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| Body | After breaking up with her boyfriend, Isla decided to date his biggest rival.<br /> "Lucas broke up with me," Isla muttered. "Yesterday."<br /> "Took you long enough," Matthew murmured. "What made you see sense?"<br /> Isla's grip tightened. "He broke up with me." She paused, as if remembering herself. "Not that it's any of your business."<br /> "Then he's an idiot, wanna try me? Date me and make him jealous." Matthew said firmly.<br /> ————————<br /> Isla<br /> The breadsticks were the giveaway.<br /> Isla eyed them surreptitiously. There was nothing all that exciting about them — crispy, thin, soaked in garlic salt — but Lucas never ordered breadsticks. At least, not while he was competing. And yet here they were, at the table: the perfect size to fit a ring around. And Lucas had always joked that he'd propose to her with breadsticks.<br /> "I know you, Isla Morris," Lucas had said, shaking his head. "You'll never be able to turn away a ring if there's a breadstick attached to it."<br /> Which, you know.<br /> True.<br /> Isla shifted in her seat. Lucas was scanning the menu, toying absently with his emerald cufflinks. A four-year anniversary gift from her last month. She'd spent hours in the shop with her flatmate Tiff, agonizing over the perfect pair.<br /> "Are you nervous?" Isla asked.<br /> His head shot up. "Hmm?"<br /> Isla hid a smile. "For tomorrow." Oh, Lucas. "The race."<br /> "Oh." Lucas's expression cleared. "No. I'll win, so long as the car cooperates."<br /> He said it like a fact. And it probably was, Isla thought; at twenty-one, Lucas had become the youngest winner of the Formula One Drivers' Championship last year. He'd catapulted Ferrari to the top of the grid. The only person that came close to challenging Lucas was his teammate, Matthew Carr.<br /> Isla's mouth twisted.<br /> Nope.<br /> She wasn't thinking about Matthew; not on a night like tonight. It was a Matthew-free zone. Isla eyed the breadsticks, her pulse picking up. Would Lucas get down on one knee? Would there be a speech?<br /> She hoped not.<br /> She'd probably cry. No, she'd definitely cry. And she wasn't wearing waterproof mascara; the pictures would be ruined.<br /> Isla fanned her face with the menu. "I was thinking we could go to the beach after the race tomorrow. Just you and I."<br /> "The beach?"<br /> "Before the dinner," Isla said. "With your team."<br /> Well, "dinner" was a relative term, Isla thought wryly; Ferrari was throwing a wild party to celebrate the beginning of the season, hosted at some shi-shi venue in downtown Melbourne. It was the very last thing Isla wanted to do. She only had 48 hours with Lucas, and she didn't want to waste a second of it.<br /> Truthfully, Isla hadn't wanted to come to Australia in the first place — she was busy with uni work in London — but Lucas had insisted. And now, looking at the breadsticks, she understood why.<br /> Act surprised, Isla told herself firmly. And for the love of god, don't cry.<br /> "Right," Lucas said. The thing is..." He set down his menu. "There's something I want to discuss with you, Isla. Something serious."<br /> Isla froze. Oh, god. He was proposing right now?<br /> "Should we order first?" she asked.<br /> "No." Lucas twisted a cufflink. "I want to do it now. Right now."<br /> "Okay."<br /> She took a deep breath. Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry—<br /> "I want to take a break," Lucas blurted.<br /> Isla blinked. "Oh. Tomorrow?" She pulled a face. "And skip the team dinner? I doubt Alek will let you."<br /> Alek was a blond Russian giant, composed entirely of chicken, drinking and deadpan sarcasm. He also happened to be Ferrari's Team Manager — and Isla knew from experience that he took the role very seriously. There was no way that he'd let them miss the first dinner of the season. Or any dinner, come to think of it.<br /> But Lucas just shook his head. "That's not what I meant."<br /> "Oh."<br /> "The thing is..." Lucas took a deep breath. "Look, I think we should break up." He paused. "No, I want to break up. I don't want to be with you."<br /> Isla abruptly forgot how to breathe.<br /> Her hands were shaking. "You want to break-up."<br /> Not a question. Fortunately, Lucas didn't take it as one. "I just think..." He dropped his hand from the cufflink. "I want to focus on this season. Really focus on it. Matt's on my arse, and if I want a shot at being World Champion again, then I need to concentrate."<br /> "And you can't do that?" Her voice was flat. "With me, I mean?"<br /> "No."<br /> "Right." Her mind was spinning. "And you want to see other people, I suppose."