Read Online Braking Points by Tammy Kaehler - Free Book Online Page A

NASCAR’s Cup series. He took me under his wing at an on-track test day, and we spent every spare minute together for the next six months, falling in love. Then he got the call to move to NASCAR full time, and he asked me to go with him. Not as a driver, with my own career and identity. As his fiancée.
    After that, I avoided relationships and focused on my racing. The two weren’t compatible in my experience.
    Stuart Telarday had snuck under my guard, annoying me first, then challenging me. I still found him mildly irritating and uptight in his role as Series VP during race weekends. But on a personal level, he made me laugh, encouraged me, and supported me. He was attractive, successful, smart, and, for some reason, really into me. We had chemistry. Were we in a relationship? I supposed so. Was I ready to take the risk and embrace him emotionally? I realized I already had.
    I shook my head. What the hell was I thinking? Grab the reins. The only question remaining was why we were both alone right now.
    I quickly brushed my teeth, dug a sample vial of perfume out of my bathroom kit and dabbed it in strategic spots, and put jogging gear on over the only set of lingerie I owned—which Holly coerced me into buying on our last shopping trip. My heart pounded as I hurried out of Siebkens, over to the Osthoff, and through the hallways to his room. My whole body vibrated with the thudding of my pulse as I knocked on his door.
    He answered, shirtless and in sweatpants. He looked good, better than good, and my throat went dry. He hid some muscles under that Series attire.
    â€œKate? What’s wrong? Come in—let me get a shirt.” His voice trailed off as he retreated to the bedroom of his junior suite.
    I shut the door behind me, setting out the “do not disturb” sign and flipping the deadbolt. I leaned back against it, kicked off my shoes, and had my hands on the zipper of my hoodie when he returned, decently covered by a polo shirt. That was a shame.
    â€œKate?”
    I hadn’t said a word, not to be mysterious, but because my extensive media training hadn’t prepared me for this. In the end, I said nothing, simply stepped toward him and pulled the zipper all the way down, revealing black and red lace and a lot of skin. It was the first time I’d seen him speechless.
    I shook the jacket off my shoulders and slipped it down my arms. Two more steps and I stood an inch away from him. His eyes darted furiously from my lace-covered breasts—small, but showcased in a push-up bra—and my face. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
    I rose on my tiptoes, put my arms around his neck, and planted my mouth on his. It took him half a second to respond, and then he all but inhaled me, his arms crushing me to him. Seconds or minutes later, I couldn’t tell, I freed one arm and reached down to untie the drawstring on my sweatpants. Once that was loose, my sweats slipped to the ground. I tore my mouth free long enough to whisper, “Lift.” He picked me up, and I wrapped my bare legs around his waist.
    He groaned deep in his throat and cupped my butt. Still kissing the breath out of me, he staggered to the bedroom, stopping to lean against the doorway.
    â€œKate, are you sure?” he murmured, leaning his forehead against mine. “This isn’t because you need comfort after trauma? You’re not drunk, right?”
    I pulled his head up by his hair and looked him in the eye. “I’m confused about other stuff, but not you. How about you? This isn’t because I showed up in fancy underwear and you need comfort, is it?”
    His face grew serious. “I have loved you from the minute you swaggered into the ALMS paddock, making every other woman look dull in comparison. You just had to catch up.”
    I had a heartbeat to think, Too much, too soon, too fast. And then he kissed me like no one and nothing else in the world mattered. I stopped