chapter 10

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"I'm not an expert," Cedro said, "but eating spicy chicken wings the night before an internationally televised race feels like a poor decision." He took a sip of his sangria. "Just saying."

Isla smiled. El Hijo del Diablo — the Devil's Son, according to Cedro — was dimly lit, a riot of fairylights and rosy space heaters. Purring engines and the occasional honk drifted up to the rooftop bar, accompanied by the soft murmur of Spanish voices. And English cussing. Lots of cussing.

She watched, amused, as Matthew popped another spicy wing into his mouth. His forehead was beaded with sweat, but he was faring better than Noah, who looked one wing away from cardiac arrest.

"Is Noah always like this?" Isla asked, lowering her voice.

Cedro arched an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like..." Isla broke off as Noah stuffed another hot wing into his mouth. "I don't know. Competitive? Possibly mad?"

"Oh," Cedro said. "Yes. Always."

"And Matthew?"

"Oh, no." Cedro winked. "Usually he's far worse."

He took another sip of his sangria. The red wine glowed in the fading light, a concoction of fresh fruit and a dinky plastic umbrella. The other boys had ordered beers. Cedro had smiled at the waitress and asked for the sweetest drink on the menu.

Isla had a feeling they'd get on just fine.

She stirred the ice in her cocktail. "How long have you all known each other?"

"Years," Cedro said. "Noah and Matthew grew up karting together."

"Not you?"

"No." Cedro shook his head. "My family wasn't..." He fiddled with the plastic umbrella. "We couldn't afford to travel much. Most of my races were in Italy near where I grew up."

"You must miss it," Isla said. "Italy."

His mouth quirked. "I miss my mother's cooking."

"Are you close with your family?"

"They're my everything." Cedro's face softened. "My mother talks faster than anyone I've ever met. And my sisters are loud. Really loud." His smile grew. "Sofia used to say that when they laughed, you could hear them all the way in Monaco."

"Is Sofia your girlfriend?"

"She was," Cedro said. "Sofia broke up with me last year." He hesitated, swirling the ice in his glass. "I'm not... She wanted to date someone successful."

"She said that?"

"Not exactly." Cedro paused. "It was those Louboutin heels. You know the black ones, with the red bottom? Sofia wanted them for her birthday. She left me hints. Magazines cut-outs on our coffee table, her laptop open on the website... But those things are damn expensive. Like, mind-blowingly expensive."

"You didn't get the heels?"

Cedro's grip on his drink tightened. "I wanted to. Trust me. But I was still in F2, and two of my sisters are at university. Good universities. And good universities aren't cheap. Anyway. I got Sofia a purse for her birthday, and she broke up with me two days later."

A strange rush of protectiveness filled her. "Well, she can shove this paella up her ass."

Cedro let out a startled laugh. "Cazzo, Isla!"

"What?" Isla shrugged. "It's true. If she isn't willing to fight for you — if she doesn't value you — then it's not worth it."

Cedro fiddled with his plastic umbrella, his cheeks flushed. He really did look like a cherub, Isla thought, plucked straight from a Renaissance painting. Or a patient with rosacea, although that thought was considerably less romantic.

"And Lucas?" Cedro asked. "Did he value you?"

Cedro might as well have stabbed her in the chest with the plastic umbrella. The word cut right through her. Lucas. "He loved me. In his own way."

"You know," Cedro said, "I see the way that you and Matthew look at each other. That's what I want." He jabbed at her with the umbrella. "That feeling."

Isla frowned. "How does he look at me?"

Cedro smiled. "He looks at you like he's seeing the stars for the first time."

Heat crept into her cheeks. Well, damn. Matthew Carr was a better actor than she gave him credit for. She opened her mouth — to say what, she didn't know — when a low voice called her name.

"Red!"

They both turned. Matthew tapped his watch.

"We should get going," Matthew said. "Big day tomorrow."

His golden hair was rumpled, and he smelled of beer and spice, of pepper and heat. Matthew wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her temple. The brush of his lips sent traitorous shivers down her spine. Get it together, Isla told herself sternly. It's just a rush of hormones. Basic science.

She just about believed it.

