his lips. Meeting my eye, he sucked on the tips of his fingers and hummed. “That’ll have to do for now.”

God, it was hot watching him taste me. “Fuck. Do that again and the check-out time can be damned.”

He laughed. “We really should get on the road if we wanna get back and secure a good spot for the fireworks.”

“Maybe we should celebrate with a different type of fireworks,” I said, pressing my lips to his.

“Dang, woman, you’ll be the death of me.”

My expression fell because he might not have been wrong. At least, walking away was going to be the death of me. I turned away from him and grabbed my bag before he could see my expression. If he did, I was sure he’d do or say anything to try to reassure me that it would be okay.

It wouldn’t though. After Georgia, I would have to leave. What else could I do?

AFTER GATHERING ALL my things, we headed down so I could check out. Because I didn’t need to be on my bike, I decided to forgo the jeans under my dress. It was far more fun to tease Beau without them.

Once I was all checked out of the room, I turned to Beau. “So, considering you denied me the fun of riding my bike up to Georgia, I think the least you can do is let me drive your truck.” I walked backward so I could shoot him my best version of puppy-dog eyes.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart. Much as the thought of you behind the wheel is hot, no one drives my truck.”

“No one touches my bike.”

His brows pinched in confusion. “But ain’t it just a temporary ride?”

“It was supposed to be. But then I put my blood, sweat, and tears into making it run properly. Now it’s my bike.”

“Sorry.” He looked genuinely contrite as his mouth twisted to the side in thought. “I didn’t realize.”

“Well, now you do. And you’ll let me drive your truck to make up for it.”

“Nice try, darlin’.” He swung his keys around his finger and caught them in his palm before heading off in the direction of the door.

I had to stride to keep up with his long gait. “Well, at least let me pick the music.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you’re going to put on more of that country stuff, and I’m not sure I can listen to hours and hours of that.”

He burst into laughter as we passed through the revolving door to leave the hotel. “That’s the only music in these parts. Especially in my truck. ’Sides, I don’t recall you havin’ any complaints last night.”

“Well, last night, there were other . . . distractions. If I’m not driving, I’ll have nothing to focus on but the music.”

“Ya could talk to me.” He winked. “Tell me ’bout yourself.”

“For eight hours? I’ll run out of things to say. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Tell ya what, I’ll give ya choice of music until we stop for lunch if ya answer some of my burnin’ questions.”

“That could get dangerous,” I said. “Maybe you should just unload my bike, and then I won’t need music, distractions, or questions.”

“No deal on that one. I’m not letting ya out of my sight.”

I raised my brow and readied my arguments that if I wanted my bike, he’d best give me my damned bike.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Bad choice of words. If ya absolutely insist on ridin’, of course ya can have your bike,
but
I don’t think ya really want to insist.”

Knowing he was right, I offered a small smile. “Maybe I don’t.”

“And I’d really like to have ya in my truck.” I wasn’t sure if I had imagined the emphasis he put on the word
have.
He grinned and pulled open the door on his truck.

Climbing up into the cabin, the desire to drive it raced through me again. I wanted to know how the thing handled. It felt like it was on rails as a passenger; was it as easy from the driver seat?

When he climbed into the driver seat, it was clear there was no further argument allowed. Deciding to take the music selection into my own hands, I grabbed my phone out and plugged it into the stereo via the USB port.

Before I could start the music, Beau’s hand came to rest over the screen of my phone. “What if I allow ya to choose not to answer anything ya don’t wanna?”

“I guess that might be okay. But you have to answer my questions too.”

“You got yourself a deal.” He started the truck and pulled away from the curb as I selected the most heavy metal, filthy playlist I had.

“What is this?” he complained before the band had even hit the first chorus. He tilted his head as though the music were causing him pain. “This ain’t even music.”

I put on the most innocent expression I could. “What do you mean?”

“This. It ain’t music. It’s just noise. You can’t even understand what he’s sayin’.”

“It’s my pump-up playlist.”

“Pumping up for what though? Murder? Satanic rituals?”

It was impossible not to laugh. I’d put that playlist on with the intention of getting a reaction, but it was funnier than I’d imagined it would be. The way Beau’s nose curled up was too cute. It was as though he expected the music to physically reach through the speakers to assault him. “You should see your face right now. Hang on, I’ll put my favourite list on.”

The list I picked was the same one I’d played when I arrived at Eden’s weeks earlier. Loud and emotional, but with understandable lyrics.

“That’s a little better, but you really prefer this to mine?”

I shrugged. “I’ll listen to a bit of everything. Music speaks to my soul. Given the right playlist, I can do just about anything.”

His gaze drifted between me, the rear-view mirror, and the road. “What ya were playin’ before talks to souls all right: the ones already in hell.”

“You’re so funny.”

We were both quiet for a moment, and I settled into the music, singing along to the lyrics. Beau’s lip twitched as he watched me, but he wisely kept his mouth shut on my inability to carry a tune. It wasn’t like I didn’t know I was tone-deaf. It wasn’t like it mattered really. I’d never wanted to be a singer; I knew my limits. He earned a few brownie points for not asking me to stop though. Not like Brock, who would usually try to reach across the back seat to shove his hand against my mouth or pinch my lips to stop my singing.

My mood fell at the thought of my brother, and my whole family. I was torn between being excited to be heading back home to see them in a few days, and wanting to prolong this thing with Beau, whatever it was, as long as possible. To fight off the falling mood, I turned the music up a little more.

