Page 46 of Formula Fling

“Open it up a little more,” he urges. “Don’t be shy.”

“What’s the speed limit?” I ask, looking down at the speedometer.

“Seventy miles per hour.”

“I’m at seventy-five,” I say, easing my foot off the gas.

“Don’t be a baby. Punch it,” he dares.

Fuck it. I press down on the accelerator, and the McLaren rockets forward, the engine howling as the speedometer climbs. I grip the steering wheel tight, but it’s exhilarating. The car hugs the road like it’s glued to the asphalt, and with each shift of the paddles, I feel more in control, more confident.

“How fast are we going?” I ask, now afraid to take my eyes off the road.

“Fast enough to make me proud,” Lex says, laughing. “Just keep it smooth. The car will do the rest.”

I run it fast for a few more miles but then back it down to the posted speed limit. Lex gives me a side grin, a knowing look on his face. “I knew you had a secret penchant for speed.”

“Oh yeah… how’s that?”

“Because you are no-holds-barred in bed,” he says smugly.

My head jerks his way and I stare at him, astounded. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, come off it, Posey. You’re a tiger and you give me a run for my money.”

I want to argue with him because from past experience, I would consider myself a more timid lover, but he’s not wrong. Lex has brought out my wild side that I can’t seem to control when we’re tumbling around in the sheets.

“Tell me more about Broadway,” I say to change the subject. It’s the town in the Cotswolds where his parents have their vacation home away from London.

We chat amiably, but I get distracted as soon as we near his hometown. The landscape changes from open fields to picturesque villages with honey-colored stone cottages and charming thatched roofs. The narrow streets wind through the town, and it feels like we’ve stepped into a different world—one where time moves a little slower.

“This is stunning,” I murmur, glancing around at the quaint buildings and cobblestone streets. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

“Welcome to Broadway,” Lex says, gesturing toward the town ahead. “Quaint little village, isn’t it? A far cry from London.”

“It’s definitely not like Broadway in New York,” I say with a grin as we traverse the charming streets.

We drive through the town center, passing stone cottages, old-fashioned shops, cozy-looking tearooms, and an ancient church with a towering spire. The town is quiet and peaceful,with just a few people walking along the streets or sitting outside at cafés.

On the other side of town, we enter back into the country and only a few minutes down the road, Lex has me pulling up to his family’s estate. He gives me the code to enter in a metal box and the iron gates smoothly swing open. I’m still buzzing from the drive and the beauty of the Cotswolds. The house is just ahead, nestled among sprawling gardens and surrounded by fields.

I press the brakes, just to sit there and stare at it a moment. Smaller than Spencer’s estate, it is no less magnificent. The three-story structure is made of gray-colored stone that has weathered beautifully over time. Steep gabled rooflines covered in charcoal-colored tile and mullioned windows give it an old-world charm. The stone facade is complemented by climbing vines that aren’t in bloom yet but my romantic, creative heart envisions purple wisteria.

The landscaping is carefully manicured with evergreen hedges trimmed into neat shapes and a garden path leading to the front door. Nothing has come up yet, but I can see it so clearly… beds filled with tulips, irises and other vibrant splashes of color against the neutral hue of the stone house.

It looks like the kind of place that has generations of stories hidden within its walls.

“How could anyone ever want to live anywhere else?” I breathe out before easing on the gas so the car creeps closer forward.

Lex is silent so I glance at him and he’s watching me thoughtfully. “It can get quite boring here,” he says.

“Not to me.” I point up to one of the windows on the third floor. “I’d sit at a desk to write so I could look out over the grounds in the winter, and in the warm weather, I’d sit on the patio to look at the rear gardens.”

Lex chuckles. “How do you know there are gardens back there?”

“I just know it,” I say, smiling assuredly at him. “How could there not be?”

Laughing, Lex playfully tugs on a lock of my hair. “Well, you’re not wrong. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

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