A Secret Worth Keeping?. Robyn Donald

to the music. He had no idea what she was on about. His one-track mind was heavily mired in defending himself against the onslaught of her slender curves, her light, mouth-watering scent.

      After their talk in the park earlier, when he’d felt a strong desire to comfort her and slay all her demons, his self-preservation instincts had kicked in and warned him that this time he really needed to keep his distance.

      Of course dancing with her wasn’t exactly conducive to that plan, but seeing Caruthers pawing her earlier had made him see red, and he knew he couldn’t just drag her off to a secluded location feeling the way he did. Dancing with her was the safer of the two options.

      ‘You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that,’ he said, telling himself to ignore the way she seemed to fit so perfectly in his arms.

      He was still a little shocked by the way he had nearly put his fist through Dexter’s arrogant face. He had forgotten that this thing with Miller was fake. Of course that had more to do with male pride than the delicate, sensual woman in his arms right now.

      Yeah, and pigs might fly. You want her and there’s no shame in admitting it. Just don’t do anything about it.

      Just when he was about to end the exquisite torture of dancing with her, she answered his question.

      ‘Race? Don’t you ever get scared?’

      Ah, she’d been asking him about his job.

      Okay, that he could talk about on a superficial level. ‘Motor racing is all about pushing yourself to the limit. There’s no room for fear.’

      Her body swayed against his in time to an eighties love song; the room too warm with the crush of similarly entwined bodies dancing together.

      ‘But you push yourself beyond the limit, don’t you? Isn’t that why they call you an arrogant adrenalin junkie and a shock-jock? Maverick?’

      ‘Don’t believe everything you read about me, Miller. I’m happiest living on the edge, it’s true. But I don’t take stupid chances with my own life or anyone else’s. Fear is an emotion. Controllable like any other. And while I’m not crazy, sometimes...’ He paused, his mind automatically spinning back to the race that had taken the life of his good friend and caused him to question the sport he loved so much. ‘Sometimes you have to squeeze the fear a little.’

      And in this game you never look back, he silently added.

      ‘Squeeze the fear?’

      She said the words as if she were savouring a new taste on her tongue, and his body burned with a restless energy at the thought of tasting her again. But this time not just her mouth.

      ‘You really love it don’t you?’ she said, a soft smile curving her lips.

      Tino’s mind jerked and went blank. Then he used his formidable mental control to switch off the erotic images turning his body hard. ‘I get to experience life in its most heightened and intense form. Nothing else has ever come close.’

      And probably right now he was too close to her—both mentally and physically. He couldn’t remember ever having revealed so much about why he raced, and as for talking about his reasons for steering clear of relationships...

      He frowned down at her. ‘You’re not going to repeat what I just said, are you?’

      ‘You mean to a journalist?’ Her tone was light, almost teasing.

      ‘Yes.’ His wasn’t.

      ‘Are your illustrious words worth very much?’

      He scowled and she smiled.

      ‘Relax.’

      That captivating smile grew and he knew she was thinking of all the times he had told her to do the same thing.

      ‘I don’t need the money.’

      Tino was jostled from behind by an exuberant dancer and his whole body came up flush against Miller’s. Foreign emotions he couldn’t name and a healthy dose of testosterone heightened as the arousal he’d been holding at bay flared instantly to life.

      So much for that formidable mental control, Ventura.

      He stopped dancing. ‘I think it’s time to call it a night.’

      He noticed her face was flushed, and his arms tightened around her like a steel cage.

      She stood still, looking up at him. ‘I had no idea your job was so fascinating.’

      His eyes became hooded and he saw his own desperate need reflected back at him from her over-bright eyes. Her lips parted softly in silent invitation and he had to fight the instinct to crush her mouth beneath his.

      He studied her slender hands curled around his shoulders, her fingers elegant, the nails unvarnished. They suited her serious nature and reminded him that ‘serious’ females were best avoided at all costs.

      ‘Valentino, are you okay?’

      Her hands slid from his shoulders to rest lightly against his chest and he felt scalded.

      Deliberately slowing his heart-rate, he evened out his breathing and stepped back from her. Every minute he spent in her presence eroded his self-control and he hated that. Without self-control he was nothing. He had no choice but to sever whatever bond had sprung up between them, because right now he sensed she was more dangerous to him than a hairpin turn at three hundred clicks.

      He saw the moment comprehension dawned that he was rejecting what she was unconsciously offering and silently cursed as a moment of hurt flashed across her beautiful face.

      It was as if he’d betrayed her. And maybe he had. The way he’d come on to her on the beach, then taken her for ice cream, grilled her about her life, his behaviour with her boss...

      Feeling as if he owed her a massive apology, he didn’t know where to start. Or if it would make the situation between them better or worse.

      Then she took the decision out of his hands and closed down her emotions as effectively as he had, pivoting on her sexy heels and walking away from him.

      Immediately, an image of his father slotted into his brain, but rather than shake it off straight away, as he usually did, he let it settle there for a moment. The image was always the same. A smiling, larger-than-life hero in a white jumpsuit with a cerulean-blue helmet under his arm.

      Miller’s eyes.

      His father’s helmet.

      His father’s death hanging over him like a sword.

      In this game, you never look back.

      Tino felt his old rage at his father rear up and flattened it. This weekend was supposed to be light and easy. Relaxing. But Miller was drawing something out of him he had no wish to face, and it was messing with his head.

      She was messing with his head.

      He wasn’t supposed to want her. At least not this much. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to want to make her world a better place.

      What a crapshoot.