Revived by Samantha Towle
It’s like the universe is playing a fucking sick joke on me.
My racing was taken away from me, and then I’m given her. I get my racing back, and I lose her.
Well, not that I ever really had her.
But what I did have with her, the way I feel about India…
I can’t get over her.
I have tried. Hard. I thought that being back on the track and racing would help.
It hasn’t.
I’ve stayed out of the country, away from her. After I left for Melbourne at the start of March for the first race of the season, I just flew from race to race, not coming home, hoping the distance would help.
It didn’t.
I thought putting myself back out there with women would help.
It didn’t.
I knew I was done for when one of the hottest models around kissed me, and I felt nothing but this weird sense of guilt that I was somehow betraying India by kissing another woman.
Yes, I know how lame that sounds. But it is the way it is.
So, I’ve stayed away from all women even though I’m continuously linked with them.
If I speak to a woman and pose for a photograph with her, the next day, it will be in the press, saying that I am either dating or fucking her. The press has been aggressively intrusive in my life since I came back to the circuit. I guess it is to be expected after my accident, then absence, and now my return.
But a sick part of me hopes that India sees those pictures of me with women and that they bother her.
I hope they hurt her.
I know that makes me a bastard, but I don’t care.
Now, I am back for Silverstone, and I thought I would be okay with being here, in the same country as her.
But what do I do?
A few days after I’ve been back, I find myself driving to her office and hand-delivering the tickets for the Prix that I promised to Jett last year, in the half hope that I might see India.
But I didn’t see her.
It took all of my strength just to walk into her office, and I was too chicken to ask to see her, so, I just left the tickets with her receptionist, and ran out of there like the little pussy I am.
God, I am such a fucking loser.
I just need to man the fuck up and face her. She has probably moved on by now anyway.
The thought of her with another man makes rage flood my veins. I clench my fists, gritting my jaw.
I just need to see her. I need to know either way.
Seeing her will either help me move on or make me feel worse, if that is possible. But I need to do something because, clearly, what I have been doing for the last seven months isn’t working.
The thing is, I am pretty sure I’m in love with her.
I always thought that love was something that wouldn’t ever happen to me. Sure, I’ve had girlfriends, who I cared for, but love…not even close. Not once.
Not until her.
And that has to mean something, right? I can’t be alone in the way I feel. She has to feel it too. Feel something for me at least.
If I see her, then, I’ll know if she still feels something for me.
The barrier with India was never the way she felt for me. It was always about her goddamn ethics.
Yeah, well, I haven’t been her patient for seven months now. And I know what she said about time not mattering, but it does.
Time gives clarity and perspective.
I just have to hope that time and space has given her just that and that she realizes she actually wants me.
A guy can hope, right?
I know where she’ll be right now—at the talk that Quinn Moore is giving. Quinn is a retired racing driver. As part of the tour, a revered driver gives VIPs a talk about Formula 1. Jett will love it.
Yes, I know the itinerary of the day. My loser self knows no bounds.
I was always going to see her, no matter how much I had been delaying.
Backing away from the screens where I’ve been watching my test driver take my car around the track, I tell Patrick, one of my guys, “I’ll be back in ten.”
Then, I head out of the garage, my destination India.
JETT AND I ARE HERE AT SILVERSTONE. We arrived an hour ago. As we found out on arrival, part of the VIP ticket that Leandro sent includes a speech from some retired driver I’d never heard of before, a tour around the garages, watching the practice sessions, and then dinner. We’ll come back tomorrow for qualifying sessions. Then, Sunday is race day.
And I’m glad I had the forethought to book a hotel room for Jett and me to save me from driving the three-hour round-trip for the next three days.
I can relax and enjoy some time with my boy and not worry about Leandro Silva.
Well, I’m going to worry about him, only a little bit.
The thought of seeing him again makes my stomach roil with nerves.
I’m sure he’ll be busy with prepping for qualifying tomorrow, so maybe I won’t see him at all. I ignore the little stab in my heart that I feel at that thought.
I glance at Jett as the speaker yammers on about things I have no clue about. Jett looks enthralled and happy, and that’s what counts. He was beyond excited when I told him that Leandro had sent the tickets as promised. I really need to thank him for them. I should get him a thank-you card.
Yeah, because that wouldn’t be lame at all, India.
I guess if I see him this weekend, then I’ll thank him. And if not, then I’ll send a thank-you note to his house.
And I won’t be heartbroken at not seeing him.
Total lie.
The speaker is rounding up, thankfully.
“So, we’ll go on a tour of the garages now,” our guide tells us.
Along with Jett, I get to my feet, and we follow everyone out of the room.
That’s when I see him leaning against the wall, farther down from us, trying to go unnoticed. But I notice him.
Even under the ball cap, I see it’s him.
