“You’ve got good instincts,” he said, voice calm, but edged with something else.
A smirk tugged at her lips as she eased into another turn, seamless and sharp.
“You sound surprised.”
“Not even a little.” His voice stayed even, his jaw tight. “I’ve watched you work.”
The words hit like impact aimed straight at center. Not flirtation—conviction.
She pushed the car harder. “Careful, Blackwell,” she said, eyes forward. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you’re impressed.”
“I am.”
Low. Steady. Undeniable.
“But I figured you already knew that.”
Her breath caught, right behind a laugh that never quite made it out.
Another turn.
Another rush of speed.
And for a moment, there was nothing else. Only the Roadster beneath her, the track unraveling in front of her, and Gideon’s gaze, steady and unrelenting, beside her.
Control. Velocity. Heat.
She didn’t need permission to take the wheel.
And she wasn’t giving it back.
As she guidedthe car into the pit lane, the rush clung to her—pulse still thrumming.
She turned toward him.
He was already watching.
There was a flicker in his eyes, pride, maybe. Or something darker. Hungrier.
Her breath came fast. “You’re far too calm for a man who just handed over the keys to his outrageously priced car.”
Gideon leaned back, lips curving. More dangerous. More intent.
“I like you like this.”
She angled her head, catching her breath. “Like what?”
His answer didn’t waver.
“Lit up. Unapologetic. Alive.”
No performance. No distance. Just truth, bare and searing.
And it landed between like an open flame—unexpected, electric, and undeniable.
This wasn’t about the car.
It was about her.
