Page 27 of Start Your Engines

I focus on her face to avoid staring at her body, but that’s a bigger mistake. Her hazel eyes swirl with amber and emerald,and they’re bigger than ever. It must be her make-up. I want to make her pupils dilate as I drag my fingers across the bare skin of her inner thighs. I want her to lose it.

Suddenly, she’s less than a metre away from me, wobbling slightly in her heels. She slams her hand against the wall to steady herself. Her heels bring her closer to my height. I could easily kiss her from this position. My eyes dip to her lips, and her tongue peeks out as if she has the same thought.

“I’m fine,” I say so gruffly she takes a deep breath. Her tongue peeks out again, this time sweeping across her lips.

I busy myself undoing my racing suit. If I don’t, she’ll know precisely what I’m thinking as my blood rushes downwards.

I catch movement behind her. Antoine. I stare daggers at him as he checks out Senna’s arse. I bet it looks incredible in her pencil skirt, but that’s irrelevant. She’s our boss and deserves our respect. Yet my face burns as my cock twitches in appreciation of her body. I’m a shitbag.

Antoine gives me a wink, and I fist my hands, desperate to knock him out.

Senna presses her lips together. She’s oblivious to the increased tension around her. “Do you need to chat about anything or go over qualifying? I’m here for you.”

Antoine raises his eyebrows.

“I said I’m fine,” I growl between gritted teeth.

Antoine grins.

I need a cold shower, a good meal, and a night of sleep. I don’t need to be fantasising about knocking out Antoine before pressing Senna against a wall while respectfully calling her boss and kissing those lips that now shine from where she licked them.

“I need to get back to the hotel. See you tomorrow,” I say. I slap the wall as I turn on my heel.

I leave the garage, growling expletives. I’m confident I’ll spend tonight wandering the streets of Melbourne in the early hours, anxious about the race and my bloody feelings for my boss.

CHAPTER 13

Senna

Our raceat the Australian Grand Prix is fucked.

I watch repeats of steam pouring out of Connor’s car, which hit the barrier after clipping Antoine and spinning off the track. Once I knew he was okay, I shouted swear words and stormed around the garage in trainers because I couldn’t handle my heels. Maybe I should be relieved Connor is safe and didn’t take out Antoine, although I’m unsure if that was his intention.

The one positive is the car isn’t completely ruined, although the repair cost is the last thing we need.

“What was he thinking?” I mutter for the umpteenth time, easing my headphones off my ears.

The race restarted at lap thirty-one of fifty-eight. His car is in the garage, and Jacs is examining it with her team. I can’t bear to look at it. Another driver has been in a minor accident since, so the race is still going, but all the cars are on a yellow flag and driving a little slower, unable to overtake until they’re given the green flag.

I grip my desk when meowing halts my anger.

My head spins as I look for the source of the sound. No pets are allowed on-site. I check under my desk before taking a breath. I must be losing it.

The meowing sounds again as Connor walks into the garage, seizing my focus. He’s taken his bloody time. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was waiting for a bigger calamity so I’d forget.

He throws his helmet down. I open my mouth, but I catch Antoine singing in French from where my headphones hang around my neck.

“That isn’t for public radio,” his race engineer warns. Whatever Antoine is singing can be heard by the other teams.

I press the earphones to my ear. French isn’t my first language, but I recognise the swear words Antoine sings. I hear Connor’s driving nicknames, too.

“If you don’t have anything racing-related to say, shut up, Antoine,” I seethe.

“He clipped me,” Antoine snaps. This isn’t the time to rehash what happened. We discussed it briefly on the radio while they cleaned up the track of minimal debris. Thankfully, Connor’s car was easy to remove from a side area.

“Stop stewing on it and focus on racing. We’ll deal with it this week. Are we clear, Antoine?”

There’s movement around me. The pit crew sit to the side of the garage. They focus on the big screen while waiting for Antoine to pit for a tyre change. The half of the garage I’m pacing is empty. I should capitalise on the privacy and speak to Connor.

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