“So, what’s it get ya pumped up for?” he asked, barely audible over the music.

I turned the music down again. “Huh?’

“The noise list. Ya said it’s your pump-up music. What’s it get ya pumped up for?”

“Oh! All sorts of things. A run. A test. And I always listen to it when I’m getting ready for a race.”

“A race?” He glanced at me with piqued interest.

Shit.
I’d been so into the moment that I’d completely forgotten how little I’d actually told him.
Fuck it, it’s balls-to-the-wall time now, I guess.

“Yeah. That’s what I do.”

His eyes trailed my body. “Like running?”

“Ha! No. I run for fun, but a professional track and field athlete, I am not.”

“But not bikes?” he asked, no doubt recalling our conversation at the Fun Spot.

I shrugged. “From time to time, but not professionally.”

Not too often though because Dad pitched a fit every time he saw me on two wheels. Beau’s smile grew, spreading across his mouth like molasses. “Karts?”

It was clear he was thinking of our near disaster at the karts the day before. “Used to. Graduated up a few years ago.”

“To what exactly?”

It was too late to stop talking, even though that’s what I wanted to do. “Production series.”

“And that is?”

“Right now? I drive a V8 Ford Falcon. She used to be a ProV8 car a few years ago, I guess you’d say that’s the elite level in Australia, but when it became outdated, she was refit to run the production series. It’s a chance for the team to get another couple of years out of her before they put her out to paddock.”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he just stared at me.

“What?”

“You drive cars for a livin’?”

I met his eye, wondering why it seemed like such a big deal for him. “So do you.”

“Yeah, but look at you.” His gaze trailed over my body again.

“Look at me, why?”

“You’re a tiny slip of a girl.”

“So? There’s plenty of power in these guns.” I lifted my arms, curling them to show off my biceps. They might not have been big, but they did what I needed them to.

“Wow,” he said, before squirming in his seat.

“What?” I asked again, wondering why he was having such a hard time accepting it. Not that I should have wondered really—most guys did.

“I can honestly say I ain’t never been more turned on than I am right now.”

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes and turned the music up.

He reached over and twisted the knob to turn it back down again.

“What?” I asked again, my tone snippier than it had been.

“Ya don’t approve of me approvin’ of your career?”

“You don’t get it.” I turned the music back up.

His hand was on the knob instantly twisting it back down. “Tell me so I do.”

“You
won’t
get it.” I reached for the stereo again.

He placed his hand over my fingers to stop me. “Make me understand, darlin’, I wanna.”

I released a low sigh when I saw he wasn’t going to let it go. “I grew up around the racetrack. It’s all I’ve ever known really. My dad was a driver before me.”

“Okay?”

“And from the very first time Dad took me out in a car, I’ve been told how ‘cute’ it is that I wanted to drive ‘just like my daddy.’ As I grew older, that changed. At some stage, right around when I sprouted boobs, it stopped being ‘cute’ and started being ‘so damn sexy.’” I clenched my teeth. “Do you know what it’s like having forty-year-old mechanics telling you how
sexy
it is when you can control a car like that?”

“Well, no, I can’t say that I do.”

“At fourteen, I was asked whether I could handle all gearsticks that well, while the guy held his dick. It was fucking disgusting.”

“Aw, dang, darlin’, ya shoulda said somethin’. I wouldn’t have teased about that earlier,” he said, obviously recalling our flirting before we left the hotel.

“No, I don’t mind. I mean, not always. Most of the time, I can deal. And I’m not a prude. I just hate that somehow my career, my sexuality, my very personality, are all defined by two things. My father and my tits.”

“Not sure I follow anymore.”

“You won’t. Don’t worry about it. Just forget I said anything.”

“Is that why you’re here in the States, not bein’ you?” he asked.

Fuck, he could be perceptive. No matter how much of myself I tried to keep tucked away from him, it all bled through enough that I felt he could see the real me.

“It’s part of it. I’ve just had a few things all clash in the last few months, and I needed space.” I couldn’t believe how much I was telling him. It was like I’d opened the door and I couldn’t shut it until the flood had passed. “My baby sister was born with a hole in her heart. After a few months of monitoring and talking around in circles, they put her in for surgery a few weeks back. Which meant Mum and Dad were at the hospital and with specialists for long stretches of time. I had to look after my other brothers and sisters in the meantime. All this happened soon after leaving school and going full-time into racing. Top it all off, I’ve been having to try to keep on top of my mechanic apprenticeship even though I know it all already. It just felt like I hadn’t had a break since . . . well, since forever.”

“What d’ya study in college?”

“I haven’t made it to uni yet. I don’t know if I’ll bother. I mean, I just finished high school and—”

The truck swerved as Beau turned to me, wide-eyed. “What?”

I frowned. “What do you mean what?”

“How old are ya, darlin’?”

My eyes widened as I realised what it was that worried him. He’d met me in a bar while I was wearing a band reserved for over twenty-ones. It was only natural for him to assume I was over the legal drinking age in the States. “Um, eighteen.”

“Sweet Jesus.” He muttered the words under his breath as he tugged on his hair. It was the closest I’d ever heard him come to swearing. “What were ya doin’ in a bar?”

I shrugged. “Having a drink.”

“It ain’t legal.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “It’s hardly the crime of the century. Besides, I wasn’t
drinking
drinking. I just had Coke.”

“Do you have any idea the sort of field day the press would have if they found out I was drinkin’ in a bar with a minor? That I was winin’ and dinin’ one in private? I’d be lookin’ like a horse’s hind end.”