Racing Destiny (Dirt Track Dogs Book 5) by P. Jameson

fucking story.
    ***
    Destiny turned off the shower, disappointed in how the night had progressed. She’d taken advantage of everyone being gone to the races, and spent most of the evening in the creek hoping for a vision.
    It was a big fat nothing.
    She’d decided on a long, hot shower afterwards, telling herself it wasn’t for more water contact. But it was. And it was just as fruitless as her time at the river.
    Her visions were something she’d spent a lot of time avoiding, but now, she’d welcome one with open arms. Anything so she could stop dodging Diz. If she had news for him, it’d be easy to face him again.
    She stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around her body and using another one on her long hair. She drew in a deep, calming breath, but shook like crazy on the exhale. Her nerves were shot. It wasn’t good to be this uptight.
    That was one thing Diz had taught her.
    In the beginning she’d been afraid of every gust of wind. Every growl or sudden movement. As Tana implied, she’d been an embarrassment to her kind. But that was just residual from all the crap she’d lived through. Over time, Diz had brought out the real her. The feisty her. The smart her.
    Smart. Yeah, she wasn’t sure what the smart move was anymore.
    Sighing, she went to the bedroom and pulled on some cotton sleep shorts and a t-shirt. It would be another early bedtime tonight. She needed to be asleep before Diz was done at the tracks. Walking to the kitchen for a glass of water, she came screeching to a halt when she reached the living room.
    Diz sat lounging on her couch, one muscled arm draped casually over the back. He looked freshly showered, and she could smell his intoxicating scent from all the way across the room. His eyes never left her face, and she saw a messy tangle of emotion in his gaze. Picking out a single one was impossible.
    Moving slowly, he peeled himself off the couch to stand, and still, he held her captive with those eyes.
    “Hi, Dessy.” His voice was husky and dark, curling around her like a favorite blanket.
    “Hi.” She cleared her throat, needing her voice to be strong for her. “I don’t have any news for you.”
    His eyes narrowed, falling slowly to her chest and lingering. Then lower, to her hips, before sliding down her legs and back up. She fidgeted under his perusal, her hand fluttering to her stomach as he stepped closer.
    “I don’t want to hear another fucking word about my mate. I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.”
    A fire built in her chest at his words. It was a flicker of hope. A tiny spark, but it was warm as a slow burning ember.
    He moved so carefully, coming to stand in front of her. He lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. His eyes squeezed closed for a moment, cutting off all those swirling emotions, before he found hers again.
    “I missed you,” he murmured. “Did you miss me too?”
    “Yes,” she gasped. Dear god, she’d missed him like crazy. More than she wanted to admit. She’d ached for him. For just their banter. Their talks. Their running through the woods.
    He moved to cradle her cheeks with both hands, trapping her in place, but she didn’t feel panic. She felt hypnotized by him, by the way he looked at her with so much desire. It was like a dream.
    “You ran away from me, Dessy. Why?”
    “Because I couldn’t control myself,” she admitted. “Couldn’t explain myself. And I couldn’t risk losing you as my friend.”
    The warmth from his body made the heat in her chest burst into flames. But he frowned, deep lines creasing his forehead.
    “You’re scared,” he said. “I smell it. Why are you scared of me?”
    She shook her head and he let go of her face.
    “Not of you. Of…” God, it was hard to say out loud. “Losing you.”
    His expression eased and he wound an arm around her waist causing her heart to pound in her chest like a furious metronome. “Lose me? That will never, fucking ever , happen,