<br /> "No," Lucas said immediately. "Isla, that's not what this is about." He held her hands entreatingly "I mean, obviously you can see people if you want to. I can hardly stop you now, can I?" He paused. "The only person I'd ask you not to see is Matthew. You can date anybody. Anybody but Matt."<br /> Isla's throat felt tight. But she didn't want to see other people. Didn't he get that? God, what was happening right now? She felt like she'd suddenly tumbled into a washing machine. A washing machine that was on fire.<br /> "And you've already decided this?" she asked.<br /> "Yes."<br /> "When?"<br /> His throat bobbed. "Months ago. But I wanted to tell you in person."<br /> "Months." Emotion swelled in her chest. "You knew that you wanted to break up for months, and you still had me fly all the way out here? To Australia?"<br /> "Isla..." Lucas shoved a basket of onion-powdered carbohydrates towards her. "Do you want a breadstick?"<br /> Realization smacked her in the face. "Oh, my god. They're comfort breadsticks."<br /> He frowned. "What did you think they were?"<br /> "I thought..."<br /> Humiliation burned in her throat. She'd thought a lot of things. All of them wrong, obviously. Lucas's grip tightened on her hand.<br /> "Oh, no," Lucas muttered. "Isla, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." His gaze went to the breadsticks, and he winced. "God, I'm an idiot."<br /> She flinched. "Don't. Please don't say it."<br /> Lucas ignored her. "You thought I was proposing, didn't you?"<br /> Isla looked away. Lucas swore softly, and somehow, the regret in his voice only made it worse. She drew her hands back, staring at the menu. She couldn't read a word of it. Couldn't even remember the name of the restaurant they were at.<br /> "Don't do this," Isla whispered. "Please don't do this, Lucas."<br /> His face softened. "I do love you, baby. I'm just not in love with you anymore."<br /> That did it.<br /> Years' worth of memories came flooding back. Lucas, singing along to a song in the car. Lucas, stroking her hair when she was feverish. Lucas, pecking her after his first podium, tasting of champagne and promises. They had been together for so long that Isla forgot how to be without him. A dizzying wave of nausea hit her. Oh, god. What was she going to tell their friends? What was she going to tell her parents?<br /> She scraped her chair back. Lucas looked at her in alarm.<br /> "Isla? Where are you going?"<br /> "Home."<br /> "Don't be ridiculous," Lucas said calmly. "Your flight isn't for days."<br /> Her stomach twisted. "Then I'll get another one."<br /> "Sit down, baby."<br /> "Don't." Her voice was sharp. "Don't call me that." She gripped the table, trying to slow her breathing. "You know what, Lucas? I hope you lose tomorrow."<br /> His face crumpled. "Isla—"<br /> She didn't stick around to hear the rest.<br /> -<br /> The next day<br /> Matthew<br /> Matthew turned to the drinks table. He was about to make his way over when a flash of red hair caught his eye.<br /> Isla.<br /> She stood in front of Saint Lucas, who was gazing up at her in horror. Lucas also, Matthew noted with rising astonishment, had a blonde girl seated on his lap. A girl that wasn't Isla Morris.<br /> What in the actual heck?<br /> Before Matthew was fully aware of what he was doing, he turned in their direction.<br /> "I didn't know you'd be here, Isla," Lucas was saying. Pleading, really. "I thought you'd gone home already."<br /> Isla's lips were bloodless. "Well, I didn't. Obviously." She nodded at the girl. "Who's this?"<br /> "I'm Becky." The girl stuck out her hand. "Lucas's date."<br /> Isla swayed. She looked on the verge of falling backward into the punch bowl, Matthew thought in concern, which would be a shame. He rather liked the dress she was wearing. It was black and slinky, and showed off a healthy chunk of tanned thigh. It would be a shame to ruin it. His eyes wandered over the curve of her arse, and hot blood pooled in his stomach.<br /> Matthew gave himself a mental shake.<br /> Not the time, Matt.<br /> Lucas reached for her. "Isla..."<br /> She flinched back. "Don't."<br /> "Is everything okay here?" Matthew asked.<br /> Three heads snapped towards him. Lucas looked irritated. Isla, confused. Becky held out a hand, her silver bracelets jangling.<br /> "Hi, I'm Becky."<br /> Matthew sighed. "Hello, Becky." He grabbed Isla's arm. "Goodbye, Becky."<br /> Lucas shot to his feet, toppling poor Becky off his lap. He looked furious. It was wonderful. "Let her go, Carr."