Racing The Beast (Dirt Track Dogs #2) by P. Jameson Read Free Book Online

miracle moment. Sharkie sleeping chest to chest with a man? A man the size of Beast? It was Twilight Zone stuff, right there.
    While she was creeping closer, she misjudged the space between the chair and the table, and bumped her sore leg. Jerking back, she hissed at the pain, and that was enough to wake both man and beast.
    Shark’s head popped up to stare at her. Recognition hit him and he went to jump from his man/bed to her, but a sharp whistle cut the air and he immediately froze.
    “Hold on, boy,” Beast murmured, easing the dog to the ground and standing. “You okay?” he asked her, concern knitting his brow.
    “Yeah.” Her answer game out in a painful groan. So much for keeping that shit to herself. She cleared her throat to try again. “Waited too long for a pill,” she said on one breath, trying to talk past the throbbing.
    He rushed forward, lifting her with one arm around the waist and setting her gently on the couch. “Damn it, baby, why didn’t you say something? I would’ve brought you your medicine.”
    Holy shit. Baby ? When was the last time someone called her baby?
    “I was sleeping,” she grumbled.
    Shark sat beside her, nudging her arm with his nose. She took a second to ruffle his fur and kiss his head. She’d missed the big, loveable guy.
    Beast pulled the medicine bottle from her grasp, quickly reading the label and pulling out the correct dose. “Here. I’ll be right back with some water.”
    He rushed off to the kitchen and returned with a full glass. Punk quickly swallowed down the pills and then finished off the water, hoping the medicine would kick in fast. The pain was enough to make her feel ill. And it wasn’t like she could run to the bathroom if she got sick.
    Beast dropped to one knee on the floor by her feet, and she found his troubled gaze. “Is the pain very bad?”
    She thought about denying it but she wasn’t the lying type. Nodding, she closed her eyes, hoping her stomach would settle.
    “I think you hurt it when you attacked Surge earlier. Damn it. I’m so sorry for this.”
    The remorse in his tone gave her chills. It was a bone deep regret that belonged with someone who’d actually done something wrong. She would’ve loved to have heard that tone from her attacker, but from Beast? No.
    Punk opened her eyes to his furrowed brow and sorrowful gaze traveling the length of her leg. She didn’t know what made her do it. The same way she demanded physical distance from others, she also demanded it of herself. But this time, it seemed necessary. Touching him felt like a priority she couldn’t afford to ignore.
    Tentatively, she reached out to brush his cheek. He jolted at the unexpected contact, turning to catch her gaze with eyes that were hot enough to ignite. They were the flash to her kindling. If she kept looking she’d go up in flames.
    She moved to stare at his mouth instead.
    “It was an accident,” she whispered, drawn back to his eyes like a moth to a flame.
    “You don’t know how sorry I am that I hurt you, Punk.” He seemed to vibrate with intensity. “I know accidents happen. Especially out on the track. I just wish I’d found you sooner. I wish you would’ve been standing on the other side of the oval with the dogs. That way you would’ve been safe and you wouldn’t be hurting right now.”
    She shook her head, baffled by the emotion pouring off of him. “You aren’t like any other man I’ve known,” she murmured. “You make me want to…”
    He inched closer, probably not even aware of what he was doing. She was though. She was hyper aware of his every move. He’d lulled her into feeling so uninhibited, but the part of her that had been fighting to survive crippling fear for ten years, couldn’t help being alert for any danger.
    But with Beast, there was none.
    “Make you want to what?” he asked.
    She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Try.”
    He let out a breath that sounded like pure relief. “Can I touch you