Declare (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #4) (6 page)

She hummed against my mouth before kissing my neck. Even without her touching me, I was just about ready to drop my load.

“Fuck, I want you . . . so badly,” I whispered to her.

“Me too,” she said, her voice little more than a sigh. “It’s usually right about now that Phoebe interrupts us. Or one of us falls asleep.”

I grinned wickedly. “Good thing she’s inside the house fast asleep and we’re out here wide awake, right?” I winked at her.

She smiled slyly. “Good thing,” she agreed.

Running her fingers into my hair, she brought my lips back to hers. Then she dropped her hand down to gently rub the tip of my cock through my shorts.

I grunted at the feel of her touch.

Fuck me.

Someone came up behind me, but I was willing to ignore them.

“Well, I guess it isn’t a Sinclair Racing party unless Declan Reede is grinding into someone pinned against the house,” one of the promoters said with a laugh on his way past.

Fuck me!
I thought. That fucking prick! And just when I’d managed to get Alyssa back onside. I turned back toward her, but she was blushing bright red, and I knew it was over. She untangled herself from me and then set about adjusting her sarong to cover herself back up.

Fuck me!

“I’m going to check on Phoebe,” she whispered before running for the door.

I growled to the empty night. I was alone, pissed off, and had a raging boner to contend with.

Fuck my life.

After a moment, I sucked down a breath and followed Alyssa into the house. Even if I had no chance of getting lucky, at least I could apologise so I didn’t spend the rest of the week in the doghouse. Sometimes being a grown-up wasn’t much fun.

CHAPTER FIVE: WHAT’S IN A DATE?

OVER THE NEXT few weeks, we both became time poor and exhausted from the combination of both working full-time and childrearing, making the well dry up even more. I was nearly at the end of my rope most nights, and most mornings I had to service myself in the shower just to get through the day.

Two afternoons a week, I left work early. On Danny’s insistence—and because he was picking up the tab—I started back with private weekly sessions with Dr. Henrikson. In addition, I went with Alyssa one afternoon a week for couples’ counselling. It had actually been her suggestion. Rather than simply enjoying our post-setting-a-date high, she’d pushed for the appointments. Even though I wanted nothing more than to tell her to fuck off when she made the suggestion, she’d quickly backed it up by saying that she wanted to make sure everything was on the table before we took the final plunge so we could enter married life unencumbered by the shit of our past.

I couldn’t say I blamed her for wanting that.

Maybe it was too early to judge, but the sessions we’d been to so far seemed like a waste of time to me. We never talked about the future during our joint sessions, and despite the reason Alyssa wanted to start them, we rarely talked about the past, either. It was only when something was said that hit one of our “hot buttons” that we would discuss anything other than our day-to-day lives.

All we seemed to do was rehash what had happened during the week between our visits, talking about our high points and our low points. Alyssa had blushed scarlet when I’d listed her giving me a midnight blow job as a high point in one session, but Dr. Henrikson hadn’t even blinked. I often spent the sessions wondering why we were paying to see someone to do what we could do at home for free. After all, it wasn’t like he was helping us through issues the way he did with me privately.

At one of my private sessions, the irritation became too much and it all boiled over.

“Declan, you are the one who requested additional meetings,” Dr. Henrikson responded calmly. “I just want to ensure that you have the space and tools to discuss your lives and any issues which may arise in a calm and rational manner. That will be the key to a successful, long-term marriage. If you wish to stop our sessions, just say the word.”

“Alyssa wouldn’t like that,” I grumbled.

“Have you asked her?”

I stared at him blankly.

“Have you asked her how she feels about the sessions? Whether they are a benefit to her? Whether she feels they are a benefit to you both?”

I shook my head and crossed my arms.

“Talk to her about it.”

“What’s the point?” I said. “She’s the one who wanted to do weekly fucking sessions.”

“The point is to communicate,” he replied.

I harrumphed and crossed my arms tighter. He correctly interpreted it as a desire to change the subject.

“How’s the Mini coming along?” he asked, almost conversationally.

I groaned and buried my head in my hands, thinking of the disastrous attempt at testing a few days earlier.

