Page 63 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

“That would be tragic.”

Cole opens his eyes, his gaze meeting mine with a vulnerability that both terrifies and excites me.

“Is that so?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

I nod. It’s all I can do. This man is too much for my heart.

I want him.

All of him.

Not just the stolen moments, the hidden rendezvous, and the carefully crafted lies we tell the world.

I want us. Real, raw, and messy as hell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

COLE

The private jet’sengines purr, a familiar rumble that usually sets me at ease. Not today. Today, that growl matches the restless energy thrumming through my veins. In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll be strapped into the Viper, pushing the limits at Albert Park. But right now, all I can focus on is the blonde bombshell sitting across from me, pretending I don’t exist.

Sunlight streams through the windows, turning her hair into a halo of gold. Her fingers fly over her tablet, probably tweaking some last-minute adjustments to the car. Always working, always in control.

Except for yesterday. The memory hits me like a tire wall at 200 mph. Her body pressed against mine, those emerald eyes dark with want…

“See something you like, Cole?”

Her cool voice snaps me back to reality. Shit. Caught staring like some rookie.

I clear my throat, my cheeks warming under her scrutiny. “Just wondering if those calculations are gonna give us the edge we need. The Ferraris were looking damn fast last week.”

Lola’s eyebrow arches, a skeptical expression on her face. “Worried?”

“Nah,” I lie, reaching for my water. No booze before a race, no matter how much I need it to dull the edge of the restless anxiety due to Chad’s drama queen antics. “But I like winning.”

“So do I,” she says, her voice soft but fierce. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I’m not sure if we’re still talking about the race. The air crackles with unspoken tension, a reminder of the way our bodies moved together, the sound of her moans echoing in my head.

The plane hits a pocket of turbulence, and the illusion shatters. Lola’s knuckles go white on her armrests. Before I can think, I’m out of my seat, my hand covering hers.

“Easy,” I murmur, my voice rougher than intended. “I’ve got you.”

I feel the slight tremor in her fingers, see the rapid pulse at her throat. The memory of her vulnerability, the way she looked at me with those wide, trusting eyes, sends a jolt of desire through me.

“I’m okay,” she says, but her voice wavers.

I should move back to my seat. Put some distance between us, let her have this moment. Instead, I crouch beside her, my voice low and urgent. “We need to talk about yesterday.”

Her eyes flash to mine, a mix of fear and something hotter, something that makes my gut clench with a desire that has nothing to do with racing. “This isn’t the time or the place Cole. We have a race to focus on.”

The seatbelt sign dings, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing our descent into Melbourne.

I sigh, retreating to my seat. Two steps forward, one step back. Story of my life with this woman.

But as she pulls up the track data on her tablet, I catch the slight flush on her cheeks, the quick glance she throws my way. It’s enough to rekindle the embers of hope, the thrill of the chase.

Game on, Lola. You might be calling the shots in the pit, but this thing between us? That’s a whole different kind of race. And I plan on winning the long game.

The Albert Park circuit shimmers beneath the midday sun, a ribbon of asphalt and promise winding its way around Melbourne’s picturesque lake. The air crackles with anticipation, the scent of exhaust fumes mingling with the cheers of the crowd, a heady cocktail that always gets my blood pumping.

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