She Who Dares (12 page)

But it appeared that she was a complete masochist, because now the idea had not only taken root in her head, it was accelerating faster than the top speed of the TVR. I can’t want this, she thought desperately, as the driveway of his rented house came into view. I can’t ever have this, and it’s wrong of me to want it.

She veered left, cutting the gap between the TVR and the Ferrari dangerously short. If Sebastian got back to the garage first, he’d be in control of the forfeit, and if he asked her to sleep with him, she wouldn’t be able to say no. But the fallout would destroy her.

Winning the race was her only option.

And she would do whatever it took to make it happen.

In the driver’s seat of the Ferrari, Sebastian kept one eye on the road and the other on Nic in the rear view mirror. She drove like a pro, her style sharp, totally in control. If anything he’d say she intimidated the car, not the other way round.

And she was chasing his bumper like a woman hell bent on winning. He grinned. Someone wanted to set the forfeit real bad. Well, after their week of skirting around each other, pretending they weren’t in that zone of total, sexual awareness, he’d just about had his fill. Frustration was overrated as far as he was concerned.

She wanted that forfeit? She’d have to take it from him, because he had no intention of giving it up. ‘Who is the pro here?’ he asked, toeing the accelerator a little harder as the TVR cut the space down even more. ‘You think you can take me, princess? Go right ahead and try!’

He’d never raced a woman before. He’d certainly never raced a woman for sex, and the thrill of it heated his blood. He’d grown used to the way his body felt tight around Nic, but now it was downright hard. An image of her breasts pushing against thin cotton flashed into his mind, and he groaned.

He was going to win this damn race, and then he was going to screw Nic Sinclair senseless. Slipping one hand down, Sebastian adjusted the front of his jeans as best he could, then fixed his gaze on the road.

They clung together all the way to the bypass, Sebastian not giving an inch. The Ferrari sprawled across the road and he used every single one of those inches to keep her at bay. He could almost sense her frustration. It brought a smile to his face. ‘That makes two of us.’

The road widened, split, the one narrow lane giving way to two. Flat. Straight. Wide. She whipped the TVR straight into the outside lane, and Sebastian sat the Ferrari across the middle of the road. The challenge was clear. She either sat behind him, or she picked a lane and forced her way through the gap. The question was which one would she choose?

He knew what he’d do, but his knowledge was different, technical, based on his understanding of slipstream and road surface, not governed by the rules of the Highway Code ingrained through years of road driving.

She clung to the outside lane and accelerated up behind him, engine snarling. The Ferrari roared as he tested her nerve, wanting to see just how hard she’d go to get ahead. The TVR drew alongside until they were perfectly aligned.

Sebastian glanced across. Dark, glossy hair curved round a face so delicate it could have been made from porcelain. She was chewing on her bottom lip, small hands on the steering wheel, her focus total.

And in that moment something inside him changed, though he couldn’t say for the life of him what it was. But he could feel it like a punch to the gut. Like an explosion, making his ears ring and his heart pound. Like a car tumbling into a ravine at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The stench of burning rubber and smoke filled his nostrils, and he could taste blood. He smacked his left hand against the passenger seat, groping blindly for the body of his co-driver, found only empty space.

What the…

Then it was gone. And he found himself in the driver’s seat of a vintage Ferrari, racing a woman for sex. He touched the brake, and the speedometer needle flicked to the left. He touched the brake again, fought for air, found it. Weeks of keeping that memory locked down, of refusing to think about the crash, of not needing to think about the crash, and his subconscious had decided to drag it up now? Son of a bitch.

The TVR shot past him, cutting into the inside lane, planting its wide rear end right in his face. The outside lane was tantalisingly, temptingly empty. All he had to do was slide the Ferrari out into it, floor the accelerator, and he’d be back at the garage before she even had a chance to blink. He had the skill, the nerve.

Except, for a moment, he didn’t.