The car had fit me like a pair of boxers two sizes too small. With all the gizmos, gauges, and gadgets squeezed into the cabin with me, there was barely room to move. In fact, everything was so cramped and tiny, I could practically taste my balls. Worse, I’d barely had ten minutes on the test track before my time was cut short when Hunter decided he needed to urgently test some adjustments made to his car.

The call in my ear telling me to “bring ’er in” so Hunter could do his thing was proof of the pecking order—the reminder I didn’t need that I was bottom of the heap. Lowest of the fucking low.

“Seriously, Doc, why would you even bring that shit up?” I asked.

“Because I don’t know if you see it as the positive that it is yet. I think one day you will see that it
is
a step in the right direction.”

I shook my head.

“I know you don’t believe me. But will you at least trust me?”

“It’s a tin can on wheels,” I snapped. “There are no positives in that. And before you say it—I know, I know ‘at least I’m racing again’.” I mimicked his accent and made a mocking face at him.

He chuckled. “You know, Declan, if nothing else, you bring me amusement.”

I covered my face with my hands. “If nothing else I bring you a pile of money, you mean.” Once I’d lost the more lucrative paycheque of being a driver, he’d dropped his billing rate and bulk billed as many sessions as he could to ensure I could continue to get the help I needed. But now that it was back on Danny’s dime, he was earning a small fortune every week.

He was silent for a while, and I peeked out from between my fingers. He was smiling when I glanced at him.

“There’s that too,” he said with a laugh.

I chuckled and shook my head.

We moved swiftly onto other topics. I had to hand it to the doc; no matter how unorthodox he might have been, he could read my moods and respond accordingly. Overall, I did actually feel better after each session.

Between the counselling sessions and having Alyssa and Phoebe living their lives with me, things seemed to get better day by day. Even work was pretty decent. The only stain on my first weeks as an apprentice grease monkey was the same as my first day: Hunter.

Fucking Hunter.

Somehow, our team drew the short straw, and we ended up being allocated as the primary crew for Hunter’s car. No one else on my crew seemed to mind too much, but I hated that jumped-up fucking prick and his bullshit ideas. Memories of the way he’d disrespected his pit crew at Wood Racing were stuck in my head at every turn.

Not to mention the fact that his head was so far up his arse he’d need a map and a flashlight to ever find his way back out again. Although, he would probably refuse the torch considering he thought the sun shone from there anyway.

It seemed as if his day wasn’t quite complete until he had found me and given me shit about something. At first, it was about my apparent inability to drive, even though I had driven circles around him when we were both on the racetrack the previous few years.

The article in
Woman’s Idea
was also a source of fun for him, with him quoting my own words about Phoebe and Alyssa back at me with a voice filled with derision. He’d also taken to asking me about my “gold-digging” girlfriend. It got to the point at one stage where I stalked up to Danny’s office near the end of January and barged in, not even waiting for an answer after knocking on the door.

“You have to get rid of that lunatic,” I said, waving my arms as if Hunter-the-fucker was right behind me.

Danny looked up at me and sighed. “What is the problem now, Declan?”

“It’s that psycho, Hunter!”

“Hunter is a valued driver with this team, Declan,” Danny said, his tone patient even if that patience seemed to be wearing thin.

“No, he’s a fucking disaster. He’s arrogant. He doesn’t have any regard for what anyone else thinks. He’s hit on or slept with every female in a hundred-mile radius of this building—”

Danny cut me off with a quiet chuckle.

“What?” I demanded.

“You could be describing someone who is standing not very far from me right now, you know.”

I realised he meant me. “I am
nothing
like that fucker.”

“Maybe not now,” Danny answered diplomatically. “But it wasn’t that long ago that almost those exact words were used in complaint about you.”

To say I was fucking stunned was an understatement. “Who by?”

He shook his head. “I never betray the confidence of a source, but I will tell you what I told them. Your comments have been noted, and I will take them on board, but as long as he keeps his nose clean, stays away from bad press, and gets around the racetrack cleanly and quickly, I have no reason to let him go.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Declan, of anyone’s neck around here, yours is the one I would worry about.”

