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After being dumped, Isla Morris makes a pact with her ex's biggest competition, F1 driver Matthew Carr, to get inside Lucas's head.
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Isla Morris is dating the world's best F1 racer - at least, she w...
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Isla stiffened in surprise.
Matthew's large hand slid to cup the back of her neck, his warm mouth demanding on hers, and her knees went weak. He tasted of whisky and salt, of bruised plum and pepper. She could feel all the hard ridges of his body, molded with years of racing. Oh. So this was why women were ruined after kissing Matthew Carr.
She had only a moment to think it before the door sprang open.
"Carr," the male voice called. "Did you hear what I said about Emilio? And we're out of booze, you fuckwit. Have you seen—? Oh." Snickers. "Sorry. We'll come back later."
The door shut.
Isla leaned back slightly. Her heart was racing, pumping vigorously in her chest, and she couldn't look away from Matthew's flushed face. His lips were swollen from kissing, his black tie rumpled. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
You're drunk, Isla thought hazily. And this isn't real.
None of it seemed to matter.
"I think they're still outside," Isla whispered.
It wasn't true. They both knew it. But Matthew made a noise at the back of his throat, half-lifting her on to a desk. His hard body formed a cage around her, and she ran her hands over his stomach, marveling at the ridges. Heat curled in her stomach. His mouth fell to her neck, teasing the sensitive skin.
"You should make noises," Matthew suggested. "Since they're outside. Lots of them."
Her breath caught. "Any suggestions?"
"My name." His mouth drifted lower. "Repeatedly."
She buried her hands in his hair. "What if you're not that inspiring?"
"Oh, I am."
"Prove it," Isla said hoarsely.
His grin was a flash in the darkness. "You're going to regret asking me that, Red."
Matthew tore out her hair ribbon. Heavy curls fell over her bare shoulders, spilling around them like crimson silk. Isla watched, breathless, as Matthew eased her dress down. He paused at her lacy white bra — a silent question — and she nodded. He made quick work of that, pausing as he drank in her bare chest.
"Beautiful." There was awe in his voice. "All of you is beautiful, Isla Morris."
Matthew wound a lock of hair around his finger, dragging it over her breast. Her nipple hardened. She half-closed her eyes, tingles of pleasure running through her. Then Matthew dipped his head, replacing the lock with his warm mouth.
