Friction: Full Velocity Series - Book 1 Page 5

  Then again, if her father saw her in this state, he might fire her. I didn’t want that on my conscience. Whatever my personal feelings about Paisley’s behavior tonight, she must have worked hard to earn her place on the team. It must be difficult for her having to keep proving her worth over and over, both because of her gender and her parentage.

  I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass. I filled it with water, shook a couple of headache pills out of a bottle—no doubt she’d need those in the morning—and took them in to her. I left them on the nightstand and quietly closed the door.

  “Well, thanks for an interesting night,” Noah said with a grin.

  I flopped into a chair and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “You’re welcome.” And then I groaned. “Shit, I’ve put her in your room.”

  “Don’t worry. I can easily check into a hotel tonight.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m a big boy. I’ll manage.”

  He crept into Paisley’s room—fuck, the spare room—and returned with his suitcase. “Want me to hang around for a while?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. You take off. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  As soon as he left, I went into my bathroom and stripped off. I might have lost my shirt—literally—but it looked as though the pants had survived. I took a quick shower then wearily climbed into bed.

  Tomorrow, I’d deal with Princess fucking Paisley.

  Paisley

  What the hell is wrong with my head?

  I rolled onto my side. The stabbing pain in my skull felt so bad that I worried someone had buried a cleaver in it. I slowly opened my eyes. Still dark outside. Just as well, because sunlight would probably kill me.

  As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I frowned. This wasn’t my bedroom. For starters, the walls were painted in a dark gray, whereas mine were dusky pink. And the sheets? Navy-blue. Mine were white. Always white. I liked the look and feel of being in a posh hotel. Maybe my preference came from spending so much of my youth traveling with Dad, and white sheets took me back to those happy times. Regardless of the reason, I liked what I liked.

  Where am I?

  I squinted, desperately trying to recall anything about last night. I remember going to the club with Lily, my best friend, and a few others. It had been Lily’s idea. We danced and drank tequila. After that…

  Zilch.

  I swallowed impending panic. Stay calm, Paise. The pillows to the side of me were plump and unused. I lifted the covers, checking that I was dressed. Yep, fully clothed. Underwear still in place. No heavy, slightly raw feeling in my vagina indicating I’d had sex, or worse, been attacked.

  And then my still-drunk mind did something weird. It threw up an image of Jared Kane. Correction, it threw up an image of me and Jared Kane. Christ, how did he figure in all this? Everything was so fuzzy. He was holding me, I think. In his arms. I shook my head in denial but stopped that pretty damned quick. Sharp movements of any kind were not a good idea.

  My gaze fell on a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. On a coaster, no less. Beside it were two little white pills. I picked them up, noting a brand of paracetamol.

  I slowly sat up. The room spun, and I closed my eyes, waiting for it to stop. At last it did. I gingerly reached for the water, knocked back both pills, and greedily drank. My mouth was so dry, and my tongue felt like sandpaper.

  I set my feet on the floor. As I stood, I almost lost my balance. Fuck, this was ridiculous. I’d never touch alcohol again. Okay, that was a lie. I wasn’t going teetotal, but I’d be laying off the booze for a while.

  Then again, in a week I’d be on my way to Australia, and I’d definitely need alcohol to even get on the plane. I hated flying with a passion, although Dad always said it wasn’t flying that frightened me. It was crashing.

  Helpful, right? Yeah, that was Dad.

  My stomach churned, and I took a deep breath. I refused to be sick. I hated throwing up almost as much as I hated flying. I picked up my shoes and my purse, then padded over to the door. I quietly pressed down the handle and poked my head outside to find a hallway. At the end I spied a living room and, being careful to keep my head still at all times, I made my way toward it.

  I flicked on a light. A clock on the wall said eight a.m., but given the time of year, the sun hadn’t yet risen. I glanced around. Whoever lived here liked it sparse. There was the usual stuff you’d expect to find: a sofa, a TV, a fridge, but nothing personal filled the space. No pictures on the walls, or photographs dotted about, or stacks of Blu-rays and magazines carelessly scattered over the coffee table.

