At Full Sprint (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) (6 page)

“You own a Veyron?”

He looked at her, as though surprised by the question. “Of course I do, Ms. Cole.”

“You can call me Circe,” she chirped as she climbed into the snug passenger seat of the world’s most expensive sports car. It was a little tight-fitting, but any discomfort that it gave her was more than made up for by the mere fact that she was about to zoom off along a scenic coastal road, seated next to her charge, Cheat Cohen, in the most expensive car that money could buy.

And then she’d get to write about it afterward! It seemed altogether unreal.

“I thought we’d stop off in Geelong for a quick breakfast, before driving straight through to Apollo Bay.” He handed her a roughly folded roadmap, and she could see he’d circled the two locations. She also took in the handwritten notes in the margins, scrawled in his surprisingly elegant script. “Geelong’s a big city, but Apollo Bay is just a small town,” he said. “It’s much nicer at the latter.”

“Sounds good,” she told him. “How far will we drive today?”

“To Port Campbell, to see the Twelve Apostles.”

Circe nodded. She had read about the Twelve Apostles on the flight over to Melbourne. They were a series of jagged limestone stacks off the shore, each one easily as large as a fifteen-story building. Eroded by the tumultuous ocean over time, they were separate from the actual coastline, and looked a bit like crooked spires or pleated-rock limbs growing out of the sea. A breathtaking sight, by all accounts.

“Great,” she told him. “I was planning on going there myself.”

He put the car into gear, and she instantly felt the tremble beneath her bum, like a restrained energy that just longed to be set free.

“Feel that?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yeah.”

“The Veyron is a mid-engine car, so you get the vibrations right up in your ass. It’s actually quite an interesting sensation.”

Circe didn’t know whether to return his juvenile smirk or ignore it altogether. “You know you’re on the record, right?”

“Sure.” He pressed down on the accelerator, one hand casually on the wheel. She heard the engine then, its baritone growl accompanied by walls of seething bass. He met eyes with her, and the comfortable veneer they had just established was pierced by awkwardness. She didn’t know if there was a connection between them, if he was just teasing her, or if she was just imagining it all. Guarded as always, Circe tried to ignore the feeling altogether, and she looked away.

“This is actually not
my
Veyron.”

“Oh?” Circe murmured, looking out of her window as they passed through the gates to The Banyan. She thought about it for a bit, and then furrowed her brow. “I didn’t think you could rent these.”

“You can’t,” Miles said, shrugging. “Or maybe you can, I actually don’t know.” He smiled at her. “But I was invited to drive this by a rather popular soap star here. After all, who can say that their car has been driven by Cheat Cohen?” He seemed to be offering a large dose of sarcasm with his faux-self-aggrandizing, and Circe pulled out her pad and pen from her purse and made a note. That would be something worth exploring for the article.

“So, he just let you borrow it, huh?”

Miles nodded, pushing his lips together. “That’s right.”

“I have a hard time getting my neighbor to lend me a sieve. So,” she said, slipping into work-mode. “What do you make of that?”

“Of what?”

“Of some person just lending you their ridiculously expensive sports car?”

He shrugged. “Nice of them. Bit foolish, though.”

“Why?” Circe asked. “It’s not like you could steal it. These luxury cars all have tracking devices in them.”

“I meant it was foolish that it would matter to him at all who drove his car.”

“So you don’t appreciate it.”

“To tell you the truth,” he said, sighing. “I suppose I don’t really care. But, as it stands, I had an opportunity and I took it. Not going to feel bad about that.”

“No,” Circe agreed. She decided to probe. “Not a bad way to impress a girl, either.”

He looked over at her, face alive. “Well, if that was the goal, I wouldn’t have told you the car wasn’t mine. But I’m guessing expensive cars don’t impress
you
all that much.”

“They don’t,” Circe half-lied. In truth, who wasn’t impressed – even just a little bit – by a beautiful, extremely powerful car?

Once they were on the road, Miles sped up quickly, and Circe noticed that his hands never left the wheel. She saw then the paddles behind the steering wheel, and how easily he made it look as he shifted up and down as they wove down the narrow road.