He’d thought the crash hadn’t affected him. He’d thought wrong. Nausea rushed in, but he fought it back, pushed all his emotions aside, and just drove. All he wanted now was Nic, in his arms, with him, under him, giving him the oblivion that he needed. He didn’t want to think about that moment, brief though it had been, when he’d let fear take hold.
Sebastian gritted his teeth, dropped the car into third and took the outside lane. He didn’t do fear. He’d been born to win. It was what he was. What he did. Not ready to race?

Like hell he wasn’t.

Nic saw the move almost in slow motion, and reacted a second too late. She floored the accelerator, but she was no match for Sebastian and she knew it. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as the rear end of the Ferrari became nothing more than a smear of red in the distance.

Her heart bumped out of time, and the world around her blurred. Just in time, she pulled herself back to reality, cut her speed and flung the TVR to the edge of the road. Handbrake on, engine off. She didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of beating him back to the garage.

Sebastian had won. And she knew exactly what the forfeit would be. Between her legs, a hot, empty ache set in. Her breasts felt heavy and her fingers shook. With every part of her being, she wanted that forfeit. There was no point pretending otherwise. Fighting it was a waste of time.

If only she was brave enough to face it.

Her mouth dry, Nic scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to figure out what on earth she was going to do. One hand fell to her side, and she slipped her fingertips under the hem of her t-shirt and stroked the rough, bumpy patch of skin that crept its way below the waistband of her shorts.

Why had she done it to herself? Why hadn’t she been stronger, braver, harder? As tears burned the back of her eyes, Nic made a decision. She couldn’t change the past, who she’d been, what she’d done. But the future was entirely under her control.

The engine roared into life with a gentle push of the start button. First gear, check the mirrors, pull out.

All she had to do was find the courage to make the future what she wanted it to be.

She took a circuitous route back to the garage, mostly because she was so distracted that she kept turning right instead of left. Thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘are you crazy’ fought it out inside her head. Nic let them play. Fighting them was pointless.

Eventually she made it back. The street outside the garage was busy, people strolling along in the direction of the pub. Girls in heels, men in shorts and surf tees hollering as the TVR rumbled past. Friday night, she realised. The warm Cornish air smelled of salt and play, and Nic felt suddenly, blessedly numb. Let the fears shout, and eventually they wore themselves out.

Sebastian marched across the garage forecourt, big hands on narrow hips, and started down the road towards the car. His gorgeous face was set hard, his green eyes narrow and flinty, and he looked like he wanted to kick someone into the middle of next week.

Nic dropped the window as he got closer.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he shouted, seemingly not caring one jot that he was in the middle of the street and people were staring. ‘I thought something bad had happened!’

Nic looked up at him. The fear came back, only to be drowned out a second later as the walls holding in her desire gave way and she was flooded with hot, sharp need. ‘I went for a drive’ she said simply. ‘I needed to clear my head.’

‘Don’t ever do that again,’ he warned her, keeping pace as she crawled the car along the road. She bumped the front end over the lowered edge of the pavement and rolled it into the workshop.

Nic sat for a moment, listening to the snarl of the engine and the thump of her heart. Then she turned it off, pushed open the door and got out. It took every ounce of concentration she possessed to clamp down her anxiety and put one foot in front of the other, but she had to do this.

‘You lost,’ Sebastian said, folding his arms and leaning back against the Ferrari, his dark hair and dark clothes contrasting sharply with the red paintwork. He looked like the devil standing there, watching her. She didn’t know what he saw, but his gaze made her feel like she was on fire. ‘Now I get to choose the forfeit,’ he said softly, dangerously.

Nic faltered. She felt hunted, even though he hadn’t taken a single step closer, but she could see all the power in his body, in those tanned, muscular arms and long legs and big shoulders. More than that, she could see that he knew. He knew just how badly she wanted him.

Sebastian unfolded his arms and beckoned her closer. A delicious shiver worked its way down her spine. ‘Come here.’

She knew it was wrong to give him control like this, but just the thought of it had her insides exploding with hot anticipation, and heat rushing between her legs. Her breasts throbbed so much she could barely stop herself from touching them, from trying to ease the ache.

