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“Does it hurt?” I ask, perversely satisfied.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” I huff out a breath.

His eyes flash a warning. I ignore it.

“This thing between us, it’s messy. Maybe I even like that, because it feels real. But…” I swallow hard, reminding myself to be brave. “It’s not only the games and the arguing. It’s something else.”

Jameson fists a hand on the hood, like he’s fighting with himself. “I know.”

His throat bobs, his eyes searching. The expression on his face makes my ribs ache.

“I stopped studying with you because I couldn’t look at you without wanting you.”

His lips brush mine, once.

“I asked you to work on my car because you’re so fucking good even you don’t see it.”

Again.

“I want to be near you. To talk to you, touch you, whatever I can get.”

His heart thuds under my hand.

“Driving fast I can handle. You?”

His eyes burn as he leans in.

“You make me out of control.”

His mouth claims mine.

Honestly, it does. He does.

He’s the driver everyone worships. Heir to the biggest sports legacy on the planet, with more than anyone can imagine resting on his strong shoulders.

Jameson is warm and hard, and I want to touch every inch of him, to reassure myself that he’s okay. I need the image of him in that hospital bed to be a distant memory.

I kiss him like I know it’s not. My hand finds the ring on the chain around his neck. It saved me again. Because if he’d been hurt, or worse, that would have ruined me.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I confess against his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is low and raw.

So he can apologize.

The cool fiberglass under my shoulder blades makes me shiver, or maybe it’s the heat from his body and mouth.

“I don’t forgive you.” My fingers thread in his hair as I arch under him, kissing him back.

I thought I could still back away from him, that I had an escape hatch. But after the hospital, I know I can’t. He matters too much. The way I feel when I’m with him matters too much.

My thoughts melt away when his hand strokes under my shirt. Even with only one fully functioning arm, he’s undeniable.

“That’s too bad,” he says on a groan, his thumb brushing the curve of my breast.

Kissing him isn’t enough. I need to see every inch of him to assure myself he’s the same person he was before the crash.