Becoming The Boss. Zuri DayЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she murmured, in that gorgeous, husky sleep-drenched voice.
He growled long and low. This was such a bad idea. What had possessed him to gamble with her? No one had ever beaten him. Ever. He should’ve known this minx would throw him for a loop—which only made him want her even more! So cancel. Tell her something. Anything.
The problem was he was already living one lie, and the thought of customising another pierced his guts as if they were twisted in barbed wire. Add in the suspicion that today’s racing blip—courtesy of a flashback like no other—had totalled her aspirations of launching her prototype at Silverstone and he could never tolerate it.
‘Where are we going?’ She swung her legs off the leather couch, sat upright and shook out her hair until those spectacular ruby-red flames blazed down her back.
‘Here,’ he croaked, grabbing two caps from the marble bench and tossing one in her lap. ‘Put this on.’
‘Incognito?’ Her grey eyes bolted to his, sparkled with excitement.
It was an effervescence that wasn’t going to last long. Or was it? Continually she threw him, and this little jaunt might be just what she needed.
In a sudden burst of self-honesty he acknowledged that the temptation to take her had arrived shortly after the tickets. But the subject matter had made him pause. She was prudish at times, yet inquisitive at others—the delightful memory of her ear crushed against the bedroom door on his yacht came to mind—and he’d flirted with the idea that her past experiences were slim and less than stellar.
Meanwhile here he was, a veritable connoisseur in the erotic arts of passion and seduction, impervious to being knocked off his feet, suddenly disturbed—no, downright daunted—because this woman could easily take his legs from under him.
It took him five minutes to lock up, usher Serena round to the storage compound and heft the double doors wide.
Click went the automatic lights, flooding the space with fluorescence, blinding him momentarily as he waited for…
Her swift inhalation. A deep, rapturous moan. One that nearly brought him to his knees.
Did she have to be the hottest woman on the planet?
‘Ohhh, yeah,’ she breathed, her sultry voice loaded with salacious hunger for his latest toy. ‘Your taste is impeccable, Finn. All that horsepower makes me twitchy. I think I’m about to have the ride of my life.’
Finn closed his eyes. He was doomed.
SERENA WAS DOOMED.
Finn had driven her across the city behind the wheel of his high-spec, custom-made, invitation-only sports car, slamming her to the edge of the hot zone. Her hormones were frantic as she imagined him making love with the same intensity—with an inordinate skill and a passionate appreciation for the machine in his hands.
The way he smoothed the leather of the steering wheel with an amorous touch, curled his long fingers around the gearstick with a firm, sensual grip… She’d shuddered with pleasure just watching him.
Now, seated in a super-comfy armchair in a magnificent tent in the middle of Montreal, she was right back on edge. A thrumming mass of expectation.
From the outside the structure appeared like a giant theatrical dome, with multiple conical peaks that soared into the sky in a colourful array of blue and yellow stripes—reminiscent of Arabian nights. And inside the capacious space rivalled the outside’s awe factor with a distinct flare of class and luxury. It was the type Serena liked—more avant-garde than ostentatious, cast by the heights of technology for performers to achieve mind-boggling feats. It was exciting and thrill seeking. Definitely her thing.
Something awesome was about to happen, and anticipation fired through her veins like gasoline sparking to ignite.
The dark-haired man sitting on the other side of Finn suddenly turned to face him. ‘You’re real familiar. Have we met before?’
Serena stifled a smile. She’d expected to lounge in some VIP suite, and being one of the masses was more scintillating than ever. Adding a kick of danger that they’d be discovered.
With the black caps pulled low on their foreheads and dressed in T-shirts and jeans—Finn in a yummy buttery black leather jacket, collar flipped high, and Serena in a dark blue hoodie—they created a perfect image of friends out for kicks.
Finn smiled, all charismatic charm, and held out his hand for an old-boy shake. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had, sir. It’s a pleasure.’
It struck her then. In many ways he was a showman himself. Although he blended seamless confidence and ease in any situation, she fancied he adapted to his surroundings, even altered his accent to fit. A veritable chameleon.
It was a talent she could only marvel at with no small amount of envy. Yet she couldn’t quite figure out why he felt the need. Why not just be himself?
She could only presume, from the way he blocked his emotions, it was some kind of survival technique—and, let’s face it, they’d both been reared on fame and fortune so she knew all about those. Except where she’d shunned it he’d danced beneath the limelight, albeit somewhat distanced by not being his true self. It was as if he preferred to be untouched by everyone around him. Now, that was something she definitely understood. Opening up wasn’t easy. It invited all sorts of pain, disappointment and heartache.
But, more profoundly, what seriously blew her mind was the stranger who came into view when Finn ditched his façades. That man was the most fascinating of all.
It was the man who’d made her spaghetti in his kitchen—the one who’d tucked her unruly hair behind her ear, pouted when he’d lost at the video games, the one who seemed perfectly happy to hang out with ‘normal’ folk and swig cola.
As for the secretive girly smile on her face—that was down to the way he seemed more content. Not so restless and edgy. No dark pain in his eyes tonight. So any regret she’d harboured about going to him earlier in the evening had flown by the wayside.
‘Hey!’ the man next to him said. ‘I know where I’ve seen you before. On the TV. You’re that guy.’
Serena bit down on her lips and held her breath, curious to see if he’d protect his privacy, give them this one night. Craving the real him for a bit longer.
Finn raised his chin, his bewildered expression worthy of an Oscar-winning actor. ‘Who?’
‘The one who races them fast cars.’
Frowning, Finn turned to face her, his voice thick and deep enough to carry a perfect American drawl. ‘Hey, baby, do I look like that race-car driver?’
Suddenly slap-happy, as if she’d had one too many beers, Serena glanced past Finn to the stranger. ‘That British guy?’ she asked incredulously.
With a dubious flush, the other man shrugged. ‘He could be.’
‘No way.’ Shaking her head, she leaned back against the pad of her chair. ‘He’s weird-looking. And his eyes…’ She deliberately pulled a shudder up her spine.
Finn cocked one dark blond brow, excused himself graciously, then twisted his mighty fine torso and leaned into her.
‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’
‘They’re weird. Cerulean blue and yet sometimes…’ She left him dangling for a few blissful seconds in an effort to get him back for all the times he’d toyed with her.
‘Sometimes…?’ he demanded.
‘They change colour. Gleam in a feral kind of way. Hypnotic.’
‘Hypnotic?’