He lifts his gaze, and when my eyes meet with his, I feel a jolt in the center of my chest.
Seeing him on TV or in photos online is nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh, being so close to him yet still so far.
My mind is assaulted with images of us together that one time, him moving inside me.
“Mum, Leandro is over there.” Jett tugs on my arm and starts moving in his direction.
Glancing around, thankfully, no one from our group seems to have noticed Leandro standing there, and they are moving away to go on the tour of the garages.
“Hey, Jett.” Leandro does a manly handshake with him. “How are you doing? You having fun so far?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you so much for the tickets.”
“No problem.” He lifts his eyes to mine as I come to stand beside Jett. “India.”
Hearing his voice say my name…the memory assault starts again.
“Hello, Leandro.” I smile, but it feels awkward and clumsy. I’m burning up from the outside in while standing here with him.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I lift my shoulder. “You look to be doing great.” I smile again, this one genuine.
“Yeah, I guess.” He removes the cap, and after running his hand through his hair, he places it back on his head. Then, he pushes his hands into the pockets of his overalls. “So, I just thought I’d come see you both.” He’s looking at Jett now, not me. “And look…I wanted to ask if you both would like to have dinner with me tonight?” On the last part of his invitation, his eyes lift to mine.
My heart starts to beat double time. I part my dry lips to speak, but Jett beats me to it.
“Of course we would!” Jett says brightly.
I laugh lightly, very much loving my son’s forwardness in this moment.
A chuckle escapes Leandro. His eyes lighten, but there’s still the question in them.
He wants to hear my acceptance.
“Yes, we would love to
“I’m staying at Whittlebury Hall,” Leandro tells me. “Astons Restaurant there is really nice. We could have dinner there, or I could take you somewhere else?”
“We’re staying at Whittlebury, too, so Astons will be perfect,” I say.
We were lucky to get a room at Whittlebury Hall that close to the Prix, but we managed to get a cancellation. Seems luck was on my side with Leandro staying there, too. A thrill passes through me at the knowledge.
“Great. So, I will reserve us a table. Say seven thirty?”
“Seven thirty is perfect.”
“Should I pick you up from your room or—”
“We’ll meet you at the restaurant.” I smile.
“Okay. So, I will see you both tonight then.” He glances at Jett and then me. “I should get back to the garage.” He thumbs over his shoulder. Then, he seems to realize something. His eyes move to look past me, and he gestures to the now empty hall behind me. “You have lost your group. Do you know where you are going from here?”
Biting my lip, I shake my head.
“No worries. I will get you both back to them.”
He smiles at me, and my insides turn to girlie goo. And I can’t help my feeling of sheer excitement at the prospect of dinner tonight.
OKAY…BE COOL. It is just dinner.
And Jett will be with us, so it is not like I can put the moves on India and fuck this up.
Nothing too soon with India. I need to take my time.
I know she wants me still. I could see it in her eyes. In the way that her body reacts naturally to me. Like she is tethered to me, her body naturally gravitates my way.
But she is gun-shy. I just need to show her that we are right together.
And I will do that with a little push and pull.
The elevator is waiting on my floor, so I go straight in and press the button for the lobby.
I smooth a hand down my shirt. I’m nervous as fuck. Sweating like a little bitch.
The elevator stops on the next floor down. The door slides opens, and there stands India.
My body responds in the only way it can when the most beautiful woman in the world is standing before me in come-fuck-me heels and red lips. Her dress is black and hits a few inches above the knees, showing those golden long legs of hers. Her hair is down and tousled around her shoulders, looking exactly as I imagine it would when spread out on my pillow.
Jesus. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me with those red heels and lips like fire to match.
She looks fucking stunning.
And I haven’t breathed, and I have also spent an inordinate amount of time staring at her.
Good start.
“Leandro…hi.” She presses those bee-stung lips of hers together, and my cock twitches in my pants.
“Hi,” I say, like the lame fuck I am, trying to distract myself from my impending boner.
But she is kind of looking nervous herself. She is fidgeting, and she is still standing outside the elevator.
Be cool, Silva. You got this.
“Were you getting in the elevator?” I ask, my voice sounds hoarse.
She glances down the hall, like she is considering making an escape.
“I was, but, well, Jett’s running late. He’s still in the shower, and I didn’t want you to be waiting for us down there, so I was coming first, and Jett was going to follow down, but as you’re here, I guess…I don’t know.” She lets out a little laugh and runs her hand through her hair.
She’s definitely nervous from being alone with me. It gives me a rise.
“Why don’t we go down together and wait in the bar for Jett?”
She glances down the hall again and then looks back to me. “Okay.”
She smiles at me, and the way it makes me feel…it is like her smile was made solely for me. And if I weren’t already sure that I was in love with her, then I would know it in this moment.
