“Has she now?”
There’s something in Carrick’s tone that I can’t decipher, but his beautiful Irish brogue touches me in all the right places, making me shiver.
Touching me just like his hands did last night. His hands on me…him inside me…
Oh God. Focus, Andi. No Carrick sex thoughts.
Knowing I’m going to have to acknowledge the men standing near my legs, especially the one who saw me naked last night, I plaster on a neutral face and push myself out from under the car.
Shit.
He looks…gorgeous. Unfairly hot.
Why does he have to be so damn good-looking?
It makes things so much harder. It’s not that Carrick being ugly would make it any easier because he’d still be him, and that’s what I like best of all—the Carrick underneath all the pretty.
Oh, Jesus. Stop it. Stop it now.
The next thing you know, I’ll be breaking into song about the blue, blue of his eyes.
Which are currently sparkling down at me. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. His dirty-blond hair is all messed up, like he hasn’t touched it since he left the bed—the one he shared with me.
And now, I can’t stop thinking about Carrick and me in bed.
Him naked. All of that smooth golden skin. His six-pack. His huge co—
“Good morning,” he says, bringing me back to my senses. His brow is lifted, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.
He knows where my mind just was.
I blush immediately. Covering up, I mutter out, “Good morning,” and get to my feet.
I need to sort myself out and quick. Otherwise, Uncle John will figure me out straight away. The way I’m currently acting, I might as well have the fact that I had sex with Carrick last night written all over my face in permanent marker.
I can do this. I can be a grown-up and act like nothing has changed because really it hasn’t. I just know what Carrick looks like naked. That’s all.
Oh God.
“Your car’s all ready.” I force my eyes up to his, but I feel a jolt the instant our eyes meet. Taking a quick breath, I swallow down. “You’ll have no problems. It’ll handle perfectly now.”
“John, you got a minute?” That’s Ben calling.
“Sure. I’ll catch up with you before the race.” Uncle John pats Carrick on the shoulder. He goes over to Ben, who is on the other side of the garage, leaving Carrick and me alone.
I watch Uncle John go. When I bring my eyes back to Carrick’s, he’s still staring at me but more intensely now.
That causes my heart to ratchet up and a swarm of butterflies to invade, mercilessly attacking my insides. I’m starting to feel hot, and I have a strong urge to run away.
“So, yeah…I’d better, um…”
I start backing away, but Carrick follows me.
“Andressa”—his voice is lowered—“can we talk?”
What I should say, as a mature adult is, Yes, of course we can talk.
Sadly, I’m not feeling that mature right now, which is why I act like a complete child. I mutter out, “Uh…I can’t right now. I need to, um…wash my hands.”
I lift my dirty hands up as proof, and then before he can say another word, I hotfoot it out of there like my arse is on fire.
My heart is practically beating out of my chest by the time I make it to the restroom.
I stand at the sink, my hands trembling.
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just talk to him?
Because you’re scared of what he’s going to say.
He’ll say what needs to be said—that last night was a one-night stand. It’s what I need to say. Because that’s all it was.
Even if I wasn’t who I am and I could be with him, this is Carrick. He doesn’t have girlfriends. He has one-night stands.
I rub at the weird sensation in my chest, which has left me feeling a little breathless, and in turn, I smear more dirt onto my overalls.
I sigh at myself in the mirror.
I need to act my age and talk to him. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can have a conversation with the man I had sex with last night.
I just need to get the inevitable over with, so Carrick and I can get back to normal. Whatever our normal is.
Deciding that I’ll talk to him the next time I see him, I pump out some soap into my hands with a renewed sense of purpose. I run the hot water tap and scrub my hands clean. I’ve just grabbed some paper towels when my phone pings a text in my pocket.
I dry my hands, dump the paper towels in the bin, and get my phone from the pocket of my overalls.
Carrick.
My heart starts to beat faster.
I don’t know what the fuck that just was, but we need to talk—now. Driver’s room. Two minutes.
My fingers tremble as I type out my reply.
Okay.
I look at myself in the mirror again, trying to build my courage. I give myself a pep talk. “You can do this. It’ll be easy. Carrick is a player. He’s well versed in one-night stands. You’re both grown-ups. You can do this.”
Taking a deep breath, I leave the restroom and head straight for Carrick’s room.
I take another deep breath before knocking on his door.
“Come in.” His gruff voice comes from the other side.
Hands trembling, I step inside before closing the door behind me.
Carrick is leaning up against the window, arms folded, eyes giving nothing away.
“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding tiny.