<br /> Matthew quirked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say make me and then we fight each other? Because I would have worn better shoes. I'm very attached to these brogues. Italian leather, you know."<br /> Lucas's face was purple. "Let. Go. Of. Her."<br /> Matthew sighed. "Let me put this in terms that you'll understand." He paused. "You. Are. A. Piece. Of. Trash."<br /> Lucas clenched his hands. "I swear to God, Carr—"<br /> "Ah, Saint Lucas," Matthew drawled. "Always praying, even at a party." He turned to Isla. "Do you want me to let go of you, Red?"<br /> She hesitated. "I..."<br /> Isla's tongue darted out, moistening her lips. Matthew almost groaned. For god's sake, was this woman trying to torture him? She shuffled her feet, flustered, and he decided to throw her a lifeline. Just this once.<br /> "You promised me a dance," Matthew prompted. "Remember?"<br /> "I did?" Her cheeks were adorably pink.<br /> "You did."<br /> "That's right." Isla's fingers tightened on his. "I did." She took a deep breath and glanced around, seeming to take in the curious stares for the first time. Her colour deepened. "Enjoy the party, Lucas."<br /> Isla didn't look back as they left. She was still gripping Matthew's hand — so tight that it was almost painful — which was a miracle, considering their history. It was also a very pleasant feeling.<br /> Matthew shut that thought down.<br /> Dangerous, he scolded himself.<br /> Matthew guided her to the dance floor. Isla looked dazed as she assumed the position, her small hand resting on his shoulder. He couldn't help but take one more peek at her figure. Isla Morris was a knock-out, Matthew thought. If Walsh couldn't see that, then he was an idiot that needed glasses.<br /> Then again, Matthew mused, Walsh acted like an idiot in at least 90 per cent of his personal life, so Matthew wasn't sure why he assumed Walsh's relationship would be any different. He slid his hand down her back, and Isla stiffened.<br /> "What are you doing?" Isla hissed.<br /> "Tonight?" Matthew murmured. "I don't know. Thought I'd get another whisky." He winked. "But if you want to skip all that and go straight to the hotel, I won't say no."<br /> Isla stared at him. Then she swung her clutch, whacking him in the chest.<br /> "Ow!" Matthew scowled. "What the heck, Red?"<br /> "I can't dance with you!"<br /> "Why not?"<br /> "Because you're— you're—" Isla looked too anguished to form complete sentences. "You're the enemy."<br /> Matthew snorted. "I'm your rescuer, darling." He led her through a twirl. "I just saved you."<br /> Her eyebrows flew up. "From Lucas?"<br /> "From public humiliation," Matthew corrected her. "I knew Walsh was a prick, but I didn't realize that he was a cheating prick." His grip tightened on her waist. "That's low, even for him."<br /> Isla flushed. "He isn't cheating."<br /> "What?"<br /> "We broke up," Isla muttered. "Yesterday."<br /> Matthew blinked. A good man would be sympathetic. But Matthew wasn't a good man, and especially not when Isla was in his arms, dressed in what might have been the most tempting dress to exist. He swallowed hard.<br /> "Took you long enough," Matthew murmured. "What made you see sense?"<br /> Isla's grip tightened. "He broke up with me." She paused, as if remembering herself. "Not that it's any of your business."<br /> "Then he's an idiot," Matthew said firmly. Something occurred to him. "No offense, Red, but why did you even come tonight?"<br /> Matthew had never been in a relationship, but he figured if the love of his life dumped him in a foreign country, he'd be on the first flight out. And he'd charm an air hostess into plying him with a drink. Lots of it. Isla looked down.<br /> "I thought..." She bit her lip. "It was dumb."<br /> Some stupid part of him softened. "Try me."<br /> "I thought I could win Lucas back." Isla wouldn't meet his gaze. "He told me he wanted to focus on the championship. I wanted to show him that I could be here, by his side. That I could help him." She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "It must sound so stupid to you. Ice lollies last longer than your relationships."<br /> Matthew winced. Wow. Ouch. True, but ouch. He spun her again. "You won't get him back like this."<br /> "Like what?"<br /> "Begging him," Matthew clarified. "Nothing scares men more than desperation." He knew that from experience.<br /> Her eyes narrowed. "Then how do you suggest I go about it?"<br /> "Honestly?" Matthew shrugged. "Make him jealous."<br /> She thought for a moment. "Okay."<br /> "What do you mean, okay?"<br /> Isla tilted her face up. "Peck me."<br /> Matthew stumbled. "What?"