Page 2 of Kiss & Collide
Just then her phone vibrated in her hand. When she glanced at the screen, she sighed.
Something came up at Lennox HQ. We’re flying back tonight. Sorry!
“Was. Iwasmeeting Mira.”
Well, this sucked. No Mira meant she was flying solo tonight. She stashed her phone in her tiny silver bag and surveyed the room. Time to make a new plan.
“Why don’t I buy you a drink?” Chase said.
She pivoted to look at him. Was he trying to flirt withher? The audacity.
At that moment, a waiter carrying a tray full of champagne flutes paused beside them. She gave him a radiant smile and plucked one off the tray. “The drinks arefreehere, Chase. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to make some new friends.”
CHASE WATCHED VIOLET’Sback as she skirted through the crowd. He’d crossed paths with her often enough, on the track and at various racing events, and he’d always found her stunning, but tonight he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her lips were blood-red, and beneath her dark bangs, her eyes were winged with black. The brilliant blue of them was startling enough to distract him from her outfit—a triangle of shimmery metal mesh somehow held on to the front of her with little silver chains crisscrossing her back, a skintight silver miniskirt, and silver sandals with sky-high heels.
But it all came attached to Violet Harper, prickly and kind of mean. He’d definitely thought about her in that way, more than once, and she might be the most beautiful girl at this party, but he only needed to get his hand slapped once to learn his lesson.
He turned away, taking a sip of his drink. This whole party felt like he was swimming way above his pay grade. The enormous buffet of food downstairs, the crowded dance floor up onthe helipad, the glamorous crowd hanging around on the back deck, with Monte Carlo glittering in the background … parties like this were for the Formula One elite, not a low-ranking F2 driver like him.
He’d wanted to be an F1 driver since he was a kid. He’d given up everything—absolutely everything—to pursue it. And at twenty-five, he was trying to come to terms with never getting it. Over and over he’d told himself that the odds were stacked against him. There were only twenty seats on the grid, and thousands of drivers desperate to fill them. The vast majority would never make it. He’d gotten as far as F2. It was more than most would ever see. He’d tried to make himself satisfied with that.
It was impossible.
The want felt like it was gnawing away at him from the inside out, and with it, the frustrating realization that if it never happened for him, he’d be nursing this unfulfilled desire for the rest of his life, no matter what else he managed to achieve.
He was surprised when he’d landed on the guest list for his team’s F1 counterpart, but he figured he’d better take advantage of it. In this sport you either moved up or moved out, and since he was probably on his way out after this season, this might be his last chance.
Out on the back deck, he ended up being cornered by some wasted finance bro who talked his ear off about crypto for an hour. By the time he shook himself loose, the crowd had started to thin out. He made his way back inside, to the main lounge, thinking to grab one more beer before he hit the road. But the second he was inside, he spotted her—Violet—across the room. He was uncomfortably aware of how his eyes had followed her all night long—hanging out by the pool, dancing up on the helipad. She’d had company every time, one guy after another, so why was she still here alone?
He didn’t really think it through—he never did—he just started heading her way, skirting the low ivory leather chairs scattered across the space and the clusters of people standing in conversation. On the way, he snagged two glasses of Moët from a passing waiter. As he approached, she swiveled to look at him in surprise. Long black hair tumbling over those bare shoulders and arms, long pale legs under that barely there miniskirt—skin, skin … so much touchable skin. God, she was gorgeous.
“Hey.” He offered her a glass. “You look like you need this.”
VIOLET EYED CHASEwarily before taking the glass he offered. How had she ended up back where she’d started the night, still flying solo and talking tohim? She’d entertained plenty of options tonight, but she’d passed each one by. This one had a weird laugh, that one had a suspicious tan line on his ring finger—she’d found reason after reason to move on. But now tonight’s game of musical chairs was nearly over and there seemed to be just this one chair left available.
It was undeniably a hot chair. And it would probably be a lot of fun. Chase Navarro wasn’t someone who did serious, and neither was Violet, so there was no risk of things getting messy. He was watching her over the rim of his champagne flute, humor lighting up those jet-black eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his. “So, are we doing this? Sex?”
She enjoyed the deep satisfaction of rendering him momentarily speechless as he choked on his champagne.
“What?”
“Come on now. We both know why you came over here. You want to fuck me.”
He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck as he looked down at the floor. Good lord, she’dflusteredhim. Now thiswasfun. “Ah …”
“If you’re not interested …” she drawled with exaggerated disinterest as she dragged her fingertips along her collarbone. His eyes tracked the movement, flaring with heat.
“Um, yes, we’re doing this.” He cleared his throat and looked her straight in the eye. “We’re absolutely doing this.”
Her nipples hardened at the low timbre of his voice. Something flared within her. Okay, she wasexcited.
“WHERE’S YOUR HOTEL?”Violet asked.
Oh, she wanted to come back tohisplace. He hadn’t considered that. This might be awkward. “Ah … I’m staying outside Nice.”
She blinked. “Nice?”
