A Sprint To His Heart (14 page)

“Bailey,” he groaned, his hands running through my hair.

His thick erection angled high and strong, and I gently clasped my hand around the base. I wanted to please him, but it had been a long time since I’d done this. It always seemed forced before. I remembered Shannon telling me how she always gagged and the end result made her mouth feel glued shut. But Kelsi said giving head was incredibly erotic and the taste depended on the guy—some salty, some like dark beer.

I’d never been a huge fan of beer. But since Piran was a magical Fae, maybe his would taste like marshmallow cream?

His soft laughter encouraged me. “I will try,” he said, his last word drifting into a moan as I took him into my mouth. Smooth and warm. Really hard, yet unbelievably silky. I darted my tongue around the tip, partially on instinct, and partially from remembering what I’d read.

His little sighs of pleasure thrilled me, and I couldn’t wait to devour him even more. I mouthed him deeper, and he gripped my shoulders, his thighs trembling. Oh yes. Kelsi was right. Total turn-on. He was
mine
.

No longer apprehensive, I increased the friction. I ached for this man. All of him.

And the marshmallow cream? Well, he came damn close.

Gotta love the Fae.

I lay in Piran’s arms, listening to his breathing. The rise and fall of his chest soothed me in a primal way as if some deep biological imperative whispered that I belonged with him.

Which made my decision about joining the training team in Colorado even more painful.

No. I didn’t want to think about that now.

Based on the angle of light coming through my window, it was early evening. We’d slept at least two hours. Slowly, so as not to wake him, I slipped out from beneath his arm, edged off my bed, and stretched.

Arms in mid-air, I froze. Was that the sound of the front door closing? I rushed to my bedroom window and scanned the driveway. Only Piran’s red LeFerrari. No sign of Kelsi’s car. I strained to listen, silently cursing the blood rushing through my ears.

There. The kitchen faucet was running.

Piran rolled over and gave me a sleepy smile.

I whirled around, searching for my clothes. “Piran,” I whispered. “Piran, get up. My mom is home early.” I grabbed my underwear and tugged them on, stumbling over Piran’s sneakers and whacking my knee into the side of my desk. Gritting my teeth, I sucked in a sharp breath.

He propped up on one elbow, a playful curve on his lips. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Damn, I was tempted, but I jammed my feet into shorts. “Later. Did you hear me? You need to get out of here.”

“Bailey?” My mom’s voice carried up the stairs. “You up there?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.
Where was my damn bra? Searching the floor, I spied my bra hanging off the back of my chair.

Piran threw his legs over the side of the bed and caught the jeans I tossed him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Is there a problem with her knowing?”

I hooked my bra and slipped my T-shirt over my head. “I just don’t want to deal with explaining this to her.”

“This?” he asked, an edge in his voice.

My breath escaped in a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He dressed in silence and headed to the bedroom door, but my mother’s footsteps echoed in the upstairs hallway. I grabbed his arm at the last moment, shaking my head. She would see him. I scanned my bedroom. Nowhere for him to hide. My bed frame was a mere six inches off the floor and my closet had built-in organizers, leaving no space to stuff a full-size man.

A knock at the door. “Bailey?”

My internal organs shriveled. I was twenty-one, a college graduate. I shouldn’t feel self-conscious about having a sexual relationship, but Mom had been in such a bad mood lately. And she hadn’t been keen on me continuing to see Piran.

Worse, she’d ask embarrassing questions.

My hands went limp, and I swayed on unsteady legs. The room turned hazy.

The door opened. On instinct, I tightened my grip on Piran’s arm, but my fingers merely clenched thin air. I stared at my mother, my heart somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. I didn’t dare look to my side. I knew he’d transferred.

Mom gave a quick glance around me, her eyes narrowing. “Where’s Piran?”

“Uh, er . . .” I swallowed hard, forcing my brain into action. “He’s in the basement.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He’s checking out my bike trainer.” I nodded. Yup, that sounded reasonable. “He bought a new bike and wants to ride in his apartment.” Affecting an air of nonchalance, I placed a hand on my hip. “Far too difficult to ride in the crazy Chicago traffic, you know.”

“I would think so,” she said absently, poking through my room. She straightened my coverlet, then pushed in my desk chair. “So why are you in your room, sweetie?”

