“And?”

“And…” I frown. “It’s unethical of me to be socializing with you.”

“It’s unethical of you to spend time with me?”

“In a non-therapist-patient capacity, yes.”

“And that’s the only reason you’re nervous right now?” His eyes bore into mine.

No, it’s not the only reason. I’m mostly nervous because I have the strongest urge to kiss you right now and find out if you taste as amazing as I think you will. And if Jett weren’t sitting in the front of this car right now, I’d have a hard time stopping myself from doing so.

Jesus, what is wrong with me? Why can I control my thoughts while with him at the office but not here?

“Of course it is. What other reason would there be?” I have to force my voice to sound even, and it’s seriously hard going.

“No reason.” He looks away from me.

I stare down at my hands.

From the moment he met me, I’ve seen Leandro look at me in a sexual way, but I know that’s because he uses sex as a defense mechanism.

He looked at me the way he would any other woman he deemed attractive—as a temporary means of escapism.

But, lately, the way he’s been looking at me is different.

I don’t know how to explain it, but he’s no longer looking at me like I’m just another object for him to screw.

He’s looking at me like he actually wants me.

And it scares the crap out of me.

Because I want him, too.

“So, why don’t you treat this like a therapy session, if it’s bothering you so much?” His words come from nowhere, and his tone is biting. He sounds pissed off. “I can talk to you about the usual shit—you know, how my life sucks—if that’ll make you feel better about being here with me.”

“You’re blowing it out of context, Leandro.”

“Am I, Dr. Harris?”

Not since out first initial meeting has he called me Dr. Harris. He always calls me India.

And hearing him calling me Dr. Harris scratches over my skin like unwelcome nails.

“You said being here with me is unethical, so I’m trying to make it ethical for you.”

I blow out a breath. “What do you want me to say?”

“Isn’t that usually my line?”

“Jesus, Leandro!” I snap, my anger getting the better of me. “What is it that you want from me here?”

He glances my way, his black eyes looking through me, his jaw set. “Nothing.” He turns his face away from me. “I am sorry I put you in a difficult position by giving Jett the tickets. I should have thought about it. It’s not like you could say no to him once I’d made the offer.”

He’s right…and wrong. The mother in me couldn’t say no, but the doctor should have. Jett would have been angry, but he’d have gotten over it.

I put myself in this position.

Maybe because a part of me wants to be here with Leandro.

And now, I’ve offended him, and I don’t know how to take it back.

“Look, I’m sorry.” I reach out and touch his arm. The instant I do, I know it’s a mistake because the connection I always feel around him increases tenfold.

All the air is sucked out of the car, leaving me breathless. I can feel the heat of his body through the shirt beneath my palm, setting my skin ablaze.

I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s so beautiful.

His hand comes to mine. His index finger lightly traces up my skin until it reaches my wrist. His fingers circle it until his hand is holding me.

His eyes move down to my mouth. I see them flare to life.

“India…” he says my name on a breath.

I almost come undone.

Almost.

Coming to my senses, remembering who I am, who we are and where we are, I pull away from him and turn to face the window.

I hear him exhale loudly. He sounds frustrated.

I close my eyes on the sound, and my hand wraps around the one that now feels like it has a permanent imprint of him on it.

We haven’t spoken since the moment, and you could cut the tension between us with a knife right now.

I can’t believe how close I came to kissing him.

How did I go from being his therapist to this…what exactly?

A man I want to kiss…and more.

He’s a patient, for God’s sake! What the hell am I thinking?

Would I have actually let it happen? Would I have kissed him?

The fact that I don’t know the clear answer to those questions is a clear sign that I should be running far from him.

The sign for Shenington Airfield comes into view. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

I just need to get through today. Then, I can get back to just seeing him in a professional capacity, and I’ll be okay.

It’s just that seeing him at dinner on Friday night, bumping into him yesterday and having coffee, seeing how great he was with Jett, and spending today with him…it’s just confusing me.

And it’s not like Leandro has any real feelings for me.

He has sex with different women all the time. Maybe not so much lately. But he was a player long before the accident.

The driver pulls up into the parking area.

Jett climbs out. The driver opens my door, and I climb out with Leandro getting out behind me.

“This place is awesome!” Jett comes around the car to me, excitement on his face.

I love seeing him happy like this.

“This way.” Leandro gestures.

I follow behind while Jett walks with him, asking him questions about today’s race.

I can see people staring at him. He doesn’t seem to notice, but then he must be used to people staring at him.

I sometimes forget how well known he is. When it’s just him and me talking in my office, he’s just Leandro.

Out here, he’s a world-renowned Formula 1 driver.

Going through the paddock area, we reach a section where a guy is at the door. He greets Leandro, shaking his hand. Then, he opens the door, and Leandro ushers Jett and me through first before coming in behind us.

Not many people are in here. Looks to be a private viewing area that opens up onto the karting track.

“Leandro fucking Silva!”

I turn at the sound of the male voice, not loving the fact that he just cursed in front of Jett.

Good-looking, brown hair, nice smile. I recognize him but can’t place him.

“Carter, how are you doing?” Leandro greets him, smiling.

They do that manly handshake-hug thing that men do.

“I’m good. How are you doing after the accident? I know this shit’s tough—”

“I’m fine,” Leandro cuts him off, the tone in his voice instantly harder.

Carter stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then, his face relaxes. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. But if you do need to talk, you know where I am. We need to get together more often anyway. And thanks for doing this today. The kids will love seeing you here.”

“No problem,” Leandro says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

I see Carter’s eyes go to me and Jett, standing behind Leandro.

“Carter, this is my friend India Harris, and her son, Jett. Jett’s a big Formula One fan. India, Jett, this is Carter Simmons.”