Page 55 of Over the Limit

Lachlan

A good sense of right and wrong.

Guess I just proved that fucking theory wrong.

I kissed her.

I fucking kissed her and would kill to do it again.

Her taste is seared in my goddamn brain.

Her laugh is echoing in my ears.

Her smile has stained my every thought.

I want her and I can’t have her unless I risk every goddamn thing I’ve ever worked for.

You don’t fuck with your teammates.

Your team comes first.

But when I look out the window of the jet to the city beyond as we cruise higher and higher, I want her with every bone in my body.

Twenty-one days. Where the fuck did that come from, huh? You actually think that ridiculous bullshit is going to work? That it’s going to make you want her less? Want to fuck up your carefully balanced world less?

News flash, fucker. Absence makes all things grow stronger. Or harder in my cock’s case.

Twenty-one fucking days of torture when you know what the outcome is already going to be on your end.

“Hey.”

I glance over to where Rossi is holding a bottle of scotch out to me. Just like he always does on the jet ride back to Monaco.

But unlike my usual response—no thanks—this time, I fucking take it.

“Ohhh, a rough day?” he asks from behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Something like that.” I pour myself a glass and pass it back without looking his way.

I can’t. Guilt is a mean, nasty bitch.

I’ve never particularly liked Rossi. We’re two completely different men, which is what made our pairing such a good gamble for Apex. But now we’re competing against each other. And not just in a race car.

That’s a fucked-up thought.

I lift the tumbler to my lips. I savor the sweet oak-y taste of the alcohol on my tongue, but nothing erases the taste of her kiss.

Fucking nothing.

I pushed it to the final damn minute—me kissing her—until I couldn’t hold out anymore. Missing my flight wasn’t an option. It was my last tether to my control. Anything more than a kiss would result in me getting lost in her like I’ve thought about more times than I can fucking count.

And then I would’ve missed this flight.

I swallow the mouthful.

I invite the burn.

I welcome the purgatory of sitting next to my teammate. Of sitting with a man who has no clue I’ve spent the night with Blair.