Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“Come on in. I need to clean up and change.” She takes out her keys and leads us into the apartment. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get these in water.” She heads to her kitchen.

I’ve never been in her place before, but know the layout because when she told me she was moving here, I made a call to the leasing office. The security is decent; the neighborhood is safe, and the surrounding tenants all have clean records. Rich and I both agreed it would do for now.

Her stamp is all over the place. I spot myself in a few of the pictures, and my pulse races at the shot of me walking into the arena a few weeks ago at graduation. It’s placed right next to the picture of Harley and me the day I left for boot camp. Over a decade separates the two—it feels like a lifetime ago I was that boy.

“Where would you like to eat?” She places a vase on her small table. “How should I dress?”

“Actually, you are perfect. We’re going someplace cool, easy, and very casual. Maybe even pack a bag with a suit.”

“A swimsuit? To a restaurant?”

“No one said anything about a restaurant.”

“Where are you taking me then?”

“A mysterious place on a hill called the Casanova Club.” I crook an eyebrow, waiting for her reaction.

Her mouth drops open, and she slaps her hand over it as a loud giggle escapes. Her body vibrates with laughter until a tear slides down her cheek. “That place has quite a reputation,” she coughs out.

“Only the best for my sweet Harley.”

A beautiful glow sweeps over her expression, and she turns toward her room, calling over her shoulder. “I hope the Casanova Club serves a good lunch because I am starving.”

It’s my turn to smile.

6

Harley

I stare in wonder at the sight Achilles casually refers to as the ‘pool area’. Yes, there’s a pool, but that’s a minor piece of this breathtaking back yard. It’s as if I’ve transferred to a swanky spa resort and men dressed in uniforms are waiting to offer me a cocktail. There’s so much that I don’t know where to focus first—pool, hot tub, and a raised fire pit at the edge of the patio made from the same stone pavers. The outdoor kitchen is larger than my entire apartment, and I lean to see what it’s backed up to.

Ford, Talon, and Major didn’t exactly offer a tour when we crashed on Friday night. I saw the living room, kitchen, and media room upstairs. That’s about the extent.

This is incredible.

“Is that a house?”

“Yep.” Achilles passes me, grabbing my hand and linking our fingers as he drags me along.

“There’s another house next to the pool?”

“That’s probably why they call it a pool house.” He winks, flashing a sideways grin.

My heart races, and the skin on my palm tingles at the feeling of his hand covering mine. My brain scrambles to think of a smart remark to his teasing, but I can’t think straight. It’s an insignificant gesture, nothing special to most people. But I’m not most people. A strange wave of something comes crashing down around me, and I draw in a deep breath.

In a second, he’s in my face, our joined hands lodged between our chests, and his free hand cupping my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m not sure. Is this happening?”

“Is what happening?”

“Are you really holding my hand?” Instead of saying the millions of things running through my mind, this is what I utter like a bumbling idiot.

His gorgeous brown eyes cloud into a deeper shade, and instead of letting my hand go, he tightens his grip. “Yes,” is his simple response.

“It’s been years since you held my hand,” comes pouring out before I can stop it.

“Get used to it.” He leans in closer, placing his forehead against mine.

Flutters begin low in my stomach and my heart pounds wildly. For a brief second, I’m transported back in time. Standing in my parents’ yard, pressed against him, sucked into the depths of his eyes, hypnotized by everything about him. He made me feel like the most precious thing on earth, the way he held me captive. The warmth of his breath coats my lips, and I fight the desire to move the centimeter it would take to touch my mouth to his.

Something passes between us. Without a word, I know he feels it, too. The tip of my tongue runs along my bottom lip and his eyes grow darker. “Harley,” he practically growls, his hand squeezing tighter. In a flash, he steps back but keeps our hands attached. “Let’s eat.”

I want to scream in frustration that I’m not hungry and yank him back to me. Then I remember what else happened that night. It physically hurts remembering his expression when he broke our kiss and walked away. Taking an enormous piece of our relationship with him.