Page 13 of Downforce

Chest tight, I give him a slight nod.

He kisses me again, his lips even more gentle this time, withdraws from my body, and climbs from the bed.

I watch him make his way to the motor home’s bathroom, aching for him already. Not just his body, with its Adonis-like muscles and form and proportions, but…buthim. Everything that is him.

He pauses at the bathroom door, as if to ask a question, or perhaps, waiting to answer one.

Can I stay?I want to ask.

Instead, I bite my lip.

Another sigh escapes him, so soft I can barely hear it, and he disappears into the bathroom.

Closing my eyes, I pull in a deep, slow breath. It doesn’t help. All I can do is smell Anton, on the air, the bedding, on my skin…

Throwing myself from the bed, I snatch up my clothes where he threw them and yank them on.

And pause.

On the dining table, in a large water jug, stems wrapped in pale blue Cellophane, is a bunch of white roses. A dozen gorgeous white roses, the flower emblem of Yorkshire.

My heart hammers into my throat, and I look again at the closed bathroom door. Was this why he was late to the meeting? Was he organising flowers? For me?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I press the heels of my hands to my forehead. I’m so confused. I need to understand what I’m feeling, and I can’t do that in his presence. Not yet, at least.Besides, we’re in Monaco for a race. Not…romance. The practice sessions are tomorrow, and I need to have my head in the game. Not in Anton’s bed. Roses and unsettling emotions or not.

As does Anton. With the changes I’m making, he’ll be driving a car he’s not familiar with at all.

I regard the closed bathroom door, picturing Anton on the other side, water streaming down his amazing body.

How easy would it be to join him in there. To strip my clothes off again, open the door and step under the water with him. Slide my wet body against his. Take his hand and guide it to the junction of my thighs as he lowers his head to my breast and takes my nipple in his mouth, sucking on?—

“Stop it,” I grind out on a tortured breath. “It has to stop.”

Does it?

I leave, a cold finger of guilt dragging up my spine, the roses still in the jug on the table.

It does have to stop. For both our sakes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Anton

I poured my heart out to her, but she left all the same. And yet, a part of me suspected she would. I saw the questions in her eyes, the confusion. She wasn’t prepared for what has happened between us. Perhaps that is why she left?

She left because you’re weak. What woman wants a pathetic failure like?—

“Shut up, Père,” I snarl. “Enough.”

The voice cuts dead in my head, and an intense wave of relief washes over me. I close my eyes and let out a shaky laugh.

Charlotte’s gone, but I know in my heart it’s not because she thought I was weak. Not with what she said to me. Perhaps she didn’t feel our connection like I did? But finally, after all these years, my fucking father’s voice is silenced in my head.

I silenced it. Because Charlotte knows me.

The bully is gone.

Now, I can focus on winning the Monaco Grand Prix. And Charlotte.

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