Page 80 of Close Contact
I was a mess of contradictions, both insecure and throbbing for him, every nerve ending strung tight and reminding me how much I really wanted him to do just that as much as I wanted to cry.
Everything in his face was raw. Worship. Hunger. Love. “I can’t kiss you,” he murmured. “But I can touch you like this. I can make you feel me.”
“You already do.”
His forehead touched mine. We swayed like that—like the whole world had vanished.
And then he said it. Barely audible. Just for me.
“I love you.”
I stilled. Heart thudding so loud I swore the DJ could hear it. I wasn’t used to being loved loudly.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t take it back. Just looked at me like he already knew it would wreck him. As if he’d mean it forever.
“I love you,” he said again, more certain now. “And I know we can’t say it out loud yet. Not in front of them. But I’m not hiding it from you.”
My fingers curled into his shirt. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
Then the lights shifted, the music dipped, andKimi’svoice roared through the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “Tonight isn’t just any party. Tonight, we are in the presence of racing royalty.”
Oh, no.
Callum closed his eyes. “Fucking Kimi.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m going to murder him.”
Callumleaned in, his breath brushing my ear. “Go with it. You deserve this.”
I shot him a glare. He didn’t flinch.
Kimipointed directly at me. “This woman madehistorytoday. Rookie on the podium. First female driverto ever do it. And let’s be honest—she made the rest of us look like we were on tricycles.”
Laughter. Cheers. Someone whistled.
Marco grinned, appearing beside us and tugging on my hand. “C’mon. Don’t fight it.”
I hesitated, then looked atCallum.
“I’m right behind you,” he said. “Always.”
I let Marco pull me toward the tiny raised platform near the DJ booth. Champagne rained around us like gold. I held my glass high, trying not to shrink from the applause.
“ToAurélieDubois,” Marco roared. “The future of Formula 1!”
The cheers were deafening.
And then she appeared.
TheHarper Rose—global pop sensation, self-made billionaire, and a living legend. She was even more striking in person, her confidence practically radiating off her. I blinked like I was hallucinating, but no—she wasright there, gliding through the crowd like some myth brought to life.
Her eyes locked on mine.
“You’re a damn inspiration,” she said, voice low, sure. “The way you owned that win? The way you handled the media? That was power.”
I could barely speak. “Thank you, I?—”