“What? Oh, um, I spilled coffee on my shirt. Had to change.” I steered her back to the door. “Have you had dinner? Maybe we could go out to eat. How about that new Indian restaurant you’ve been wanting to try?”

“That would be nice,” she replied.

She turned toward the stairs, and I followed. When we reached the bottom landing, I peered down the dim hallway at the closed basement door.
Please be there, Piran.

“Didn’t you say Piran was in the basement?”

“Well . . .” I hedged, wiping sweaty palms on my shorts. “Maybe he went outside.”

When the basement door opened, and Piran strode forward, I nearly peed myself in relief. He smiled at me, but his eyes held no warmth. “Nice bike trainer.”

Shrinking under his scornful glower, I chewed my bottom lip. He’d used forbidden Fae magic to cover my ass and hide the depth of our relationship from my mom. A relationship he didn’t want to hide. I owed him big time.

His faint smile hardened.

Okay, make that
double
big time.

“How about we go out to eat tomorrow night?” Mom brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. She dug through her purse, swore, then slammed her hand on the countertop.

Yikes. “Having a bad day, Mom?”

“Besides dealing with your father working late again?” Frowning, she palmed her forehead. “My position at work is being phased out.”

“Oh Mom. I’m so sorry.” A pang of guilt tore through me. “When?”

“First week of January.” Pausing, she tapped her foot. “And Bailey?”

“Yes, Mom?”

Her steely gaze encompassed both Piran and me. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Chapter 14

The next evening, Piran and I took my mom to the new Indian restaurant for dinner, but none of us seemed up for conversation. Mom stabbed at her lamb in yogurt sauce as if the meat represented something else entirely. Dad maybe? Head down, Piran ate his basmati rice and vegetables in silence. I didn’t like my chicken tandoori—too spicy—and instead nibbled on the flat bread. Maybe I took after my dad in more ways than one.

My gaze wandered and fell upon a group of dark Fae sitting at a nearby table. Four men and a woman I guessed, but it was hard to tell sometimes. They all looked kind of lizardy. One returned my scrutiny. I nodded my head in greeting. Always nice to be polite, even though I had no idea what they were.

“Pincers,” Piran said quietly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Related to Basilisks. So please do not stare.”

I dropped my gaze. According to the old legends, Basilisks could cause death with a single stare. Totally untrue. I’d heard it only caused a little itching. I poked at my chicken. “If the Pincers don’t like being stared at, then why do they go where humans will stare at them?”

Piran shrugged. “They have a fondness for spicy food.”

A noise filled the dining room, almost like somebody playing a bass drum, and badly. I chanced a peek at the Pincers, their throats ballooned out like croaking bullfrogs.

Mom heaved an exasperated sigh. “Must they do that?”

The throat drumming increased in volume until we could no longer hear the restaurant’s piped-in music. After a few moments, the tables began to vibrate.

One of the waiters stuffed his cell phone’s earbuds into his ears. The people seated at the table behind us got up and left. A small man of Indian descent rushed out, waving his hands, desperation evident on his face.

Piran stood and approached the Pincers. I couldn’t hear him, but he must have said something as the drumming died down. Then it appeared as if the Pincers offered Piran a seat, but he shook his head, bowed, and returned to our table.

“Well?” my mother prompted.

“Engagement celebration,” Piran replied, pouring himself a cup of tea. “But as with alcohol to humans, Pincers cannot hold their curry, thus the excessive noise.”

I couldn’t imagine what their weddings were like.

The owner of the restaurant stopped by our table. “Thank you, sir. You are most brave.”

Piran smiled. “Brave? No. Bravery not needed. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

The Indian man scratched his cheek, nodded, and moved on.

My mother arched an eyebrow at Piran.

“I try to respect the customs of other cultures,” he replied, running his finger along the edge of his cup. He glanced at her, and his mouth tightened.

Crap. Did my mom have a problem with how Piran handled the Pincers? Had she expected him to toss the Pincers out of the restaurant?

“You nailed that saying,” I said, aiming to distract. “Although I have no idea what it really means. I mean, why would anyone want to catch flies?”

Mom actually rolled her eyes. “It means you can get people to do what you want more easily with kindness than with harshness.”

“Ohhh.”

“Exactly.” Piran shook his head, his jaw hard. “Something my father and his liege of lords do not understand.”

Okay, so this had nothing to do with my mother.

