Racing The Beast (Dirt Track Dogs #2) (5 page)

“I’m sure it’s nefarious,” Drake muttered.

“It’s always the angelic ones that will fool you though,” Beast added.

Punk nodded, pointing a triangle tip at him. “He gets it.”

Drake bent his head, kissing Ella’s jaw. “Well, whatever she’s up to, it brought me Ella so it can’t be that bad.”

“Only time will tell,” Punk muttered.

“Tell what?” The voice belonged to Annie and it had them all jerking to attention.

“Nothing. Did you bring my stuff?” Punk asked.

Annie beamed. “I did. And if I forgot anything just let me know and I’ll grab it on my way from Red Cap tonight.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Punk didn’t do a good job hiding the skepticism in her voice but Annie didn’t seem to notice. She ran forward and threw her arms around Punk.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Beast saw the emotion in Punk’s expression. For all her tough talk, she loved her friends. Before the night was up, he was going to be counted in that number. And then…
then
he’d give her more, until she held his heart in the palm of her hand where it fucking belonged.

The room they gave Punk had plain khaki colored walls, black light-blocking curtains, and one badass painting of a wolf. It was just the face of the animal but whoever painted it had done such great detail that she could almost feel the emotion coming off it.

Punk looked around and noticed a book shelf full of various reading materials with a heavy emphasis on car magazines. The bed was king sized and covered in a charcoal gray blanket that resembled fur, but was clearly not. The ten billion pillows made her drool. It was about as far from a hospital bed as it could be. If her leg wasn’t killing her, she’d run and jump on the thing.

“Is this your room,” she asked Beast. He stood in the doorway, hovering after he set her suitcase on the bed.

“Uh… sort of. I keep my things here but I’ve been staying in the trailer by the practice track. Things can get a little crazy in this house. It’s kind of the landing pad for everyone. But Diz moved back into the shop so it’s been less crowded around here. And with thunderstorm season upon us, I’ll probably stick around the house more. The trailer can get… tricky.”

Punk narrowed her gaze on him. He fidgeted, seeming nervous.

“I just assumed it was yours because of the picture.” She gestured to the wolf.

“Oh. That.” He laughed. “Blister painted it. It hung in the living room but I couldn’t quit staring at it so I swiped it for in here. It’s nice isn’t it?”

Punk had to agree. “He’s very talented.”

She twisted on her crutches, to sit on the bed. Good thing she was tall, otherwise it would’ve been difficult for her to reach the top.

“I’m going to let you settle in,” Beast said.

There was an edge to his voice that made her head snap up. He was like a coil wound too tight, absorbing energy until it was forced to release. Like he wanted to spring forward and pounce on her. Even his eyes seemed hot with tension.

Strangely… the idea didn’t bother her. Maybe because of the way he’d made her laugh. Or how he’d helped her adjust to this new situation by making her feel comfortable. Or maybe it was just
him
. The whole Beast package. The way he reminded her of an animal was soothing. Animals she could connect with, people were harder. Animals were protective, people often times weren’t.

Beast looked at her like an animal would. Like he’d decided he belonged to her. The way her dog had when she’d found him on the side of the road.

He broke eye contact. “If you need anything, I think you know to just call.”

She nodded and he turned to go.

“Beast?”

He whipped around so fast her head jerked back. “Yes?”

“Do you think I could get someone to bring my dog over here?”

“Your dog?”

“Sharkie. Annie’s been feeding him, but it would be easier if he was here instead.”

“Yeah. Sure. Give me your keys and I’ll go get him.”

Punk’s shoulders slumped. “Shit, I forgot. Annie has my keys.”

“What about Ella?”

“Yeah, she still has a copy.”

He nodded. “I’ll grab it and be back soon, okay?” He turned back to the door.

“Wait, Beast, he doesn’t like men. You’ll have to get low to the ground and let him sniff you first. And if—”

“I’ve got this,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

He was out the door before she could argue anymore.

Punk let out a huge sigh as the door clicked closed. The silence of the room was nice. The temporary solitude gave her a chance to catch her breath. Even though she wasn’t at home, she felt safe enough to relax.