<br /> His heart went into overdrive. Christ. She was being serious, wasn't she? Even worse, some horrible part of him wanted to do it. Matthew was suddenly very aware of the heat of her, of the smell of her citrus perfume. And, hearing Isla say those words...<br /> Peck me.<br /> So demanding. Generally, Matthew liked to be in charge, but now his imagination was taking him to all sorts of dangerous places, most of which involved Isla, a pair of handcuffs, and her bossing him around some more.<br /> He shut those thoughts down.<br /> Immediately.<br /> Isla's brow furrowed. "You said to make him jealous."<br /> "Not with me!" Matthew said incredulously. "Christ, Isla. You know what?" He took a step back. "Maybe this is a bad idea."<br /> "No, wait!" Isla lunged forward. "Lucas said something. During the break-up." Her hand was cold on his arm. "He told me that I could date anyone except for you. Don't you see, Matthew?" Her eyes were bright. Desperate. "You're the only person that will upset him. Lucas can't stand the idea of you. He hates you."<br /> "That ringing endorsement aside," Matthew said dryly, "you're forgetting something."<br /> "What?"<br /> "There's nothing in it for me," Matthew said. "Unless, of course, you're volunteering to take the place of the many women that I would otherwise..." "Er. Have fun with." He gave her a wolfish smile. "If that's the case, I'm absolutely in."<br /> Isla blushed. "No. I'm not."<br /> "Then no deal."<br /> "But I can offer you something," she added quickly.<br /> Matthew sighed. "If you say something like redemption or a chance to do the right thing, then I'm walking away. Right now."<br /> "No." Isla looked determined. "You'll get inside Lucas's head. You told me something once: a race car is only as good as its driver. Winning Formula One is a mental game, just as much as it is a physical one. Don't you want to be the world champion?"<br /> Matthew wasn't sure that he was breathing.<br /> Matthew exhaled. Isla was offering him everything he'd ever wanted. Beating Lucas Walsh. Winning the Championship. Gaining his parents' respect. Gaining his brother Benedict's respect.<br /> "You really want to date me?" Matthew asked. "To make Lucas jealous?"<br /> "Yes."<br /> "For how long?"<br /> "I don't know." Isla hesitated. "A few months?"<br /> "Fine. I'm in."<br /> "Really?"<br /> "Sure." He shrugged. "A chance to make Walsh sweat? That's all I've ever wanted."<br /> Isla bit her lip again. If they were going to date, Matthew thought wryly, then that would become a problem. He'd never be able to concentrate. She offered her hand, and they shook.<br /> "One more thing," Isla murmured.<br /> "What?"<br /> Her lips quirked. "Try not to fall in love with me."<br /> It was a joke. Obviously. Still, Matthew couldn't help but feel a prick of irritation. Did Isla think he went around giving his heart away to just anyone? Matthew had never lost his head over a girl. Ever. And he didn't intend to start now.<br /> "Don't worry, Red," Matthew drawled. "I don't want to date you for real. In fact, I don't want to date anyone." He drifted closer to the bar, signalling for another whisky. "Monogamy is where happiness goes to die."<br /> "Good," Isla said absently. "I don't want to date you, either. Especially after..." There was an awkward pause. Matthew knew they were both thinking of Monaco last year, of that dreadful race gone wrong. She scratched at her arm. "Anyway. I leave for the airport tomorrow. I won't be able to get away from work very much. Not enough to fly around the world and watch you race, anyway."<br /> "No," Matthew said. "I suppose you won't. You're still working as a medic?"<br /> "You remembered." She sounded surprised.<br /> "I can come to London," Matthew suggested. "In early April." He'd have time between his races in Bahrain and Spain. "I'll take you to dinner. And I can make sure photos of it wind up in the tabloids."<br /> She swallowed. "Okay."<br /> "And then you can fly to Spain in May. It's a short trip."<br /> "Fine."<br /> "And Monaco, too," Matthew added.<br /> Isla winced. It was barely perceptible, but Matthew caught it. He'd been looking for it.<br /> "We'll see," she murmured.<br /> It wasn't an outright no. Matthew supposed that was the best he could ask for, where Monaco was concerned. He took a sip of his whisky.<br /> "We're really doing this, then," he said. "Dating."<br /> "Why?" Isla smiled. "Are you scared?"<br /> "Never."<br /> They clinked glasses. Matthew smiled. He was going to beat Lucas Walsh. He was going to win the bloody World Championship this year or die trying.<br /> Simple as that. |
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