  I crossed over to the sink and filled a glass with water. I drank the entire thing and then refilled it. The fluids were definitely helping with my headache, although with my luck, it probably wouldn’t be until tomorrow that I’d begin to feel human again.

  I was annoyed at myself for letting things get so out of hand last night. I’d had an argument with Dad. It had been over nothing really. He’d tried to give me some ‘feedback’ regarding my performance during the first few weeks on the job. I took his suggestions to help me improve as criticism, and a row ensued. See, I was a perfectionist, so if I thought I’d done something that wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, then I lashed out. Usually at Dad, God bless him. Lucky for me he knew me well and let me rant until I’d got the anger out of my system.

  After I’d fully recovered, I’d go and see him. I already knew how that meeting would go. I’d start my apology. He’d wave his hand and say it was fine, and we’d move on. I really did need to learn how to take constructive criticism, though.

  At least I had my own place her in London. If I still lived with Dad and hadn’t turned up last night, he’d have gone out of his mind with worry. Fortunately, I could hide my utter stupidity and avoid a lecture about the dangers of alcohol in the process.

  I rinsed out the glass and set it upside down on the drainer. I should leave my savior a note, but I couldn’t see a pen and paper anywhere. I opened my bag to check I had everything. Yep, phone, money, keys. All still there. I’d nip downstairs, flag a cab, go home, and sleep off my hangover.

  I slipped into my shoes and tiptoed to the front door. I’d almost reached it when a voice behind me called my name.

  Oh hell. Please, no, anyone but him.

  Of all the men in the world to have rescued me, to have witnessed me in that state.

  I groaned.

  God hated me.

  At least I had an answer to the question of whose apartment I’d spent the night in. Man, his apartment was so… small—for a racing driver. All the drivers I’d ever known lived in mansions or penthouses, and owned yachts and private jets. Jared didn’t seem to buy into that kind of materiality based on current evidence.

  I slowly turned around. Jared stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and boy did he look pissed off.

  And pissed-off Jared was also hot as fuck.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said coldly.

  Alarmed at his icy tone, and keen to avoid an altercation, I gave him my best ‘I’m sorry’ face. It usually worked on Dad who would immediately soften. Not Jared. In fact, it almost seemed to inflame him. A nerve ticked in his cheek, the way it did when you clenched your teeth too tight, and his usually tanned skin tinged red. I was pretty sure that wasn’t owing to embarrassment.

  “Um, home,” I said, hoping that stating the obvious would let me escape with as much of my pride intact as possible. Oh, who was I kidding? If I had no memory of Jared bringing me back here last night, then I could have said and done anything. The possibility of hanging on to my pride crashed and burned.

  “You’re going nowhere until we’ve talked.”

  He spun around and casually strolled away, exuding absolute control. Regardless of my hangover, I could appreciate his physique. Jared was built exactly how I liked my men: tall, lithe, tightly muscled, with a confident
swagger that hinted at an equal confidence between the sheets. I’d spent the last few weeks being the consummate professional—listening, observing, absorbing knowledge—but with every day that passed, I’d become more and more attracted to him.

  But Jared… He hadn’t shown one ounce of interest in me. Not a furtive look, or a sweep of his tongue over his lips when he caught me surreptitiously checking him out, or a graze of his eyes over my body when I turned up to work in a tight top and short-shorts. I couldn’t remember being so frustrated in my entire life.

  With a sigh, I trudged after him. I found him in the kitchen putting on a pot of coffee. He didn’t offer me one. Instead, he picked up the glass I’d left draining on the side and filled it up with water. He set it down on the kitchen worktop.

  “I’ve had water, thank you,” I said.

  “Drink.” He pushed it toward me.

  Figuring that arguing with him wouldn’t get me anywhere, I picked it up and took a few sips. “What happened last night?”