"Already?" Noah stumbled towards them. "S'just qualifying tomorrow, Carr. We can stay." He looked hopefully at the bar. "Does anyone need shots?"

"You," Cedro said, amused, "need to go to sleep, fratello." He slung an arm around Noah's shoulder. "Good night, Isla. It was nice to meet you."

"I like you." Noah stabbed a finger in her general direction. "You're pretty. And fun. Matthew's girls are never fun."

The words sounded more like M'thew's girlsare nevr fun. Isla hid a smile. Matthew's eyebrows were somewhere around his hairline.

"At this rate, Wood," Matthew said drily, "you'll need to take a breathalyzer before getting into the car tomorrow." He held out an arm for Isla. "Shall we?"

She smiled. "Night, boys."

Cedro waved. Noah saluted her. And then it was just Matthew and Isla, strolling back to the hotel, the path illuminated by stars. A warm sea breeze ruffled her hair, and Isla leaned into it, listening to Matthew's cheerful humming. She'd never spent much time by the sea before; Lucas had preferred the mountains to the beach. In fact, Lucas would have hated this whole trip. Lucas—

Isla froze.

Good god. She hadn't thought about Lucas all night.

Panic shot through her. What kind of girlfriend did that make her? Not a good one. Isla pushed the button for the hotel lift numbly. She should have been focused on Lucas, should have spent the evening scheming up ways to make him jealous.

But she hadn't.

Not even once.

Should she have posted a photo of them kissing? Sent a tabloid an anonymous tip? Isla followed Matthew blindly through twisting corridors, her heeled sandals making click-click sounds. And why hadn't Matthew mentioned it? Surely, he'd want to get in Lucas's head before the race tomorrow. Surely—

"Isla?" Matthew asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said absently. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Matthew said. "But if you're a vampire and you need to be invited across the threshold, then I'd rather you just tell me. I'm desperate for a cup of tea."

Isla blinked. It took her a second to register that she was standing in front of a familiar gold door. An open door. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and Isla scurried through, snatching up her suitcase.

"I'm going to change in the loo," Isla blurted. "Wait here."

She shut the door behind her.

Isla's heart raced. Damn Matthew Carr. She leaned her forehead against the cool mirror, taking deep breaths. He was getting inside of her head. First that kiss, and then seeing him naked today...

He was an attractive man.

Anyone with eyes could see that.

But it didn't matter, Isla told herself firmly, dropping to her knees. He wasn't the relationship type. She yanked the zipper on her suitcase. And she had years of history with Lucas — years that couldn't be replaced. He'd been there for her after Monaco. He'd—

Isla paused, staring blankly at the contents of her suitcase.

"Oh, shit," Isla muttered.

She took out her phone, shooting a quick text to Tiff.

I have a major issue.

Tiff responded within three minutes. Honey, I hate to break it to you, but you've got more than one (just kidding — what is it?) x

Isla smiled. Her thumbs felt they were operating slowly, but she managed to type, I only packed nightgowns. Like, sheer nightgowns. So hot in Spain, and I thought I was sleeping alone. Turns out I was wrong.

Tiff's response was instant.

You're sharing a bed with Matt??

Yes, I—

Isla hesitated. Erased it.

Unfortunately, Isla wrote instead.

Her phone chimed. Babe. A second later. BABE.

Isla slumped back against the bathtub, drawing her knees into her chest. Very tipsy. Be honest: is wearing a sexy nightgown to bed with Matthew Carr a terrible idea? x

Her phone chimed immediately.

Yes, it is. You should absolutely do it. x

Isla set down the phone. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. How hadn't she foreseen this eventuality? Overanalyzing was her specialty. Overplanning was her religion. And now, when Isla needed it the most, it failed her.

Double damn.

Isla picked up a nightgown, chewing her lip. She could wear jeans to bed; it was better than nothing. Oh, god. Nothing. A sudden image of her crawling into bed with Matthew naked filled her mind, and her stomach twisted.

Isla frowned. No, that wasn't right; it didn't twist. It...

Warmed pleasantly?

Tightened in anticipation?

She clutched the nightgown to her chest, abruptly horrified with herself. Oh, sod it. She'd wear the damn thing. How bad could it be? Matthew went through women the way that most doctors went through gloves; this could hardly be the most scandalous nightgown he'd ever seen.