There’s something in Carrick’s tone that I can’t decipher, but his beautiful Irish brogue touches me in all the right places, making me shiver.
Touching me just like his hands did last night. His hands on me…him inside me…
Oh God. Focus, Andi. No Carrick sex thoughts.
Knowing I’m going to have to acknowledge the men standing near my legs, especially the one who saw me naked last night, I plaster on a neutral face and push myself out from under the car.
Shit.
He looks…gorgeous. Unfairly hot.
Why does he have to be so damn good-looking?
It makes things so much harder. It’s not that Carrick being ugly would make it any easier because he’d still be him, and that’s what I like best of all—the Carrick underneath all the pretty.
Oh, Jesus. Stop it. Stop it now.
The next thing you know, I’ll be breaking into song about the blue, blue of his eyes.
Which are currently sparkling down at me. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. His dirty-blond hair is all messed up, like he hasn’t touched it since he left the bed—the one he shared with me.
And now, I can’t stop thinking about Carrick and me in bed.
Him naked. All of that smooth golden skin. His six-pack. His huge co—
“Good morning,” he says, bringing me back to my senses. His brow is lifted, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.
He knows where my mind just was.
I blush immediately. Covering up, I mutter out, “Good morning,” and get to my feet.
I need to sort myself out and quick. Otherwise, Uncle John will figure me out straight away. The way I’m currently acting, I might as well have the fact that I had sex with Carrick last night written all over my face in permanent marker.
I can do this. I can be a grown-up and act like nothing has changed because really it hasn’t. I just know what Carrick looks like naked. That’s all.
Oh God.
“Your car’s all ready.” I force my eyes up to his, but I feel a jolt the instant our eyes meet. Taking a quick breath, I swallow down. “You’ll have no problems. It’ll handle perfectly now.”
“John, you got a minute?” That’s Ben calling.
“Sure. I’ll catch up with you before the race.” Uncle John pats Carrick on the shoulder. He goes over to Ben, who is on the other side of the garage, leaving Carrick and me alone.
I watch Uncle John go. When I bring my eyes back to Carrick’s, he’s still staring at me but more intensely now.
That causes my heart to ratchet up and a swarm of butterflies to invade, mercilessly attacking my insides. I’m starting to feel hot, and I have a strong urge to run away.
“So, yeah…I’d better, um…”
I start backing away, but Carrick follows me.
“Andressa”—his voice is lowered—“can we talk?”
What I should say, as a mature adult is, Yes, of course we can talk.
Sadly, I’m not feeling that mature right now, which is why I act like a complete child. I mutter out, “Uh…I can’t right now. I need to, um…wash my hands.”
I lift my dirty hands up as proof, and then before he can say another word, I hotfoot it out of there like my arse is on fire.
My heart is practically beating out of my chest by the time I make it to the restroom.
I stand at the sink, my hands trembling.
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just talk to him?
Because you’re scared of what he’s going to say.
He’ll say what needs to be said—that last night was a one-night stand. It’s what I need to say. Because that’s all it was.
Even if I wasn’t who I am and I could be with him, this is Carrick. He doesn’t have girlfriends. He has one-night stands.
I rub at the weird sensation in my chest, which has left me feeling a little breathless, and in turn, I smear more dirt onto my overalls.
I sigh at myself in the mirror.
I need to act my age and talk to him. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can have a conversation with the man I had sex with last night.
I just need to get the inevitable over with, so Carrick and I can get back to normal. Whatever our normal is.
Deciding that I’ll talk to him the next time I see him, I pump out some soap into my hands with a renewed sense of purpose. I run the hot water tap and scrub my hands clean. I’ve just grabbed some paper towels when my phone pings a text in my pocket.
I dry my hands, dump the paper towels in the bin, and get my phone from the pocket of my overalls.
Carrick.
My heart starts to beat faster.
I don’t know what the fuck that just was, but we need to talk—now. Driver’s room. Two minutes.
My fingers tremble as I type out my reply.
Okay.
I look at myself in the mirror again, trying to build my courage. I give myself a pep talk. “You can do this. It’ll be easy. Carrick is a player. He’s well versed in one-night stands. You’re both grown-ups. You can do this.”
Taking a deep breath, I leave the restroom and head straight for Carrick’s room.
I take another deep breath before knocking on his door.
“Come in.” His gruff voice comes from the other side.
Hands trembling, I step inside before closing the door behind me.
Carrick is leaning up against the window, arms folded, eyes giving nothing away.
“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding tiny.
