Throwing a question back surprises me more than the actual meaning of it. I recall the answer as my eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “It was a downhill against….”
“Viper,” she reminds me.
“I actually forgot about that. It’s been a few years.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason why you forgot.”
“Oh yeah?” I shift so my chin rests on top of her head. This weird sense of calm comes over me like the last time I shared a bed with her. Regardless of the danger we’re all clearly in, I’m here talking to her about my first race as if we’re just killing time.
She clucks. “Yeah. You forget because you don’t look back. You move on to the next race and face your opponent head-on with single-minded concentration.”
The way she says it, I wonder if it’s a compliment. It sure doesn’t sound like it. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, and I slip two in so we’re skin to skin. It’s a gentle touch that causes her to shiver against me.
“You didn’t answer my question, though.” I continue to tease her with my fingertips until I feel goose bumps. I’m oddly satisfied by this reaction to my touch.
A gasp escapes her before she clears her throat and speaks. “I was there that day.”
“That was about five years ago, so you couldn’t have been more than—”
“Thirteen,” she interrupts. “Even then I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Your hair wasn’t as long as it is now.”
That I remember. I kept having to tie it into a ponytail because it was at that awkward length where it wasn’t quite long, but not short either. Pissed me off often enough that I almost hacked the strands off several times. Zamara’s next words pull me away from the memory.
“Right then I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”
My throat closes at her blatant admission. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. My entire palm is now inside her shirt, resting against the small of her back. A little lower and I would be cupping her ass. I swallow.
“Then you got into that magnificent car of yours,” she continues, unaware of the havoc her words are wreaking on my fragile emotions. “I honestly didn’t breathe until you beat Viper and reached the bottom of the mountain unscathed.”
If memory serves me right, I almost died that day. Viper wouldn’t let me pass, and I kept slamming into the guardrail. This was before Screw joined my team. How the hell did I manage to win that day against a superior driver? The thought brings my mounting desires to a more manageable level. Last thing I want is to finish what Star started with her. I don’t want to place unwarranted expectations in Zamara’s mind. There are promises told through touch that I don’t intend to keep. I slip my hand out of her shirt and maintain the cotton barrier. Too much is at stake. Since the killer is clearly after me, there’s no telling if Zamara is outside of the kill list.
“I vowed I’d be on your team at least once in my lifetime on that day,” she says with such conviction I almost laugh at her absurdity. Her next confession is what stops all humor from coming out of me. “I think I fell in love with you that day too.”
“Oh, Princess….”
“Stop calling me that.” She rises to her elbow so she’s looking me in the eye. “I’m not some fragile girl anymore.” The determination that never fails to make me nervous enters those green depths. “In a year I will be standing beside my father as we transition from his rule to mine.”
“Come on.” I roll my eyes. “We all know your father isn’t stepping down any time soon.”
“It takes years to learn the ropes. You know that.”
“Of course I do.”
“Stop distracting me from what I’m saying. The least you can do is acknowledge my feelings for you without making a joke of it.” Hurt mixes with the determination, and she is in fact just a girl in that moment to be so open with her feelings. For her to be an effective boss, she’ll have to build a proper poker face. Any small show of weakness will be taken advantage of. That’s why her father affects a bored air when he addresses people. He waits until people become complacent, and then he goes for the jugular.
I close my eyes and move my hand from the back of my head to my face, attempting to rub away the sudden onset of fatigue. “Zamara.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
So I do, despite knowing she won’t like what she sees in my eyes. Her expression goes slack after not finding what she’s looking for. A spark maybe? Some signal that would in some way give her hope that I feel the same way for her as she does for me?
Then I confirm the truth I know she already suspects, “Other than racing, I’m not capable of loving anything or anyone. Slipstream is dead because I insisted the Impulse Cup continue as scheduled. Many are dead because I don’t care about anything but being in my GT and racing. If I hadn’t been selfish and accepted sooner that I’m the target, then maybe the killer wouldn’t have reached Slipstream. I consider him a brother, and still I put my own wants before him, and now he’s dead.” I’m speaking in circles. I know this. But being aware of something doesn’t mean you’re able to stop it from happening.
“But you and Bedlam—”
“Have an understanding,” I cut her assumption off at the knees. “He’s the only one who wants to take things to a level where he believes he needs to protect me, keep me safe.”
“He loves you too.”
I concentrate on my breathing. I can’t take much more of this or I’ll suffocate. Actually drowning is preferable to this. But Zamara needs to understand if she’s to let go