“It’s semi-auto transmission,” he told her. “Manual shifts here with the paddles, but auto-clutch.”

“Difficult to drive?”

“God, no,” he said, stopping at a sign.

“Clear on my side,” Circe told him, and he turned onto the road, accelerating with dizzying force. Circe was pressed right back into her seat, and she felt her stomach rise into her chest. “Oh my God,” she gasped, holding onto her door handle. A smile like that of a child’s first rollercoaster ride broke out on her face. It felt like she was on a plane during take-off!

They had gone from resting to the speed limit, through a turn, in what she guessed was less than four seconds flat. The engine roared loudly all around them, but the car didn’t rattle at all. The vibrations were all transferred into her body, and she felt them in her core.

“Amazing, isn’t it.”

“Even you think so? Considering you drive a Formula One car?”

“Of course. This is way more comfortable, and probably only slightly less expensive.”

It wasn’t long until they were on a motorway, and in the backs of what few cars were on the road at half past six in the morning, she could see faces pressed against windows as they made their thunderous way past them in the fast lane.

“So,” Circe asked, tapping her pad with the top of her pen. “Why did you really ask me to join you today?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you just want to show off your car?”

“No,” Miles said, glancing at her. “I’m not one for showing off.”

Circe laughed, putting a finger to her mouth. “That’s a blatant lie.”

“Really, I’m telling you the truth, Circe. Showing off just sort of happens to me, you know?”

She gave him a big, knowing nod. “Yes, happens to me all the time. Just can’t help it, you know? Like sneezing.”

“See, we’re kindred spirits.”

“But, really, Miles, why?”

“Thought you might like to know what it feels like to ride in a car like this. Also, I don’t mind the company. You are, after all, trying to get to know me, and paint a positive picture of me in your article, aren’t you?”

“That depends,” she said, smirking at him. “What do I get out of it if it’s positive, rather than negative?”

“A career,” he fired back without missing a beat. “Be too critical, and I don’t imagine you’ll see the same success.” His shoulders rose and fell.

“Ha! Hopefully, yes. Well, perhaps we should start.”

“We could. Or, we could wait until after breakfast and a coffee, and start on the drive from Geelong to Apollo Bay. What do you say?”

Circe put her pad and pen back in her purse. “Okay. I can do that.”

She watched his hands as they pressed down on the paddles with confidence. She wondered how similar it felt to driving his Formula One car, and whether or not there was any angle there that could gain traction for her article.

And though they didn’t speak much, Circe found that she was surprisingly comfortable and at ease. She had expected to be nervous and jittery as hell.

*

“So,” Miles said, starting the car. They’d had a quick bite and a cup of bitter black. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, tell me about yourself, Circe. Anything you like. I’m interested. After all, you’ve learned about me, so now it’s my turn to learn about you.”

“Why is that necessary?”

“It’s not. But I’d like to.”

“Why?”

Miles looked over, brows creased together in confusion. “You don’t
have
to. I’m just curious.”

“Okay,” Circe said, nodding, perhaps realizing how she was acting. “Sounds fair. What do you want to know?”

Miles thought about it. “It sounds cliché, but what’s your dream?”

“That is cliché,” she said, nodding before sucking on her lower lip. “Um, but to answer your question, I want to one day start up my own magazine.”

“Oh, yeah? What about?”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure yet.”

“Biting political satire?”

“Eh, no, don’t think so.”

“Lifestyle and fashion?”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh? Not interested?”

“I am, but the competition is too fierce.”

“Ah,” Miles murmured. “So you really don’t know?”

“No.”

“Strictly print? This is the digital age. You could be doing videos on the internet and things like that.”

“Strictly print. Anybody can put stuff on the internet, and I’m a bit old fashioned that way. I want to hold my magazine when I read it, not scroll down with my mouse wheel. And I enjoy writing a ton.”