  He ignored me, bending to remove a mug from the dishwasher. He slammed it on the worktop then snatched up the coffee pot. The hot plate sizzled from the ensuing drips. He didn’t add milk or sugar. He strolled over to the sofa, his gait belying his obvious anger, and gracefully folded himself onto it.

  My stomach flipped over, and not from alcohol poisoning. From burning desire and a tinge of apprehension. What if he told Dad? I’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  He rested one ankle over the opposing knee and fixed his gaze outside. Jared was one of those guys who had an amazing profile. It allowed me to appreciate his straight nose, strong jaw, and high cheekbones. From the front, his eyes lured you in, but from the side, without those distractions, his sweet perfection shone through.

  “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the spare seat next to him.

  I did as he demanded, reluctantly. Something told me a lecture was in the offing.

  When I say lecture, I mean criticism and, as I mentioned earlier, I don’t respond well to criticism.

  “How’s your head?” he asked, his gentle tone throwing me off-balance. I expected him to yell at me, thankful he didn’t. I definitely wasn’t up for a screaming match.

  “Banging,” I said, attempting a grin. Maybe if I charmed him, it would deflect his temper…

  “Been sick again?”

  Shit. So I had chucked up my guts. Delightful. No recollection whatsoever.

  “No.” I nibbled my lip. “I puked last night?”

  He nodded. “All down my favorite shirt.”

  My cheeks heated. I briefly closed my eyes in embarrassment. “I’ll have it laundered.”

  “It’s in the trash.”

  Of course it was. Who would want to wear something that had another person’s vomit all over it, regardless of being washed on hot? “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  He gestured dismissively. “Forget it.”

  I tugged on my bottom lip. “Okay.”

  A few seconds of silence scraped by, and then his jaw tightened. Here it comes. I was about to get a telling off, as if I were a child.

  Just take your punishment, Paise, and then you can go home, crawl underneath your crisp white six hundred thread Egyptian cotton sheets and pretend the last twelve miserable hours never happened.

  “Do you have any idea of the state you were in last night?” he snapped. “Anything could have happened if I hadn’t been there to take care of you. You could barely speak, and you passed out on me, leaving me no choice but to bring you here.”

  I shrugged and watched his jaw tighten further. He clearly expected groveling. Bad news, Jared. I wasn’t a groveling kinda girl.

  “I had a little too much to drink, that’s all. You should have fetched my friends. They’d have taken me home, and then I wouldn’t have had to bother you.”

  “Your friends?” He scoffed. “You mean that bunch of stuck-up rich bitches who abandoned you at the first sign of trouble. I suppose I could have called Jack, but I figured you definitely wouldn’t want Daddy Dearest seeing you in that condition.”

  Correct, but I was more interested in his first comment. The one about my friends buggering off. How could they? I’d kill Lily the next time I saw her.

  “My friends left me?” I said, my voice small, my tone defeated. I hated showing my vulnerability to Jared, but I couldn’t hide it.

  “Oh yeah,” Jared said, adding a snort of derision. “You’ve got great buddies. They let you get utterly wasted, allowed a guy to maul you, and then weren’t remotely bothered about your safety when I stepped in and whisked you off to the bathroom. They then disappeared, leaving you with me. A man they didn’t fucking know!”

  Okay, now I was struggling to keep up. It might be my alcohol-befuddled brain. “Wait, what guy?”

  Exasperated, Jared huffed. “How the hell do I know what guy? All I know is you were dancing with him, and he went to kiss you. You tried to push him away, and I stepped in.”

  I frowned. I had absolutely no memory of any guy. But Jared’s condescending, if understandable, attitude irked me enough that I wanted to push back.

  “What the hell were you doing there anyway? Were you following me?” And then a nasty thought crept into my mind. “Has my dad asked you to keep an eye on me?”

  Jared barked out a sarcastic laugh. “What the fuck do you think I am? Your babysitter? If you must know, I went out for a quiet drink with my friend. I happened to be at that club before you even arrived, so if we’re playing that card, I could say that you are following me.”

