Erin McCarthy - Full Throttle

Shawn sat stunned by his vehemence. She hadn’t meant that she would be tossing the payoff in his face every time he hit on her. In fact, that was the opposite of what she wanted. It would be profoundly awkward to be thinking about how much money she was paying him while he was between her thighs.

“I don’t want that either,” she assured him. “I agree entirely that if anything happens between us, we keep it totally separate from our business arrangement.” If she stopped to think about it, she would have to admit that doing that would be damn near impossible, but she just refused to think about it. There was too much at stake to worry too much about the finer points.

He gave a slow smile that made her wish his hand were still between her thighs. “Then we have a deal. Get over here and seal it with a kiss.”

Shawn gave a nervous laugh. Because she was going to do this. And because she wanted to do this. It was a smart business decision. It was a monstrously stupid personal one. But that basically summed up her life over the last decade—she could run a business, but she had no clue how to handle men.

Maybe that’s why Rhett was so damn appealing. She didn’t have to handle him. He wanted to handle her, and he gave step-by-step instructions on how to do it.

So she shifted her butt on her stool, inching forward, maneuvering between his open legs, her right hand gripping the bar top. Her lips parted in anticipation and she watched him as she leaned, watched the way he watched her, his stare never wavering, his eye contact so complete, so intense, it was instinctive to look away. But she didn’t. She forced herself to continue, even when she wanted to drop her gaze to her lap in confusion, view him under the demure protection of her eyelashes and a tilted head.

When she was close enough for him to reach for her without stretching, he did, putting the palm of his hand firmly on the back of her head and drawing her to him, with a commanding, but not harsh, pressure.

Then they were kissing. It wasn’t a kiss. It was kissing. It wasn’t tentative, or curious. The minute their mouths met, it was like they’d been there before many times, and both wanted more. Shawn had thought kissing was pleasant before, that it was a nice gesture of affection, or a precursor to the passion of sex. But never had she known that it could be this—a hot, wet explosion, an all-consuming tangle of tongues and desires, her breath ragged and desperate, his hand digging into the remains of her bun, yanking her hair harder with each passing second.

Just when she was reaching for him, wanting to slip her arms around his neck, wanting to snuggle in closer to brush her body against his, he seemed to sense her need and let her go so quickly she almost fell off her stool. Rhett stared at her, panting, his eyes hooded, expression unreadable. She stared back, unsure what to say, wanting to regain the upper hand, but feeling too confused, too aroused, to form a coherent sentence. She knew if she tried to speak, she wouldn’t be able to achieve the casual nonchalance she wanted to project. He would hear her nervousness.

Because he had made her nervous. Afraid that she might lose the bet. Afraid that she might lose even more than that before the six months of living with him was out.

What she really wanted to do was say something funny that would break the intimate spell between them, but she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, which further confused her.

She settled on, “What date are you free to get married?” It was businesslike, efficient, and her voice only wobbled a little on the last word. The M word. Her stomach flipped like a pancake. She had not been a girl who had fantasized much about her wedding, but she had assumed that she would at least want to get married, not be terrified.

But hearing herself ask him the question like she was an employer asking when a new employee could start work, she felt significantly better. She could handle this.

“We’ll get married this Friday, which gives your lawyer time to draw up the papers. Then we’ll have a party to celebrate on Valentine’s Day,” he told her. “It will make it seem like a romantic elopement, totally legit. And you can wear sexy red lingerie on our wedding night. I prefer garters and corsets.”

He never ceased to amaze her with his arrogance. Or the fact that he was right about the dates. Both made total sense. But if she agreed, she was feeding his ego. “Oh, really? I agree with the elopement nonsense. But you can forget the corset. I’m not trussing myself up like a Victoria’s Secret model for you, because I won’t be having sex with you.”

Rhett reached out and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. Shawn wanted to jerk away, but she didn’t want to look petulant. Besides, it was causing her to shiver in places she hadn’t even known she could shiver.