‘Come here,’ he said again. ‘Now.’

Nic had no choice but to obey. She instinctively knew that this time, he wouldn’t stop. All she had to do was let him take her wherever he wanted her to go. Her body felt alternately hot and numb as she walked towards him.

He let her get within a couple of feet before he ordered her to stop. His gaze travelled from the top of her head to her feet, and he took his time about it. Then, ‘Strip.’

The command was issued so softly that at first Nic thought she’d heard him wrong. But one glance at his face, the hunger burning in his expression, told her she’d heard him right.

She pushed her knuckles against her mouth, then dropped her hand. Turning around, she walked over to the control panel on the wall and flicked the switches, leaving the side of the workshop where she stood bathed in darkness.

And Sebastian dressed in light.

It went against every instinct she possessed, every fear she had, fired up her own self-loathing into a burning taste in the back of her throat, but she knew she had to do this. As the grills for the workshop came down and shut out the rest of the world, she pulled off her boots and peeled away her t-shirt and threw them in his direction.

The button for her cut-offs gave way with the slightest of touches, the fabric aged and soft, and as they slowly slid down her legs she risked a look at him. His cheekbones were dark with colour, his eyes almost black as he watched her through half lowered lids. She slid off her knickers, plain old cotton that had long ago given up pretending to be any colour other than grey, tossed those towards him, and heard him exhale.

She stood there in front of him, wearing nothing but her nerves, totally exposed except for the darkness which surrounded her, protecting her. There was only her and Sebastian and the promise of sex and pleasure, locked together in their own little bubble far, far away from the rest of the world.

He swore.

Nic said nothing. She just let that dirty little word shimmer in the space between them, let herself feel the intent and the promise and the need behind it. There was no past, no present, no disappointment. She felt suddenly, shockingly powerful. Sebastian was the one giving commands, but he wasn’t the one in control.

‘You like the darkness,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever driven in the dark?’ he said, his voice low and smoky and teasing, as he took a step closer. ‘Turned off the lights and let your instincts guide you?’

‘N…No.’ Nic whispered. She could barely believe what she was doing. She hadn’t been fully naked with someone else in the room since…well, since she’d been old enough to dress herself. It felt exhilarating.

‘How about blindfolded?’ Sebastian said. ‘Imagine it, Nic. You’re completely in the dark, and you’ve got to trust the person with you. Got to give them total control. Would you do it?’

Give them control.
Give Sebastian control.
Not her, not her fears. Give that responsibility up. Would she do it? Her hands settled on her hips, warm palms on warm skin.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I would.’

‘Go in the office,’ he ordered her. ‘Turn off the lights, put your tidy little backside on that desk and start imagining.’

‘Imagining what?’

‘All the filthy things I am going to make you do.’

Nic pulled in air, let it out again with a moan. She hesitated just long enough to see those bright green eyes narrow in warning before she turned and started to walk. It took every ounce of concentration she possessed not to run. Hands shaking, she opened the office door and went in, her imagination running wild.

The desk called to her. It had sat in this office for as long as she could remember, a memory held in every scratch. She’d learned how to rewire a dashboard sat at that desk, had spent hours sat poring over the Highway Code before passing her driving test two days after her seventeenth birthday.

And now she was going to learn how to do something she’d tried and failed at so many times before. She was going to learn how to…

The sound of the workshop doors opening shunted the quiet aside.

Why were the doors opening? What the hell was going on? Nic couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except listen, her hearing super-tuned by panic.

And then things got a million times worse. ‘Sebastian!’ The female voice rang out, clear and lovely and so very familiar. The slap of flip-flops matched the pounding of Nic’s pulse. ‘It’s good to see you!’

Her hands became fists, and Nic looked upwards, as if she could find some answers in that direction. Why now? Why? Her mind flashed to her discarded clothes on the floor of the workshop, her tattered knickers, and humiliation drenched her.