Page 52 of Over the Limit

“I’m beginning to think you are too.” He shrugs and lifts his other hand from where his wrist rests on the steering wheel. “Or you could assume I let you win so you’d feel good about yourself.”

His words stop me in my tracks as I stare at him. “You wouldn’t dare.” I tug on his arm and force him out of the golf cart to stand in front of me. I jab a finger in his chest. “I know you, Lachlan Evans, and you are too damn competitive to let me win for the sake of winning. One race maybe, but not eight. So don’t you dare say that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and laughs. “But do you really know me?”

We study each other through the night as I struggle with that question even though I feel like I know the answer. “You like animals and wanted to help them, which says a lot about you. You are a sleeping giant in the garage. Quiet and inquisitive but a looming presence whenever you step foot into it,” I say. He quirks an eyebrow up in response. “You have a good sense of right and wrong and always opt for the least amount of drama. You are close with your family—choosing to go to dinner with your dad instead of out to a club or an event. And you . . . you . . .”

“Am struggling with stepping back right now”—he answers for me and locks his hand around the wrist of my hand currently on his chest—“instead of doing what I really want to do.”

“And what is it that you want to do?” The words are breathless.

“This.” He reaches out with both hands to frame the sides of my face seconds before his lips meet mine.

There is no hesitation in his kiss. No caution. He’s all in from the minute our lips touch and the urgency of his tongue seeking access to mine.

I should be staggered.

I shouldn’t want it. Want him.

But God, does it feel good. Everything about him and this night he’s created just for me. The softness of his lips. The taste of peppermint on his tongue. The coarseness of his stubble. The sound of desire that reverberates deep in his throat. The masterful skill with which he leads us.

He’s in complete control, complete possession of me, and I’ve never wanted to be swallowed whole more in my life.

My body buzzes with adrenaline and aches with a desire that slowly burns its way through me. It’s an intoxicating, all-consuming feeling.

And when the kiss ends, when a soft protest falls from my lips as he steps back and simply stares at me, all I want is for him to do it again.

Lachlan clears his throat and retreats yet another step. “I should get you back.” I can see the disengagement and that confuses me even more than his kiss just did. “Your flight is in three hours.”

“My flight?” Reality struggles to break its way through this alternate universe I want to remain in where golf courses are playgrounds and the man in front of me is mine.

A ghost of a smile crawls over his lips. “Did you think I was going to make you miss your flight and not book you a new one?”

“But . . . how?”

“I have my ways.” He winks and lifts his chin to the golf carts. “Race you back?”

And without waiting for a response, he climbs in his golf cart and handily beats me back to the deserted clubhouse.

He moves with a purpose putting everything back where it was, almost as if his actions will prevent us from discussing what just happened.

The kiss I can’t forget and the one it seems he doesn’t want to address.

We don’t talk about anything with significance on the way back to my hotel. In fact with each passing second, I can sense Lachlan withdrawing even more. There’s a pensive silence in the car that suffocates me and slowly strangles away all the joy and happiness we just shared over the past few hours.

I steal glances his way. Trying to figure out his sudden silence. Trying to comprehend the fact that he’s like a drug that I’m beginning to crave.

Does he regret kissing me? Is that what’s going on? He gave in to the moment and now regrets it?

Or is he thinking about how he wants to do it again?

I’d love to ask the question, but we arrive at my hotel before I get the courage to.

We walk in silence to my door with an awkwardness to us when no part of tonight has been awkward at all.

“Well, here you are,” he murmurs quietly, conscious of the fact it’s now three in the morning.

“Here I am,” I say playing with my key card in my hand. When I finally have the courage to meet his eyes, the worry fades away. It’s just him and his kind eyes and warm smile looking back at me. “Thank you, Lachlan. Tonight was . . . it was what I needed. To not think. To just laugh. To . . . just be.”