“My father would have punished them,” he continued, squinting into the distance. His hand clenched into a fist. “As centuries of kings before him, my father thinks of the dark Fae as little more than animals.” His eyes softened. “Should we punish a culture solely because they have different customs from our own?”

My mother smiled sympathetically. “We often ridicule those who engage in behaviors outside our comfort zones. For example, public bathhouses were once the norm in Japan. Even today, those without a private bath in their home rely on bathing in public bathhouses.”

I crinkled my nose. Eww. Take a bath with strangers?

“And in South America,” she continued, “there’s a tribe that eats the cremated ashes of their dead.”

Gross. I pushed away my bowl of curried chickpea.

A man from the next table leaned toward us. “Couldn’t help but overhear. Talk about weird customs, in certain parts of Scotland, they have a wedding tradition called blackening of the bride. The bride-to-be’s friends and family take her by surprise and cover her with a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, feathers, and mud. And then she is paraded around the town!”

“What an unusual tradition,” my mother replied. “I wonder who helps clean up the bride afterwards?”

The man laughed, and the woman seated with him nodded. “There’s a German pre-wedding tradition where friends and family of the couple break dishes, flowerpots, tiles, toilets. You name it. Then the bride and groom must clean everything up.”

Another customer chimed in. “In Spain, they have a festival every year where everyone throws tomatoes at each other. I kid you not.”

Wow, a communal discussion on the strange, curious, and messy. I shook my head. “Guess throat-drumming Pincers don’t seem so odd after all.”

Piran’s mouth quirked. “Certainly not compared to tailgating before football games, the bizarre practice of sending children out on Halloween night to roam the streets, begging candy from strangers, and what is this Black Friday shopping brawl?”

My mom and I both laughed. Yeah, we had our fair share of strange customs.

I drank the remainder of my glass of wine. Dinner had turned out okay after all. When the Pincers stood to leave and waved to us, I felt a sort of hollowness in my heart for Piran. Here I’d been feeling my parents didn’t understand me, particularly my mom. Talk about a reality check.

Prince Piran of Sava had some
serious
differences with his
father.

Friday morning—the day of my big decision. I rolled out of bed early. Time to talk to Mom and Dad about my future as a bike racer.

I started a pot of coffee and began making eggs and wheat toast.

“Breakfast?” My mother asked, sniffing the air as she came into the kitchen. She leaned over the stove. “Oooh, scrambled eggs with cheese and green onions.” She smiled. “Is this a bribe?”

I arranged the toast on plates and ladled the eggs. “Sort of. I need to tell you and Dad something.”

Her smile vanished. “Bailey, you better not be…” Her gaze dropped to my midsection.

“Mom! Sheesh, no.”

Dad poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I set a plate down in front of him, and he dug into the eggs.

“Coach Vinson told me a training team in Colorado is interested in me.”

Eying me, Dad took a sip of his coffee. Mom said nothing.

I plowed ahead. “Coach said I didn’t have enough wins to be selected for the national development team, but a training team in Colorado, the Lady Spinners, works with talented amateurs. They even provide assistance in finding roommates and jobs.” I brushed a crumb from my lap. “This is my gap year, remember. With the crash taking me out of the Grand Prix Tour, I fell behind in potential races. And I—”

“Honey,” Dad said softly.

I looked over at him.

“We understand.”

He smiled, but Mom scowled then turned and stomped across the kitchen. Oh crap.

“Gayle,” my father said, setting down his fork. He sighed and rose from his seat.

“I have to be in Colorado next month,” I continued, pushing my eggs around my plate. “I’ll find a job to pay rent, but I could really use some money to help tide me over. Maybe I could cash those savings bonds Gran set aside for my future wedding?”

A sob escaped my mother’s lips.

Shit.

I lowered my head, my stomach twisting in knots. How could I do this to them right now? What with Mom’s job being phased out and the uncertainty of Dad’s job? I ran to her and clutched her hand. “You use the savings bonds. Believe me. I don’t need a fancy wedding. Knowing me, I’ll just get married in a barn somewhere and serve pizza.”

Mom patted my arm. “No, no, sweetie. We’ll be fine. Once we know what’s happening with your father’s job, I’ll look for another position.”

A bittersweet smile crossed my dad’s face. “Empty nest syndrome, that’s all. Her babies are growing up.”

