Need for Speed (The Elite, #2)

by Brooke Blaine

I felt a sinking sensation in my gut that told me I might be falling for trouble.

“No. I just… It’s…” I smiled as Solo tried to form a sentence. But when nothing came out and his cheeks flushed—actually fucking flushed—I full-on grinned. Nothing made Solo nervous, except, apparently, me. “You don’t want that?” “Want what?” “Me thinking about how good your hand feels in mine?”

“Well, you’re in my bed. So, like I said, you made me notice you when I really didn’t want to. And you made me care because you’re you.”

“Scared, nervous, fucking terrified, same thing.” He sighed, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m fine. I just need to get back up there.” “You can tell me if you’re not fine.” “You can’t tell your competition you’re not fine. You tell them you’ve got this. And I do.” Panther looked at me then and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine

I fell apart in that room, in the arms of the man who had become as integral to me as breathing.

The definition of *falling* in love.

Guilty. Why the fuck should we feel guilty? We weren’t doing anything wrong. So why did it feel that way right now?

The stigma in the military still fucking sucks.

My words came out a bit shaky as I said, “Everyone would know.” Panther held my gaze, strong and steady as ever, but I could see the fear there too. “I know.”