Setting her crutches against the side table, she carefully maneuvered her sore leg onto the bed. Damn, it hurt. She was due a pain pill, but the idea of getting up and digging them out of her purse, and then going to find water was exhausting. She’d rest a little first.

Carrying an added five pounds on one leg was tough. And she’d never used her upper body like she was now with the crutches. Doing this for another six weeks sounded as good as being eaten alive by an anaconda.

She managed to get the covers pulled back without standing, and found a semi-comfortable position by lying on her side and jamming a pillow between her legs so there was no weight on the cast.

Sinking back into the mountain of pillows, she breathed deep. Beast’s room smelled amazing. There was no trace of the usual man funk she’d come to expect from bachelors. But it didn’t smell like cologne either. It was something else. Something dark. Like cut wood and… citrus.

“Mmm.”

She took another deep breath. She loved it.

Somewhere in the middle of trying to figure out how she could bottle the scent and keep it, she fell asleep. She crashed hard, and when she woke hours later, it was from a nightmareless slumber. She was refreshed but her leg hurt like a motherfucker.

Pain pills.
Now
.

She rolled from the bed, careful not to jostle her leg, and grabbed the crutches. Hobbling to the dresser, she leaned in to peer at her reflection. Yep, she looked like shit. The bruises were fading, but her eyes were puffy and she had a little Frankenstein action going on with the stitches.

She’d never cared much about her appearance. She wore a little makeup here and there but other than that, she didn’t try too hard. Today, she found herself wishing she didn’t look so bedraggled.

Punk sighed. Whatever. She didn’t give a shit what any man thought of her looks. Including Beast.

She reached up and tousled her hair to make it look messier. There. Now she really looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.

Her gaze caught on the stitches near the corner of her eye, and she leaned forward until she was mere inches away from the mirror. Was the cut healed already?

“No way,” she breathed.

She blinked several times and looked again, but the sight didn’t change. The skin underneath was pink but not red. Not even scabby.

What the fuck?

Shaking her head, she dug her prescription out of her purse and made her way into the living room. But she barely got past the bedroom door before she was stopped by the sight in front of her.

Beast was sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep with one leg hanging over the back. But the part that had her floundering was the fact that her huge-ass German Shepherd was lying on Beast’s chest. Shark’s head was nestled soundly under Beast’s chin and one of them—probably the dog—was snoring.

Punk inched forward, careful to be as quiet as possible. She didn’t want to wake either of them and destroy this miracle moment. Sharkie sleeping chest to chest with a man? A man the size of Beast? It was Twilight Zone stuff, right there.

While she was creeping closer, she misjudged the space between the chair and the table, and bumped her sore leg. Jerking back, she hissed at the pain, and that was enough to wake both man and beast.

Shark’s head popped up to stare at her. Recognition hit him and he went to jump from his man/bed to her, but a sharp whistle cut the air and he immediately froze.

“Hold on, boy,” Beast murmured, easing the dog to the ground and standing. “You okay?” he asked her, concern knitting his brow.

“Yeah.” Her answer game out in a painful groan. So much for keeping that shit to herself. She cleared her throat to try again. “Waited too long for a pill,” she said on one breath, trying to talk past the throbbing.

He rushed forward, lifting her with one arm around the waist and setting her gently on the couch. “Damn it, baby, why didn’t you say something? I would’ve brought you your medicine.”

Holy shit.
Baby
? When was the last time someone called her baby?

“I was sleeping,” she grumbled.

Shark sat beside her, nudging her arm with his nose. She took a second to ruffle his fur and kiss his head. She’d missed the big, loveable guy.

Beast pulled the medicine bottle from her grasp, quickly reading the label and pulling out the correct dose. “Here. I’ll be right back with some water.”

He rushed off to the kitchen and returned with a full glass. Punk quickly swallowed down the pills and then finished off the water, hoping the medicine would kick in fast. The pain was enough to make her feel ill. And it wasn’t like she could run to the bathroom if she got sick.

Beast dropped to one knee on the floor by her feet, and she found his troubled gaze. “Is the pain very bad?”

