Page 9 of Downforce

How is it possible to want someone so much after barely a heartbeat in their company?

And yet, I do. It makes no rational sense.

Sucking in a wobbly breath, I tear my gaze from Anton, sweeping it instead over the rest of the team.

Everyone looks at me like I’m about to peel off my skin to reveal an alien underneath.

I flick a look at Anton. He smiles again, raises his eyebrows, and dips his head:you got this.

Scowling, I turn back to everyone. I don’t need encouragement or support or prodding from Anton Laurant.

But you like it. It makes you feel warm.

It does. Which is really irritating. In a weirdly nice way.

“Okay, everyone.” I give Sergio a little nod, and he hits a key on his laptop. The large screen on the wall fills with the data and equations I’ve been analysing since I joined Equis, as well as the schematics of the Equis F1 car. “This is how we’re going to improve the FW downforce and control the consequent upwash, to benefit the lift-drag ratio.”

Everyone sits forward in their seats.

Except Anton, who leans back, threading his fingers behind his head, foot bouncing. Watching me. An emotion burns in his eyes, hot and hungry. He wants me.

My nipples pebble. My pulse quickens. But my stomach clenches. Will he still want me after I reveal everything he insists is right about his car is wrong?

Do I want him to?

The memory of our kiss scorches through me, and I pull in a steadying breath. I do. I really do.

The next forty minutes I lay out precisely the modifications to be done before P1 to both cars, specifically Anton’s. I need the data from the first practice session to evaluate and refine them, so I can get more data in P2 and P3.

But as I speak, as I explain the adjustments and setting changes, as I lay out the rationale and science behind each one, a shadow falls over Anton’s face. Tension replaces his almost conceited calm, and he soon sits forward on his seat, elbows resting on knees, head hanging, as if the floor between his feet presents something far more important.

“Okay,” I say, as I’m about to round it up and ask for questions. Anton hasn’t looked up for the last two minutes. Everyone keeps flicking nervous glances at him. Sergio glares at his hung head. “So you can see?—”

Anton rises to his feet and, as if he’s alone in the room, strides out.

Every set of eyes snap back to me.

Heat crawls up my throat and over my face. My stomach rolls.

Sergio throws up his hands. “Sono così stufo di questo idiota.”

Someone grunts. Whatever he said, they seem to agree with him.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, and storm out of the meeting. I’m not putting up with this shit any more. Anton’s going to regret the day I was born.

CHAPTER SIX

Anton

I stop myself heading to Juan’s yacht.

I don’t want to be there. The old Anton might have, but…

The old Anton. Ha.

Weak, my father’s voice whispers in my head.Always so weak. No wonder you fail. Can’t even stand up to a woman.

Gritting my teeth, I head instead for isolation. I need to get my head wrapped around the chaos storming in it. I need to process everything I’m feeling, thinking. Wanting…

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