Page 69 of Off the Grid

The sound comes just seconds before a baritone chuckle rumbles through the press box.

Camilla and I jump as if we’re two live wires that have touched. Their sparks fading black as we turn to see the security guard standing in the open doorway.

He has broad shoulders and dark curly hair. He eyes the both of us with distrust. “I thought you were just running in here because you forgot something?” he asks Camilla. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in the champagne in my hand and the portion spilled on the floor. “And I didn’t let you in here.”

My smile is a flash of appeasement. “I was worried about her. She hadn’t come back yet so I came in to find her. You weren’t at the gates. You—”

“Oh my God,” he says. I see the minute he recognizes me. “Spencer. Riggs. Mr. Riggs. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry—but I have my job to do.”

It does wonders for an ego to be recognized by the general public. “No worries. We were just caught up in how cool the track is when it’s empty.” I glance to Camilla and then back to the guard. “We’ll get out of your hair. Just give us a second to collect our things.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Camilla

“Camilla.” That voice.

I’m restless.

Antsy.

Exhausted from the week.

But the heat of Riggs’s breath on my lips.

The banter in the press box hours ago that own my mind.

The rumble of his voice in my ears. It’s created an ache that burns as I stare at him standing before me, in my hotel room, looking at me as if asking whether I’m sure I want to do this.

I want to say no. Should. He’s a guy I don’t want to like. That I don’t want to want.

But we shared a car back to the team hotel.

We walked down the hallway toward our rooms.

And he followed me inside. I didn’t protest.

Should we test your theory about my skills?

“Camilla,” he murmurs but doesn’t reach out to touch.

I hesitate, but it only lasts a second before I test the theory I’ve been thinking about in the taxi all the way back here. If he touched me, if he did more than kiss me, would I freeze up or would it only add to the burn he’s created?

He leaves the first step to me.

He makes me want it. Makes me act on that want. Makes me crave his kiss and his touch and the feeling of our skin sliding against one another’s.

All things that I tolerated before. Tolerated to make the person I was dating feel good. Feel like we were okay. Like I was okay.

But right now feels so much different.

I step into him. Our mouths meeting in a brush of lips. Once. Twice. Then another one that he deepens.

Our tongues tease each other’s. The taste of champagne and mint. Of desire and lust.

Our hands roam over one another’s skin. Mine up his back to hook around his shoulders. His up my front to cup a breast and the other to span my lower back and hold me against him.