“What?” I asked, shocked. I’d been working my arse off to learn the trade. I’d done everything asked of me and, in my opinion, I’d kept my nose clean.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Danny said. “I’ve heard good things about you from Liam and, as I’ve proven to you, I believe in giving you this second chance. But at the end of the day, this is a team and all members need to get along with each other. If you can’t make the effort to get along with Hunter, we might have problems.”

I gaped at Danny for a second before murmuring, “Fine,
I’ll
make an effort.” I turned away. “But I guarantee he won’t.” I stalked from his office without another word.

Danny no doubt thought I was just mad that Hunter had stolen my position on the team, but that wasn’t the only thing that pissed me off. He was the epitome of arrogance. He propositioned every girl in sight, harassing them until they finally submitted, and then spread rumours about how easy they’d been to bed.

At least I hadn’t heard any whispers about spiked drinks yet, and I was listening pretty hard. The smallest shred of evidence and I would have been up in Danny’s office over and over to demand action.

Even though it seemed impossible, I did as Danny asked. I tried to make nice with Hunter, at least as much as I could, but I found it far easier to avoid him completely.

I WAS at the end of my fucking rope when Liam sought me out. It was a typical Tuesday early in February, except for the fact that prep for the overseas races was in full swing and had left all of the crew up to their eyeballs with shit to do. I was tired, dirty, covered in grease, and had just narrowly escaped another encounter with Hunter.

“Sparky, you need to speak to Danny,” Liam said when he caught me.

“Hi to you too,” I muttered.

He rolled his eyes. “Just get your arse up to Danny’s office, would you?”

“Fine. Whatever.” I really wasn’t in the mood to argue. All I could do was hope that Danny wasn’t going to pile more shit on me; I was already at my limit for the day. Especially when I was due to fly out for Bahrain in just a few days, and while I was preparing for that, Alyssa was getting ready for her graduation. A huge event in her life that I was going to miss just because of a fucking car race.

I trudged myself up to Danny’s office, wondering whether he’d be upset if I asked to be excused from the Bahrain race. Maybe I could make it to Alyssa’s graduation—and be left jobless in one fell swoop.

With a sigh, I gave up the thought. I knocked on his door and waited.

A quick rustling of papers sounded from within before his voice called out, “Enter.”

I walked in and sat without waiting for further invitation. It was hard to forget the last few times I’d been in his office—the good and the bad. It was hard to know whether to be anticipating or worrying about what was going to happen next. “You wanted to see me?”

“Indeed.” He met my eye as he leaned back against his chair. “A little while ago, I was given some information about the new race season, and I’ve been wondering what to do with it.”

I nodded, thinking he was trying to tell me they weren’t going to race the Mini after all. Even though I’d expected to be relieved, I actually didn’t. Instead, I felt . . . disappointed almost.

“It seems that ProV8 officials have changed the rules for the endurance races. All championship drivers have to race in their own cars.” He paused and regarded me.

I nodded to show I was listening—intently this time, not like when he told me about the Mini in the first place.

“It means, of course, that we can’t pair up two lead drivers like we have in previous years.”

“Why?” I asked, surprising myself at my outburst.

“Something about helping to even up the odds and trying to increase the number of cars in the field. A whole pile of reasons really, but regardless of why, it’s happening and will be formally announced just before the Bahrain race.”

“Okay.” My fingers bounced against my leg as I considered the possible reasons he could be telling me this.

“Now I’m left with something of a quandary. I need to find another driver for each of the cars I’m running in the races.”

I tried to beat back the bubble of hope building rapidly in my chest. I really didn’t want another disappointment like the one with the Mini. And yet, it expanded until I could barely breathe and swallowing became impossible.

“I was wondering whether you—”

I was nodding my agreement before he’d finished the sentence.
Yes, dammit, yes!

“—know anyone who knows how to handle a ProV8 car?”

“What?” I asked, slumping back down in my chair as the bubble burst, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. I couldn’t believe he would ask me that. Did he want me to go on a fucking recruitment drive on his fucking behalf or something?

He chuckled. “So you don’t know anyone who would want to drive a V8 again, and who knows how to get around a track?”

“You mean other than me, right?” I snapped, pinching the bridge of my nose to try to calm myself.