Madonna Saint Elise POVI underestimated the power of Jeomar Russo’s charisma.Now I understand why so many women crush on this man. At least he tells me they do. I’m taking him at his word until I have time to do my own investigative research when I return to Canada for filming.What I do know is that it’s easy to get lost in his green eyes, especially when they’re locked on you like prey. I can’t tell if he wants to eat me in the most delicious way or kill me, for real. I’m okay hanging around him a bit longer to find out because he’s stupidly handsome.A cross between a surfer with his sun-lightened brown hair, a GQ model, and well, a race car driver, he breaks the mold regarding expectations—physically and in personality.That I find him so appealing is frustrating.I shouldn’t want a man like him—someone who can’t resist challenging me at every corner, has no qualms about calling me out, and tips into banter that leans more toward finding me intolerable than desirable.Does he fi
I tap the end of his nose. “What do you suggest I do?” I ask, booping the tip. “And it better not involve sex with you.”Clicking his tongue, he grins. “There goes that plan.” He reaches up to tuck my hair back from my face. His smile disappears as his fingers linger on the shell of my ear. A rise in his chest spurs other body parts to rise along with it. “I . . . uh . . .”“Eight months.” I suck in a breath and release it easily around him. “I think it’s been eight months since I had sex or anything else that would . . . would—”“Would?”“Release some tension.”I almost expected him to laugh out loud at me, but that’s not what he does. His fingertips slide around my ear, then lower to my collarbone. He traces an imaginary design across my chest, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind, and whispers, “That’s too bad.”“Yeah, it’s a tragedy.” I wriggle on top of him because we’ve come this far already anyway.The right side of his mouth lifts. And though that just adds to his appeal, that
Joemar Russo POV“How would you do it if you can’t get a word in edgewise?”Lifting up on her elbows, she asks, “Seduce you?” Falling back in a fit of laughter, she flails her arms around the crumpled sheets before relaxing and looking back at me. “I don’t have to seduce men, so it’s not a skill set I’ve developed, but if I had to pick one thing, at the moment, I’d have the bed made to make it more enticing to stay.”I toe off my shoes. Whether she decides to stay or go, I’m getting in that bed. What happens after that is her decision. “I was sleeping when you called to have me rescue your ass.”She slips off the edge and turns her backside to me. With a pat, she asks, “This ass? The ass you’re obsessed with?”“Fuck me,” I growl, reminding myself to be a gentleman. “That’s the one.” I release a sigh, equally exasperated and getting hard watching her walk toward the bathroom. What the fuck have I gotten myself into with her?Trouble.Bad decisions.“Don’t go to bed without me.” She clo
I look down at the tee I stole from Joemar, grinning like I got away scot-free from a bank robbery. Wonder if he woke up smiling like I did. Hope so since it’s race day. “Though it’s nothing big, I did . . .” I stop speaking when I lay my eyes on her. Her knuckles whitening, her eyes fixed forward, and a weird vibe fills the car. “What’s going on, Paula?”“You’ve missed the news this morning.” She glances at me and then back at the road again.I push up to right myself and take a deep breath. My stomach twists in knots from the thought of my private life becoming gossip. “Did the story about Carlos Pirrote come out?”“Um. No.” She cringes and hands me her phone. “I know you don’t have social media for all the right reasons, but you need to get online.”Taking the phone, I’m nervous about seeing what I’ll find. “I had all my notifications like Google Alerts off as well. What is it? Just tell me.”“Open my phone.”“I don’t think I want to,” I joke, but my laugh is riddled with nerves. I
“We understand, Madonna.” Harry saves me the pain of having to spell it out in front of my parents.I slide forward in the chair and pick the phone up again. Taking it off speaker, I hold it to my ear. “I’m sorry about the sponsors.”“Sponsors are like skittish kittens. They thrive on threatening to pull out their money. It’s their way of feeling like they have control of the situation,” Harry says with conviction set in his tone. “Unfortunately, I need to go and deal with this mess.” He pauses, and for some reason, it concerns me. “Hello?” I say, making sure they’re still there.“Madonna,” he says, “you need to keep your distance from Marco and the races in general until this settles down.”I’m being grounded? Well, this is humiliating. I dip my head and rub my temple that’s starting to throb. I gather the strength anyway and ask on an exhale, “Are you asking me?”“No.” The answer is blunt, though I know it wasn’t said maliciously.Why does it feel like I just had the rug pulled out
“It will be a constant reminder of how I was right, and you were wrong.” Her giggle populates like champagne bubbles through our connection.“I bought the phone so you could see the mess we made online like I have to.”“It’s quite the mess.” As our laughter dies down, she adds, “I’ve been banned from the track.” Her tone is softer, her words more forgiving.The punch comes with the admission. I’m not surprised, but it’s bullshit. “Forever?”“For now.”I nod, though she can’t see me. Sitting up, I say, “Good thing we don’t exist in each other’s worlds.” Nothing about that feels genuine. Even I don’t believe the lies I’m spewing.“Yeah . . . good thing.” A quick pause is cut short. “I should let you go.”“You don’t have to.” No adjustments. Life is smooth right now. Don’t wreak havoc on your career over a woman. “I didn’t mean it how it came out.” “How did you mean it, Marco?”“You’re there, and I’m here, and . . . we’ve just not run into each other before.”I can’t see her, but I’m no
Joemar Russo's POVWho is this?Staring down at my phone, I send the text with a grin, knowing full well who it is. I finish filling the two glasses with ice, then check for her reply:Very funny.My phone rings.I’m both surprised and impressed by the bold move of her calling me, and answer, “Hello?”“I don’t think Russo is your real last name.”“It’s not.”“What?” The shock in her voice resounds through the connection. “It’s not? Do people know this? Is it public knowledge?”“It’s not a secret, but it’s not something I advertise either.”There’s a pause, but then she asks, “What’s your last name?”“You don’t do any research, do you?”“I do plenty for characters or restaurant reviews. Research on people I know is something I avoid if I can. I’d rather know the real them.”“Sounds like you’re catching on to the manipulation of the media.”“If I didn’t prior, I do after the other night. Today is the first time I feel like I can breathe a little.” The sound of her breathing rushes forwa
Thursday . . .I hate Thursdays.Four days with my son isn’t enough.He’s had me serving him ice cream well after bedtime and jumping in puddles because who cares about expensive shoes when I can ruin them with Cullen. Watching him go-kart at an indoor track in Jersey was the highlight. He’s going to be better than I’ve ever been.I wish he could see me race, at least once, in person. I can already hear Terry arguing that it’s too disruptive to his schedule. I could challenge that argument, but that won’t change the fact that I need to respect her as his mother.“Hop up, buddy.” My mom takes his backpack while I lower down so Cullen can jump onto my back. As much as I love his curiosity, I don’t think I can have another thirty minute conversation about the cracks in the sidewalk.We start walking again. “We’re booking it today,” she says, eyeing me with a reserved smile.“I can slow down.”“You don’t need to do me any favors. I can keep up with you kids.”I chuckle, knowing she’s the