  “As if.” I turned away from him, worrying my bottom lip. The air thickened with raw tension, Jared’s anger bringing out my rebellious side, even though he really deserved thanks for taking good care of me, as well as a groveling apology. Maybe after I’d slept off my hangover, I’d be in a better frame of mind to offer one.

  After a couple of minutes of silence, I rose unsteadily to my feet. All I wanted was my bed where I could sleep off this shitty end to what should have been a good night out before the season started.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jared asked, except it didn’t sound like a question.

  Tired, I swept a hand over my face. “Home,” I said quietly.

  “Sit,” he commanded again, like he was talking to a dog. “You need to eat something first.”

  My stomach rolled. The thought of food… urgh. A big fat no thank you.

  “I’m good.”

  I took a few steps, then as a dizzy spell hit me, I wavered on my feet. Before I could even put out my hand to grab on to something, I found myself in Jared’s arms. I tried not to moan. He was so solid, so densely muscled, so hot. I hated that I found him attractive. He’d made no secret of the fact he thought I’d only got the job because of my dad—which might be true, but didn’t mean I wasn’t any good—and that I was nothing more than a spoiled little rich girl.

  I was not little. I was a perfectly respectable five feet five inches. Okay, I couldn’t deny the rich part… Well, Dad was rich.

  And I was most definitely a girl.

  Spoiled, though? I’d hotly debate that particular adjective, but not today.

  “Sit, Paisley, before you fall down. I’ll make you some dry toast, and providing you don’t bring it back up, I’ll take you home.”

  I mumbled something about carbs which Jared studiously ignored. He guided me back to the couch, and once I’d sank onto the cushioned seat, he crossed over to the kitchen. The bread wrapper rustled, and then he popped two slices into the toaster, thankfully wholemeal bread not white. If it had been white, he’d have to force-feed me, although I wouldn’t put that past him.

  He brought over the toast and another glass of water. Placing them on the coffee table, he sat beside me.

  “Eat.”

  I almost growled, which made my next comment kind of play into his hands. “Sit. Eat. I’m not a dog.”

  He chuckled. I liked the sound. It did funny things to my insides that had
nothing to do with my killer hangover.

  “That’s something we can definitely agree on,” he said.

  I picked up a slice of toast and nibbled the crust. It tasted awful without any butter or jam, but I really didn’t think I could stomach grease or sugar right now. I sipped at my water and managed to cram a whole slice down, but I couldn’t face the second one. The food did make me feel marginally better, though.

  “Happy?” I asked, my tone bordering on sarcasm. “No sign of puke, so can I go now?”

  Instead of responding to my childishness, Jared stood and grabbed his keys off the coffee table. He crossed over to a cupboard, opened it, and slipped into a dark, knee-length overcoat. “I’ll take you.”

  “I can get myself home. I wouldn’t want to put you out.” More sarcasm.

  This time, he arched an eyebrow.

  “That’s debatable, otherwise I wouldn’t have had to bring you back here last night. And in terms of putting me out, it’s a bit late for that.”

  I clenched my jaw, but that made my head ache, so instead, I slung my purse over my shoulder and stomped past him, standing by his front door, hands on hips. I spotted a glimmer of a smile on his perfect lips, but all too fast, before I could savor the sheer beauty of the man, it vanished.

  A cold, biting wind hit me the second I stepped outside. I hadn’t told Jared, but I’d begun to feel sick again, and the fresh air helped to keep the nausea at bay. I breathed deeply through my nose then blew it out slowly.

  “If you’re going to hurl, try and give me some warning so I can put some distance between us,” Jared drawled. “I happen to like this coat.”

  Damn the man! Was there anything he didn’t notice? And did he have to keep reminding me I’d ruined an item of his clothing?

  “I’m not.”

  “Good.”

  Jared flagged down a black cab, and I sank gratefully into the seat. I gave the cabbie my address. Jared didn’t speak to me once on the way over to my place. Thank goodness he didn’t, because the motion of the car made my nausea a hundred times worse. I had to concentrate really hard on breathing and pray I reached home without further incident.