I place a hand against the door to stop it from closing, and she slides in past me.
The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of citrus and floral, fills my senses. It serves as a memory of being inside her. It is like pure fucking torture. Having her here yet still so far away.
The door slides closed, and the lift starts its slow descent.
“India—”
“So—”
Our eyes connect, and we both laugh.
“You first,” I say.
“No, you.” A smile tugs on her lips.
I keep my eyes on her as I say, “I was just going to say that you look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” A blush rises on her cheeks.
I just can’t fucking help myself. I reach out and touch her face with my fingertips.
The way I feel about her…it is not like anything I have ever known. It is all consuming—the unrelenting need to be with her, make her mine, brand myself into her skin because she sure as hell is branded into mine.
Her breath catches in her throat. She swallows audibly.
I see the tremble in her body. Her eyes are on my lips.
Then, I don’t think. I just act.
I kiss her.
I kiss her for every day I have been away from her. For every single moment I have needed to kiss her and not being able to. I am taking everything I can from her because I don’t know how long this moment will last. How long she will let me have her. I just need her to know how much I want her. How much I have missed her.
So much for taking my time with her. But then again, I have never been good with waiting.
My patience these last seven months, and my lack of patience now, is a testament to how much I want her.
Backing her against the wall, loving the feel of her fingers gripping my shirt, I blindly reach for the elevator buttons. Eyes quickly leaving her, I find the emergency stop button and press it.
“I have missed you,” I say low against her mouth.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispers.
Hearing those words from her mouth…that is when I lose my shit.
I devour her mouth, like she is the force I need to survive. I am starting to wonder if she actually is.
Her hands slide up my chest, nails scratching up my neck, curling into the hair at the nape of my head. I lick the inside of her mouth, loving the little moans of gratification in her throat. Pressing harder against her, I slide my leg between hers. She presses against me, squirming with need.
I am blinded by lust. Blinded by my complete need for her that I don’t care where we are. I just know that I need to be inside her.
So you can imagine my absolute fucking disappointment when my hand reaches her thigh, my fingers skimming that soft skin of hers, and I feel her hand on mine, stopping me.
“I want nothing more than this, with you, right now,” she pants against my mouth. “But Jett will be coming down soon, and he’ll worry if we’re not there.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead to hers.
She is right.
“Okay.” I breathe heavily, still desperate for her. “Just give me a minute to calm down.”
She presses her smiling lips against mine again.
“Not helping,” I grumble.
She giggles, and I fucking love the sound.
With Superman strength, I somehow manage to move away from her. I press my back against the wall opposite her. Seeing her lipstick smeared around her mouth, knowing I did that, gives me utter satisfaction.
“You might want to fix your lipstick.” I grin.
Getting her compact from her purse and opening it, she grimaces at her reflection and then starts to fix her lipstick. She puts her compact away and walks toward me. I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“You have lipstick on your mouth.” Reaching her hand up, she wipes it away with a tissue.
Her touch makes my heart pound in my chest.
“Ready?” She takes a step back and
I raise an eyebrow. “Kind of.”
She lets out a light laugh as she reaches out and presses the button, starting the elevator.
“India…” I rasp her name over my tongue. “Just so you know, this isn’t over, not by a fucking long shot.” I gesture between us. “I intend to finish that kiss.”
She bites down on the corner of those freshly painted lips. “I look forward to it.”
“THIS ISN’T OVER, NOT BY A FUCKING LONG SHOT. I intend to finish that kiss.”
Okay, well, that’s what he said, but I haven’t seen anything since.
No more kissing.
He literally hasn’t laid a hand on me since that night in the elevator, and that was two days ago.
If I didn’t believe my own sanity, I’d almost think the elevator kiss never happened.
Immediately after we were at dinner with Jett, Leandro saw us back to our room like a perfect gentleman. Then, we had breakfast with him on Saturday morning.
But we didn’t see Leandro at all after that, except for when he was in his car on the track, qualifying. He qualified lower, at sixth, which was surprising for him—not that I know much about Formula 1, except for that it’s long but kind of exciting. But I’ve been trying to keep up, and Jett’s been guiding me through.
I could imagine that Leandro wasn’t happy about qualifying so low.
Even still, it was a real privilege to watch him out there, knowing that I had a helping hand in getting him back in a car. I’m trying not to think too hard on the fact that I used to be his therapist because it reminds me that, no matter how I feel for him, in so many ways, we are impossible.
Even still, that kiss has been driving me to distraction. I want more. I want him.
The rational side of my brain isn’t in play at the moment. Every time I have a rational thought about what a bad idea pursuing anything with him is, memories of that kiss come back, running through my head like his hands did over my skin, and I’m right back to being irrational, wanting him.
Saturday night, Jett and I had plans, and Leandro was at some sponsor function, so we didn’t see him then.