She thought about denying it but she wasn’t the lying type. Nodding, she closed her eyes, hoping her stomach would settle.

“I think you hurt it when you attacked Surge earlier. Damn it. I’m so sorry for this.”

The remorse in his tone gave her chills. It was a bone deep regret that belonged with someone who’d actually done something wrong. She would’ve loved to have heard that tone from her attacker, but from Beast? No.

Punk opened her eyes to his furrowed brow and sorrowful gaze traveling the length of her leg. She didn’t know what made her do it. The same way she demanded physical distance from others, she also demanded it of herself. But this time, it seemed necessary. Touching him felt like a priority she couldn’t afford to ignore.

Tentatively, she reached out to brush his cheek. He jolted at the unexpected contact, turning to catch her gaze with eyes that were hot enough to ignite. They were the flash to her kindling. If she kept looking she’d go up in flames.

She moved to stare at his mouth instead.

“It was an accident,” she whispered, drawn back to his eyes like a moth to a flame.

“You don’t know how sorry I am that I hurt you, Punk.” He seemed to vibrate with intensity. “I know accidents happen. Especially out on the track. I just wish I’d found you sooner. I wish you would’ve been standing on the other side of the oval with the dogs. That way you would’ve been safe and you wouldn’t be hurting right now.”

She shook her head, baffled by the emotion pouring off of him. “You aren’t like any other man I’ve known,” she murmured. “You make me want to…”

He inched closer, probably not even aware of what he was doing. She was though. She was hyper aware of his every move. He’d lulled her into feeling so uninhibited, but the part of her that had been fighting to survive crippling fear for ten years, couldn’t help being alert for any danger.

But with Beast, there was none.

“Make you want to what?” he asked.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Try.”

He let out a breath that sounded like pure relief. “Can I touch you back?”

“Where?” She didn’t know the answer to his question. She didn’t know if it was okay. She needed more information.

“Your lips.”

She nodded. She didn’t think about it, her body just responded.

Slowly, his hand came up, his middle finger brushing along the seam of her lips until they parted slightly. He traced them with the rough tips of his fingers, moving the metal studs as he went.

“You’ve got the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen in my life,” he murmured. “This right here…” He grazed her lower lip and the diamond stud just underneath it. “I want to suck it gently until you moan.”

Holy fuck.

Her breath stuck in her throat. Shit. He couldn’t say things like that to her. It would make her sick. It would send her into a panic. It would set her back. She’d have to go to therapy again. It would make her weak and vulnerable. It would…

But it didn’t do any of the things she expected it to. Her breath finally came. In fact, she was panting. And what he described
didn’t
make her feel sick. It shocked her, but it didn’t send her into a panic.

“I bet you moan so sweetly,” he whispered, staring intently at her mouth. His nostrils flared and he licked his lips, giving her a glimpse of the way his mouth would work on her.

Punk shivered all the way from her head to her toes.

He closed his eyes, looking pained, and pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry if that was too much. I’m shitty at hiding what I’m thinking.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine,” she croaked. And it really was. Except for how her stomach flipped and flopped like she’d swallowed a fish.

There was a whole whirlwind of emotions swirling around inside of her and it was all because of his tender touches and his sexy, sexy words. Touches that shouldn’t make her want more. But they did.

“Can I touch your leg? I want to see if I can help with the pain.”

What fucking pain? It was already gone, wiped away in a moment of bliss brought on by Beast’s hands.

But she didn’t tell him how much the pain had lessened.

She nodded.

He pushed the rolled leg of her stretchy yoga pants—the only thing she could fit over the cast—higher up her thigh. His fingers barely grazed her skin as he moved and she squeezed her legs together at the contact.

It was out of habit. No man belonged there. That’s what she’d told herself for so long.

He noticed.

Pausing to look into her eyes, he asked, “Still okay?”

Punk nodded.

His large hand slipped behind the knee of her injured leg and started massaging the tendon there, his thumb brushing the top of her knee cap. All the pent up tension, all the pain she didn’t realize remained, all the breath in her lungs… just eased right out of her until all that remained was a lump of putty formerly known as Punk.