Page 4 of His to Win

“It’s short, to the point, all business.”

She throws her head back and laughs. And it’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen. The arch of her neck is graceful and the buttons of her suit jacket threaten to pop open against the swell of her full breasts. Suddenly, I’m salivating and the desire to take Gabriella back home with me is nearly my undoing.

“You’re very interesting, you know that?” she murmurs.

“Am I?” Now it’s my turn to be cagey.

Her caramel eyes study me intently. “Not exactly easy to read, either. And I’m very good at reading people.”

“So am I.”

“Oh? Well, since I’m having trouble figuring you out, I’m going to have to come right out and be blunt.”

“You? Blunt? I’m shocked,” I tease.

A dark cloud passes over her beautiful face. “What? A woman isn’t supposed to speak her mind?”

“On the contrary. I fucking love that you speak your mind. And when you do, your comments are more intelligent and interesting than everyone else’s combined.”

If I’m not mistaken, her high cheekbones turn a light shade of pink and I love it.

“Thank you,” she says softly and I’m glad she recognizes my sincerity. “I appreciate that. It hasn’t always been easy for me.”

“What hasn’t?” I ask, wanting her to expand on that statement.

“Taking over after my father died. Having people, especially men, take me seriously and listen to the words coming out of my mouth rather than staring at my breasts.”

If she’s going to go there then so will I. Tempted as I am to look down, I keep my gaze level and locked on hers. “Not to sound like a chauvinistic pig, but I’m sure your amazing breasts have been a pitfall for many men.”

Her full lips edge up again. “They are pretty fantastic.”

A laugh erupts from my throat. God, she’s shameless and I fucking love it. Just as I’m wondering if I should ask her out for a drink, she asks me first.

“Do you have time to get a drink?”

Again, she gives me that sexy, slow blink that makes my heart trip in my chest. “Funny because I was just going to ask you the same question.”

“Then let’s go. I’m driving.” She pushes off the side of the Hellcat and I just shake my head as she walks around to the driver’s side. No, not walks. She sashays like a boss in those sky-high heels.

Once her luscious ass is out of view, my attention moves to her car and I pull the door open. “Good. I was hoping to get a ride in this beauty.” Sliding inside, I watch as she turns it on and then fastens her seatbelt.

“Better buckle up, Mr. Rossi.”

I reach for the seatbelt and click it into place. “Are you an aggressive driver, Ms. Bianche?”

“I can be.”

She hits the gas and we peel out of the parking lot. I curl my hand around the seat and prop the other on the dashboard. Aggressive is an understatement. Hell, she maneuvers this beast like a movie stunt driver. It’s impressive as hell.

“Where’d you learn to drive?” I ask, gripping onto my seat a little harder as we take a sharp turn.

“My dad’s friend taught me. Richard Petty.” She glances over at me and smirks.

My eyebrows shoot up. “The King? Richard “The King” Petty, the most successful driver in NASCAR history?” I ask in disbelief.

“That’s right. Uncle Rich was great friends with my dad.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I merely nod, in awe of this woman.

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