“Oh stop,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Bailey, while I understand you have a dream to race full-time, you need to give serious thought as to whether you can afford this dream.”

“I know.” Feeling as if all the energy had been drained from my body, I sagged against the kitchen counter. “I need to get ready for work. I can ask if there are extra hours at the bike shop.”

Dad drew Mom to his side, his arm engulfing her narrow frame, but his gaze never left mine. “If moving to Colorado is what it takes to jump-start your career, we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Mom nodded, and I blinked back grateful tears before trudging up the stairs to my bedroom. Once again, Piran’s painting caught my attention. There on the canvas, he had created the me I longed to be. Strong, confident, sure of myself.

A winner.

Reclining on my bed, I stared at my ceiling fan and daydreamed of riding the Women’s World Cup in the Netherlands. Flying down the mountainside, hunkered over my handlebars, I passed rider after rider. Swinging into the home stretch, I aimed for the finish line and victory, my wheels pounding over the cobblestones.

“Bailey!” My mother pounded on my bedroom door.

Blinking, I grabbed my phone and stared at the time. Yikes. I’d fallen asleep. I quickly got ready and zipped to work.

After tiptoeing into the bike shop, I winced when Mike gave me the evil eye. To make up for being late, I immediately tackled everyone’s least favorite job, calling customers whose checks had bounced. Why did the store still take checks anyway?

On my break, I headed into the back room and found Nick and Tyler prepping a new bike for delivery. Nick kept his focus on adjusting the bike’s handlebars.

I settled onto a work stool and opened a bag of potato chips. “So, did you have a good ride with your friend Aaron?”

Tightening a wing nut, he shrugged.

“How were the remaining races in the Wisconsin Grand Prix Tour?” I asked.

He shrugged again.

Tyler looked over at me, then at Nick. He cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

I offered my bag of potato chips to both. “Want one?”

“No thanks,” Tyler replied. “I’m watching my figure.”

I laughed, but Nick remained stone-faced. I set down the bag of chips and crossed my arms. “Okay, Nick. What’s with you?”

He lifted the handlebar stem and set the handlebars on a workbench. Using a ballpeen hammer, he tapped the stem repeatedly. “Lost your phone, Bails?”

“No, but . . .” I sucked in my cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been real busy.”

“I texted you Wednesday about watching the track races at the velodrome. Men’s team trials and a dark Fae race. Great racing. Too bad you missed it.”

Tyler rescued the handlebar stem before it became a pile of mangled metal. “I’m gonna step out and get a slice of pizza. Anybody else?”

Both Nick and I shook our heads. Nick set his hands on the workbench and leaned forward as the back door clanged shut. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he turned around and stared at me. “You couldn’t even find the time to text me back?”

I lifted my hands, then dropped them aimlessly to my sides. “You don’t understand.”

“We’re friends, Bails. Or so I thought.”

“We are.” I scuffed my toe along the wall baseboard.

“So what gives? Too busy with your Fae boyfriend to return my texts?”

Ouch. My throat dry, I swallowed hard. “So much has happened. I don’t even know where to start.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound good.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them, Nick was by my side. The hard line of his jaw twitched. “Tell me. Has that Fae bastard hurt you?”

“No,” I protested, gripping the edge of the worktable next to me. So much for my hope that Piran and Nick could be friends. “I mean, not like you’re thinking. Piran lied about being a prince. That’s all. At first, I was upset he hadn’t told me—”

“What?” Nick grabbed my arm. “He’s a goddamn
prince
?”

I cringed under his glower. “Um, yeah. I met his parents last week, the King and Queen of the Sava province. They didn’t seem too happy to meet me.”

“This is priceless,” Nick said with a snort. “Believe me now?”

I ignored his accusation and yanked my arm free. “I understand why Piran didn’t want anyone to know who he was. He doesn’t want to be a prince. He just wants to be an artist.”

Nick made a noise in his throat. “An artist. Uh-huh.”

“Stop it.” Scowling at him, I planted my hands on my hips. “There’s more, and I could really use a friend to talk to about what’s going on, but not if you’re gonna come down on me about Piran.”

“Sorry.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I just worry about you. You know I’m here for you, Bails.”

“I know. It’s just that my mom’s been freaking out because my dad’s job might be transferred again and we’d have to move. And then yesterday, my mom learned her job is being phased out at the end of the year.”

“That sucks.”