Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

My jaw drops before clenching angrily. “Fuck you.”

“Not in a bad way,” he says. “You’re always so hard and tough, you just don’t put out that vibe. Plus, most of the time I sort of figure you don’t even like me that much. But if I didn’t know better, I’d say I hurt your feelings.”

“Please,” I mutter, scowling out the window at the passing trees. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wilcox.”

He stops at another light, grimacing. “Wow, it’s so bad that I’m ‘Wilcox’ again?” When I don’t answer, he curves tiredly over the wheel, car idling. His voice comes out quiet and ragged. “I don’t like my brother knowing my business. The way I wanted to kiss you back there would have aired it all out for him. It wasn’t personal.”

Exasperated, I meet his gaze, but all I find are weary eyes and a set jaw. “You’re a dick, Sebastian.”

His eyebrow raises. “Sebastian now. Getting warmer, eh?”

I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

“Look,” he says, dragging a rough hand down his face. “I’ve been chasing your tail for weeks, and most of that was done under the risk of serious personal harm. I’m not a subtle guy, Sugar. If I want something, I don’t beat around the bush about it. I’ve told you that I’m into you—that I want you. Don’t let one little bullshit moment put doubts in your head about it.”

I argue, “Actions speak louder than words.”

He bursts, “Yeah, you’re right,” and then he kisses me. It’s a hard kiss, full of defiance and promise. He’s wrong about me being hard and tough—so fucking wrong—because the way he licks into my mouth just then makes me feel anything but.

The way I feel instantly mollified and set at ease is even scarier. “The light’s green,” I mutter.

He sighs against my lips. “If only.” He drives for a while and I watch the passing scenery, feeling oddly—embarrassingly—relieved. I have no idea when I went from wanting this guy to leave me alone to feeling relief when he assures me he won’t. After a bit, he breaks the silence with, “You realize you’re going to have to come to all my races now, right?”

I pull a face. “What? Why?”

He shoots me a toothy grin. “I won, baby, and that makes you my good luck charm.” He picks up the cash and hands it to me. “In fact, you should be the one to take it. You earned it.”

I toss it back. “No way. I’m not taking your dirty money.”

“Then pick a charity.” He shrugs, leaving the stack of money discarded in the console.

“Plenty of good causes out there. Maybe there’s a girl who needs her car fixed up, or I don’t know, the cat shelter even.”

I look at his earnest expression and then down at the money. “You’d really donate it to charity—and by charity I don’t mean me.”

“I know it sounds privileged as hell, Sugar, but I couldn’t care less what happens to that money. I like racing, but I don’t like being forced to do things because my brother is a fucking dickhead.”

I purse my lips at the money, secretly mulling it over. “For someone who doesn’t like being forced to race, you sure looked down with winning one.”

“Winning is the best high I know. Even my brother can’t ruin that.” He smirks. “You know the best thing to do after a win like that?” He waits, obviously wanting me to guess.

I wryly take a shot. “Give your winnings to disadvantaged kittens?”

But he shakes his head. “Get massively fucking laid.”

I roll my eyes. “Is that all you think about?”

“Mostly,” he admits. “I am having a bit of a dry spell, I admit.”

“Well, it looked like there were plenty of willing options congratulating you back there. Maybe you should get a number.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Insecure and jealous. I’m learning a lot about you tonight, Sugar Voss.”

“I’m not jealous,” I blandly insist.

He doesn’t look convinced. “Truth be told, I’m all about quality over quantity. But sure, I’d settle for a blow job.” I give his hopeful smirk a blank stare and he sighs. “Fine, hand job it is.”

“Have fun with that.”