Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

I mull over the conversation with Santiago and his sister while I eat lunch in the Bandini area. Santi has a sibling I had no clue existed. Where was she throughout his racing debut? I feel like I would’ve recognized her. Instead, I made myself look like an asshole on the first day. An image of her brown eyes boring into mine like she wants to skin me alive has singed itself into my brain. She’s a stunning woman even when mad with flared nostrils, flushed cheeks, and waving hands.

I need to come up with a plan for the Bandini gala. It was never my intention to get off on the wrong foot with Santiago already, or his sister for that matter. Looking like a dick before the season begins doesn’t make me happy. Santiago and I will spend countless hours together doing press tours and going to sponsor meetings, which means his sister will be around just as much.

I snapped when he blamed me for something that wasn’t my fault. Let this be a lesson for him to not open his mouth without thinking, a prime example of what can go wrong in the public eye, shitty consequences included. But it’s not right how I took my anger out on his sister.

During our earlier walk-through of the course, I apologized to him again because I was ashamed of what I’d said. I’m not above cornering people to get what I want. He begrudgingly accepted my apology, his jaw tight as his fist squeezed my extended hand.

I spend the rest of the day sitting through more press sessions, the less desirable side of F1.

I make it back to my hotel room with enough time to get dressed for the event. Santiago and his sister plan on attending the gala, my thoughts confirmed when I discreetly asked around. No need to draw attention to myself.

The poorly lit lobby bar welcomes me as I order a Scotch from the bartender. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman sitting in a booth, twirling a straw in her drink. She looks vaguely like Santiago’s sister. I head on over to her, confirming she is, in fact, the Alatorre I need to speak to. Perfect timing. Getting an apology out now sounds like the best idea because I don’t dance around problems to avoid confrontation.

Some people scurry at trouble. Me on the other hand? I drive my car straight into problems at two hundred miles per hour. Fuck the consequences.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Her body tenses at the sound of my voice. I’m not off to a great start by the looks of her grimace, rigid body posture, and stilled hand holding her straw. But I can work with it. I shoot her a dazzling smile that makes women drop to their knees. Tested and verified.

I remain motionless as her almond eyes look up at me. My heart rate speeds up as I gaze upon her, taking in her smoky eyes that cloud at my perusal, lush lips that purse, and high cheekbones I want to run my knuckles across. Her dark hair piles on top of her head, begging to be let down. A few soft curls escape and trail down her thin neck. Her dress dips low, accentuating tan skin and a fully displayed back. My fingers itch to stroke her skin and test how soft it is.

She pulls me out of my thoughts. “And if I do mind?”

Shit. Forgot I asked her a question. “I would probably sit here anyway then.” I give her a wide smile, enjoying her quick tongue.

“Fine, go ahead.” She lets out a soft sigh and waves toward the empty booth in front of her.

Don’t need to be told twice. I settle myself into the seat, adjusting my pants because my semi hard-on is pressing against the zipper. My throat welcomes the burn from a swig of Scotch. A little bit of liquid courage to make it through this conversation without flirting with her.

“I wanted to apologize about earlier because I shouldn’t have insinuated something like that. I’m not proud of myself for what I said.”

Brown eyes linger on my face as she gauges my sincerity. I take another look at her because shock still courses through me at how she disarms me. Her bone structure adds to her allure, along with full red-painted lips, long lashes, and straight, white teeth. She has a strikingly exotic look—a Spanish heritage evident by her dark hair, tan skin, and hint of an accent.

My head takes off. I imagine her red lips wrapped around my cock as she sucks me off, her lipstick marking me while my hands tug on her hair. Can’t help my sexual appetite when I fuck like I race—wild, risky, and often. Blame the adrenaline rush or feeling like a god behind the wheel.

“It’s fine.” Her flat voice tells me differently. Fine is a woman’s equivalent to a land mine because you have absolutely no idea when or where that shit will explode.

“It isn’t, and I don’t want to annoy you anymore. Honestly. I want to put it behind us and say I’m sorry for insinuating you slept with your brother.” I withhold the urge to cringe at my own stupidity.

“Consider it dealt with. Apology accepted.” She fiddles with the straw of her drink.

“What are you doing here with your brother?” I take another sip of Scotch, the cold liquid sliding against my tongue.

“I’m actually following him around this whole year.” She tilts her head at me.

Great. She’ll be spending ten months with us, and I already fucked up.

“You’ll be attending a lot of races then. Are you a fan?”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “My weekends growing up included following my brother everywhere. Kart races, real races, all the Formula phases. He has the talent.” She looks down at her hands. “Of course, I’m excited to join him because I’m proud of how far he has come. New car, team, and everything.” She glances at me, her eyes gleaming in the low light of the bar while her lips fight a smile.

I smirk at her. “He’ll be in good hands with the equipment and engineers. Bandini cars are the best. There’s a reason they’re the most sought-after team, so it’ll give him an advantage. But he still has to deal with me.”

The sound of her soft laugh stirs something up inside of me.

“How do you keep your ego in check?”

“I don’t.” My grin expands.

She rolls her eyes, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on. Her delicate features entice me, tempting me to scoot in closer to check her out and catch a peek at her chest. But I stop myself because I have a cap of one sleazy move per day. I can’t believe I insinuated she slept with her brother. I’m losing my touch.

“You need someone to rein you in.” Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink before she shakes her head. “I mean, not me, but it’s always good to be grounded.” She puts a stray curl behind her ear.

“Being grounded is dull. I don’t drive cars at two hundred miles an hour to stay boring.”

Her lips purse and her brows pinch together. “Being grounded isn’t boring. It’s realizing that, when all of this—” she waves her arms around us—“is over, you still have people there for you in the end. Good people who are humble because no one wants to hang around an asshole.”

I’m going to guess I’m the asshole here. I sit with her words and consider my situation. But I know good people—who is she to judge me when she’s young and naïve?

Her phone rings. “I better get going. My ride is here.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Her face flashes with surprise before she recovers. Mine probably matches hers because I can’t remember the last time I walked a girl out of anywhere except a club.

I get up from the booth and offer my hand, acting the part of a gentleman. She looks at it for a moment before placing her palm in mine. My skin buzzes at the physical contact. She shivers when my thumb runs across her palm, her soft skin smooth under my calloused digit.

Hmm. Her body reacts to mine in the same way.

I remove my hand from hers and place it on her exposed back as I lead us toward the entrance of the hotel. Our physical connection is an exciting development, one worth exploring further at another time. She sucks in a breath when I stroke my hand down the ridges of her spine. I tend to be a cheeky bastard. Her skin feels warm and soft beneath my palm, her shallow breaths matching the rhythm of our feet.

Maybe I’ll enjoy having Santiago around after all because it seems like her hanging with us will stimulate me. I want to see what other responses she has to me. Or under me. Or on top of me.

I need to get myself under control.

We exit the hotel to find her brother leaning against a town car near the entrance.

“Maya, let’s go! The driver’s been waiting.” Santiago’s voice booms off the walls.

Maya. I like the name.

She jumps a foot away from me, breaking our contact. Her eyes glare at me before she says a rushed goodbye and walks away. I shake my head, trying to rid my naughty thoughts, a gesture worth chuckling at. Her perky ass stands out, the tight black material of her dress hugging her curves. Damn. I definitely will like seeing her around.

Her brother helps her into the car before he turns back toward me. His stare speaks a silent warning I choose to ignore, instead deciding to shoot him a cocky grin and a chin tip. He disregards me and enters the car.