➦Sitting here and wishing there were more books about racers. Because, honestly… they are sexy beasts who love danger and speed. It sounds real exciting. I’ll go on a limb and make an assumption that since most romance writers are female they might not know much about cars or just not care for them? I still don’t know what makes them wheels spin. lol
➦I’ll hand it to Katy Evans and say that the car/racing aspect of the book was pretty well done. I used to watch F1 religiously but at some point I got le bored and deemed reading romance novels more beneficial to my mental health. But hubs still watches it constantly and all I hear is “DRS this, DRS that.” And funny enough I don’t think DRS was mentioned in this book at all.
➦But anywhocaresaboutcarterms, the romance here was good, especially closer to the end. The beginning is what sort of didn’t work for me – it was very insta everything on both parts and at a half way point I almost dropped the book. I’m glad I didn’t but that doesn’t change the fact that, while I do enjoy a mate trope in my PNR novels, in my contemporary novels I prefer characters that don’t declare their undying love an hour after being introduced. I guess I just wasn’t that much into that particular aspect of this book. Completely personal preference here. 🙂 Everything else I did enjoy.
➦Recommended to those who want to read a book about Formula 1 racing and possessive alpha heroes.
We’re neck to neck.
I’m hitting 100 mph. 120 mph. 150 mph.
We’re fucking fast now. Trees flying past my window. Preston bumping up against my side. I swerve lightly and lock our wheels together. Shove him off the road. Destabilized, I swerve and straighten with a screech. He loses seconds.
Up ahead, there’s headlights, like beady red eyes coming at me.
I keep my foot on the pedal, swerving right as the truck passes, dust piling up in a cloud behind me. My heart is racing a thousand miles an hour, and I want it to race even more.
Preston comes up, attempting a pass. He gyrates and bumps me to the side, sending me spinning.
“Fucker.” I let go of the wheel, let her spin before I grab her back in my hold and recover control.
I’m fucking pissed now.
I pull up behind him and kiss his bumper. We meet eyes through his rearview mirror, and I smile menacingly, pressing the last way into the pedal to kiss the fucker harder.
He swerves—I swerve the other way and pass him until he’s eating my dirty air. I push harder to get away so he can’t use my draft, my eyes up ahead, where I pull up the parking brake and spin to turn.
I release it and speed back to the parking lot, my mind on that finish line—and on fucking sexy crash-into-my-cherry-mustang Alana waiting in the crowd.
Is she like my fans who watch me? Whose pussies get wet from the excitement? Whose nipples turn hard as fuck by the time I climb out of the car and give them a glance?
My cock is thick again. It’s been acting up since I met her, and it’s only been intensifying with each second she breathes even in my zipcode.
Yeah, my dad is a man who goes after what he wants. You can say I’m cut from the same cloth.
I want her beneath me tonight.
I screech to a halt. I turn her off, then ease out of the car, breathing hard. I hear the shuffle of feet as girls scramble to get closer; meanwhile, the guys shove their way forward too, including Henley.
“Insane, you’re ridiculous, a beast!!” Henley yells.
I raise my arm and slap his hand. He also places my bets, and the wad of cash he shoves into my hand is 30,000-dollars thick.
Yeah, it feels good to stuff that money in my back pocket, but not even winning feels as good as the drive.
The moment I hit that pedal, I’m alive.
And tonight I feel drunk with it.
I scan the crowd and look for her—my eyes finding her in the same spot I left her, her mouth gaping wide open. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want to fucking kiss the shit out of that mouth. Tonight my prize is her.
My eyes stay on her, my gut roiling with hunger. I smile at her; her eyes widen a little bit, and she blinks.
“We’ve got you a prize … show you what champions … ” I’m hearing Henley say.
I start walking forward, feeling crazed like I’ve never felt crazed in my life, my eyes, hands, mind, even the hot, adrenaline-buzzed blood pumping in my veins, all pumping for her.
About the Author:
Katy Evans is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her debut REAL shot to the top of the bestselling lists in 2013 and since then 9 of her titles have been New York Times bestsellers. Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages across the world.