Page 123 of Racing for Redemption
She hugs me back, her arms tight around my shoulders. It’s not our first hug, but there’s something different about this one—a desperation, a need that goes beyond physical desire. I’ve missed her; not just her body or her kiss, but her presence.
The way she cuts through bullshit with a single glance.
The rare yet charming sound of her genuine laugh.
The fierce focus when she’s working on a problem no one else can solve.
When I pull back, her eyes are suspiciously bright. I cup her face in my hands, just looking at her for a long moment.
“You know, you look pretty adorable yourself,” I say finally. “The overly professional ‘power suit’ Violet, and then these cutesy F1 pajamas. Quite the contrast.”
She laughs, reaching up to trace the ink that curls around my bicep. “I was just thinking the same thing. All those tattoos on your arms and neck, then wearing cartoon car pajamas.”
“I’ll have you know, these are officially licensed merchandise, with really soft Egyptian cotton.” I strike a pose, flexing dramatically. “Very serious business.”
“Oh, clearly.” Her smile widens. “Very intimidating.”
I catch her hand as it trails down my arm, bringing it to my lips. “I love it when you praise me,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can filter them. “Even when you’re being sarcastic.”
Her gaze intensifies, something vulnerable flashing in her eyes. “I’m not being sarcastic now when I say you’re one of the most incredible men I’ve ever met, Will.” The sound of her using the nickname only my family uses does things to me. The sincerity in her voice knocks the wind out of me. I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s meant to be gentle, but quickly deepens. When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Careful,” I whisper against her mouth. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to take these pajamas off you.”
“And you don't take off yours? Cruel.” She steps back, tugging me toward the bed. “Come on. We should sleep.”
We slide under the covers together, our bodies finding each other in the darkness like magnets. She turns her back to me, and I curve around her, one arm draped over her waist, my nose buried in her hair. She laces her fingers through mine, holding our joined hands against her stomach.
“Goodnight, William,” she murmurs, already sounding half-asleep.
“Goodnight, Violet,” I whisper back, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
Her breathing evens out, the tension leaving her body as she drifts off. Sleep eludes me, though. I’m too aware of her—the warmth of her skin, the weight of her in my arms. Too conscious of how right this feels, how complete.
I’ve never been a man who believed in soulmates or destiny. Racing taught me that success comes from skill and hard work, not fate. Either you’re good and work hard, or you won’t get anything you want in life. There are no coincidences. But holding Violet, breathing in sync with her in the dim light of a Monaco hotel room, I’m forced to reconsider.
Because nothing has ever felt as inevitable as loving her.
I want her beyond casual sex. Beyond friendship. I want her to be mine in every way a person can belong to another—and I want to be hers in return. Irrevocably. Truly. Madly. Entirely hers.But let’s be honest, I already am.Have been almost since the start. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Eventually, I drift into a dreamless sleep, still holding her close.
Morning comes too soon, sunlight filtering through the curtains we forgot to close. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented until Violet’s warmth grounds me. She’s still sleeping, her face peaceful in a way it rarely is when she’s awake.
I carefully extricate myself from her, pausing when she stirs slightly before settling back into sleep. Leaning against the headboard, I just watch her, drinking in the sight—her hair wild against the pillow, her lips slightly parted, one hand curled near her face.
I want this view every morning, I realize. I want to wake up beside her, to see her like this—unguarded, soft with sleep. I want to make her coffee exactly how she likes it—maybe prepare a mint tea like the ones I’ve seen her drink—to argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes, to fall asleep watching some terrible movie on the couch. To ask her to read me a passage of those romance books I've glimpsed in her handbag.
Dangerous thoughts.Ones that could shatter everything if voiced too soon. But they’re there, growing stronger each time I’m with her.
I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her cheek, then her bare shoulder, before carefully sliding out of bed. I grab the hotel phone and quietly order breakfast for two—coffee, fruit, pastries, eggs. Nothing too elaborate, but enough to refuel after last night’s activities.
When room service arrives, I sign the check and bring the tray back to the bedroom. Violet is still sleeping, one arm now thrown across the spot where I’d been lying. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.
Setting the tray on the nightstand, I slide back into bed and gather her in my arms, pressing kisses to her face, her neck, her shoulders—anywhere I can reach.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to wake up.” I nuzzle her neck, inhaling her scent. “Good morning,goddess.”
