Page 56 of Sweet Deception

His ride purrs into the lot and creates something of a frenzy. Even Veronika perks up. “Who’s that?”

“One of the rookies.”

We watch the car. I expect the kid to park in the same row as the other rookie racers, in the line perpendicular to the masters, but instead, he drives toward my Aston Martin and skids to a stop directly in front of us.

He flashes his headlights.

Intrigue breaks open inside me, followed by the thrill of competition.

I can see Veronika’s posture tensing up out of the corner of my eye. “Why’d he come over here like that?”

“This little kid wants to race me.” Glee infuses my tone.

I can feel her alarm, but nothing could dent the smile on my face. I love a good challenge.

I flick my lights twice at the tangerine, the signal for challenge accepted. The kid whips his car into reverse and races toward the exit, cheers chasing him. Spectators point at my car and his as they rush to get prime seating.

Money changes hands as gamblers place bets on which of us will win the competition. While the tangerine tears off toward the starting line, I unlock the doors and nod at Veronika. “Get out.”

“Huh?”

“I’m racing. You’re watching.”

Outside the car, a northwest wind slaps me vigorously as I stride around and meet her and Napalm at the front of the car. I hit the lock and throw an arm across her shoulder, leading her toward the unofficial spectator seating on the cement incline directly ahead.

Having my arm around her like this is dangerous, I admit, and it does something to me I’m unprepared to manage. I’m not oblivious to what this small bit of physical contact is doing to her either.

But there’s a reason for it.

“Calm down.” I keep my voice low. “Some of the people here know who I am, and if they think you’re with me, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Oh, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Throngs of people part around us as we cross the underground lot toward the seating, where people have already begun to take their places. I’m sure we must look strange to them.

Here I am, a champion street racer with a savage reputation, escorting a woman swimming in an oversize hoodie who’s cradling a small cat in her arms.

Not that I care. We’re here. A challenge was issued and accepted.

This race is happening, whether Veronika’s comfortable or not.

“Sit up there.” I point toward the top of the incline. Less people, better view. I’ll be able to see her, and vice versa. “The race shouldn’t last more than ten minutes or so. I’ll be back.”

“It’s ten minutes long? Where exactly are you going?” She faces me, gray eyes bright with concern. Almost like she cares…

My heart does something strange in my chest. Schoolboy bullshit.

I admonish it as I step closer, clear my throat, and gesture toward the course. “We’re racing that strip over there.” Across a pocket of water bordering the docks directly ahead, an access road curves toward the city. “Whoever makes it back here first wins.”

Under her breath, she mutters, “Danger really is your middle name, huh?”

I’d laugh, but that would catapult this moment into “bonding” territory, so instead, I pour as much intimidation into my tone as I can. “Stay put, Veronika Kotova.” I narrow my eyes at her stoic face. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“I already regret it.”

For a moment, our gazes clash, and it’s like we’re both wondering what exactly she means by that.

“Protect Napalm.” That’s all I come up with before I spin on my heel, stalk back to the car, and accelerate toward the starting line.