“We already placed that bet—you don’t need to reiterate it.” He shrugged. “I’ll buy you the lingerie and we’ll see who wins.”

Shawn calculated four days until the wedding and seven after it to be the victor. Holy hell. It was going to be the longest eleven days of her life.

She was screwed. Quite literally.

“ARE you sure you want to do this?” Shawn’s lawyer asked him point blank in his stuffy office loaded down with mahogany furniture. Rhett didn’t like rooms like this—it was dark and oppressive and formal. It made him long for the acreage of his parents’ property, or the freedom of being behind the wheel on the track.

Clinton seemed like a nice enough sort of guy, and he was clearly concerned about Shawn’s well-being. It was obvious he wasn’t buying their sudden desire for marriage, when four days earlier Shawn had told him she wasn’t dating anyone.

“I’m sure,” Rhett told him confidently, just wanting to sign the paperwork and get the hell out of there.

He’d thought of virtually nothing else for the last seventy-two hours, and he hadn’t changed his mind. He needed the money, otherwise he was going to have to give up driving a car after this season. He knew that. He also knew that he and Shawn collectively could generate attention and media and create a buzz for the track this year, guaranteeing greater success for her and him both. At the end of the year they would both walk away with their dreams secured. It was win-win. Plus, he would have potentially months to explore a sexual relationship with Shawn. After that kiss the other night, there was no way he was going to deny himself that pleasure.

Clinton sighed. “Alright. I guess I can’t gainsay Shawn at this point. She’s technically doing exactly what her grandfather wanted her to do. I swear if he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself for doing this to her.”

It was nice to see that Shawn inspired such protectiveness. Rhett understood the feeling, and he’d spent very little time with her so far. They had only spoken briefly since her unexpected proposal the other night, and it had only been about managerial details, like when they would tell their families and when he would move in to her apartment. And where she actually lived so he knew where to move to.

“I think Shawn is going to be just fine. You don’t need to worry about a woman as savvy and strong as she is,” he told Clinton. He meant it. Any woman who was willing to go through with a fake marriage to keep her business was tenacious as hell.

“Just don’t run around on her and embarrass her,” Clinton said, giving Rhett the stink eye.

“I have no intention of running around on her.” He didn’t. If he was working up an appetite at home, he fully intended to eat there as well.

“Guess there’s nothing to do then but sign on the dotted line.” Clinton pointed to the bottom line of the contract Rhett had already skimmed and handed him a pen.

Rhett signed his name with a flourish. Rhett B. Ford. Done.

He shook Clinton’s hand and left the office, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself.

Then he called his brother Nolan. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You busy on Monday?” It was their day off from racing, usually their only one.

“Not particularly, though I was planning to sleep in. Why?”

“I need you to help me move.” Rhett crossed the parking lot and beeped his truck open, unable to prevent a grin. He enjoyed shocking his brother. There was just something really damn fun about it.

“What? Where the hell are you moving to? You just took that place over from me. God, are you moving back in with Mom and Dad? That’s lame.”

“No. I’m moving in with Shawn.” He was going to save the whole marriage thing until after the deed was done, but he did need to get the muscle lined up for moving day, or he was going to be trying to carry a couch by himself.

There was dead silence on the other end. Followed by, “What the fuck are you talking about? You just met Shawn like five minutes ago!”

“We met on Saturday, technically,” he said cheerfully.

“You’re kidding me right?”

“No. There’s just something about her. She blew me away.” She had. That wasn’t a lie.

“But you’re not impulsive. You don’t attach easily.”

“That’s just Mom’s opinion. I actually attach extremely easily.” Which might concern him if he stopped to think about it. He chose not to. “Just save your opinions and psychological analysis and show up on Monday, okay?”

“Does Mom know?”

“Not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her before Monday.”

“Jesus Christ, Rhett. She’s going to flip her fucking wig.”

“She can handle it. She handled nine kids. I’ll talk to you later. I have plans with Shawn in twenty minutes.” To get married.