“What about the spin?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Isn’t that what you journalists do? Spin the truth, weave elaborate and implicit half-lies into your articles? Word things in specific ways to elicit specific emotions out of the reader?”

“That’s a bit cynical, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen a lot,” Miles told her. “I’ve read a lot of journalism, a lot of reporting.”

“Is that supposed to mean anything?”

Miles shrugged. Was she getting defensive? He liked that she had a passion of pride. “Does it mean something to you?”

“They may exist, but I’m not that sort of journalist. I don’t want to write about politics, or for a newspaper. I want to tell
stories
. I want to interview interesting people, see interesting things, and-”

“Get paid to write about it,” Miles interrupted.

“Well, yes. But it’s not that simple.”

“It’s alright. I get paid to drive fast. I also love to drive fast. Works for me.”

“I’m sure what you do is more than simply going fast.”

“It is,” Miles said, nodding. “It’s precision, accuracy, and timing. I enjoy all of that, too. Like judging a corner perfectly, executing a hairpin perfectly… it makes me feel good inside. But the speed? I’m addicted to that.”

“Addicted?”

“Yes. What are you addicted to?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

Circe thought about it. “New experiences.”

“That’s why you came with me on this drive today?”

“No, I came because it’s my job.”

“And a new experience. You’ve never been to where we’re going, with who you’re going with, in a car quite like this one.”

“I didn’t know about the last part when you asked me.”

“So two out of three was enough to convince you, then.”

Circe smiled. “Like I said, I’m on the clock.”

“Did you keep a diary when you were young?”

“I’m sorry?”

Miles repeated the question, eyes remaining fixed on the road.

“Why do you even want to know that?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Circe muttered. “But yes, I did. I still do, in fact.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What do you write in it?”

“Personal stuff that’s none of your business.”

He laughed. “Okay, I can respect that. So, family?”

“Mum and Dad.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“Only child.”

“Ah,” Miles said, nodding. He curled his lips. “Spoiled, were you?” He laughed when he saw her expression, a mixture of indignation and insult. “Just joking. But, you know, at your age, only child, with a master’s degree. It’s a generation thing.”

“It’s not what you think, actually,” Circe replied. Her voice was calm and cool, and it only made Miles want to tease her more. “I paid for all my own tuition, working two separate jobs while I was at school. Not only that, but I supported my parents. Dad was laid off after a workplace accident, and Mum was left the sole earner as a receptionist in a medical office. I’m about as blue collar as you get.”

Miles was impressed. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

“And you? You seem like you were born into privilege, with your cocky swagger and attitude.”

He widened his eyes at her. Now there was some fire! But how wrong she was! He regretted that the truth about his upbringing was something he certainly couldn’t tell her.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Far from it, in fact.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dead serious. So, did you graduate with honors?”

“Yes, actually,” Circe said, allowing pride to influence her intonation. She put on a face of airy superiority, and grinned at him. “First-class degree.”

“Well done. Compared to you, I’m an uneducated fool.”

“You didn’t go to university?”

“God, no.”

Circe nodded, scribbling down on her pad. “Why not?”

“The opportunity simply wasn’t there.”

“When did you start racing?”

“Oh, that’s ancient history.” He turned and looked at her, and their eyes met. Not for the first time he felt that familiar thump in his gut, and goose bumps popped up along the tops of his arms.

Miles was beginning to realize that he really liked this young woman. It was more than just a physical attraction. He just had to ask it. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She paused before answering him, as though caught off-guard by the question. He conceded that it was quite personal. “No,” she eventually said, though her voice was a little quieter.

“But you did?”

“One, yes. When I was doing my master’s.”

“Didn’t work?”

“No,” Circe said. “He was a dickhead.”

“How so?”

“His attention… wavered.”

“Ah,” Miles said, feeling a stab of sympathy for her. “I know the type.”

“And you, Mr. Cheat Cohen? Any wife or girlfriend in your life?”

Miles shook his head. “Nope. Nobody in my life but me.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said through a laugh.

“It’s true.”

“Fine, I’ll come at it from a different point. Any husband or boyfriend in your life?”