She really, really hoped anyway.

Isla changed into it. She didn't look at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Maybe he won't notice, she thought hopefully. Maybe he got spicy chicken wing sauce in his eyes and he's gone temporarily blind.

She sighed.

And maybe gravity didn't exist, and Grey's Anatomy was an accurate portrayal of the medical field.

Isla pushed open the door.

"That was quick." Matthew was bent over a kettle, filling up two mugs of tea. "I hope you like Earl Grey." He stirred the closest mug with a spoon. "Do vampires drink tea? You're welcome to snack on me, of course, but I figured—"

Matthew broke off, making a choking noise as he took her in. He looked startled. Startled, and a little breathless.

"Holy shit," Matthew said. "Isla. What the hell are you wearing?"

Then he began to laugh.

Isla's face warmed. "Don't."

Matthew leaned against the bedpost, still chuckling. "I'm sorry," he said, wiping at his eyes. "You should see your face right now."

She scowled. "It's not funny!"

"No," Matthew agreed, sobering. "It's not." He seemed to be expending a great deal of effort trying to keep his eyes on her face. "If I knew you were planning to seduce me, Red, I wouldn't have bothered with the tea."

"I'm not trying to seduce you," Isla said, exasperated. "I—" She broke off, taking in his glittering blue eyes. "Oh. You're joking."

"You didn't bring anything else?"

Isla's cheeks grew hotter. "I didn't realize that I'd be sharing a room with you." She crossed her arms, and Matthew's gaze darted down to her chest before he gallantly dragged it back to her face. Isla's gaze fell on the open closet, and she brightened. "I don't suppose I could borrow one of your shirts?"

She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before; they were long — longer than her nightgown, anyway — and solid. All humour left Matthew's face.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Trust me," he said. "It just isn't."

Isla searched his face, but Matthew's blue eyes were wide, his smile untroubled. A practiced liar. She wondered if it came from living in his older brother's shadow; she'd only met Matthew's family once, but it was obvious that his parents favoured Benedict.

She couldn't imagine why.

"Forget the tea," Matthew said. "We should get some sleep."

Isla nodded. She curled up in bed as Matthew brushed his teeth, listening to the shuffle of his bare feet on wood, the low hum of his voice. It felt oddly intimate. She closed her eyes as Matthew flicked off the light, climbing into bed.

Silence.

Isla shivered. She'd meant what she said to Matthew — she really did like the room cold when she slept — but this was ridiculous. She might as well have been trying to sleep in the Arctic wrapped in a banana leaf.

Still.

Her pride wouldn't let her complain.

Matthew shifted. She could feel his body heat radiating toward her, warming the bed like a miniature sun. Isla didn't realize that she'd been drifting toward him until their legs brushed. A jolt went through her. He was all hard angles against her, a solid wall of lean muscle.

You want him, a little voice whispered. Admit it to yourself.

Isla told that little voice to shut the hell up.

She shifted, and Matthew stiffened.

"Isla?" His voice sounded pained.

"Yes?"

"Could you..." He cleared his throat. "I mean, you're awfully close."

"Oh." Isla thought about that hardness again — solid, pressing into her thigh — and felt her whole body flush. "Oh. Sorry."

"S'alright," Matthew grunted.

She scooted to the other side of the bed. Matthew's breathing was laboured. He lay on his back, his hands lightly curled into fists at his side. He looked like a prisoner preparing for the electric chair.

"Matthew?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nibbled her lip. "Why don't you want me to borrow one of your shirts?"

For a long moment, Matthew didn't answer. She was about to roll over and go to sleep when he finally spoke, his voice a husky murmur in the darkness.

"Because if I saw you wearing my shirt, Red, it wouldn't stay on you for very long." Sheets rustled in the darkness. "Good night."

His breathing evened out. Isla stared up at the ceiling, a thousand sensations crashing through her. Shock. Fear. And lust — yes, she could admit that to herself. She wanted Matthew Carr's body. She wanted him.

And it seemed Matthew wanted her, too.

Cedro's words played on a loop in her mind. He looks at you like he's seeing the stars for the first time.

It's not real, Isla told herself. None of this is real.

If only she could believe it.

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