She missed Ben. He should’ve been here. Even if he wasn’t racing, he’d be at the centre of it all—bantering with the pit crew, trading insults with the mechanics, laughing with the support staff. Ben had been so vibrant, so present. He’d lived in the moment, someone who loved what he did with every fibre of his being.
Millie wanted to be that kind of person. She loved the work she was doing for Taz and was constantly surprised by how good she was at it. Her knack for finding the heart of a problem, for peeling back layers to reveal a story that resonated, had transformed Taz in the eyes of the press. He was no longer just a volatile, selfish hothead—though, admittedly, he still was to some degree. Over the past few weeks, she’d reframed him, and now he was viewed as a burdened team owner and driver, the man who carried the weight of the De Rossi legacy on his shoulders.
And she hadn’t spun lies to make it happen. Everything she’d said about Taz was true. He bore the crushing responsibility of his team, his employees, his sponsors’ expectations—and his unrelenting ambition. The weight would be staggering for anyone, but for Taz? It seemed to harden his defences, fortifying his sharp edges and impenetrable walls.
His inability to discuss Alex, to allow her to peek behind his emotional walls, was deeply frustrating and a little hurtful. His rejection stung, but she’d noticed the storm raging inside him. There was so much she didn’t know—so much he’d never let her see. Unless he chose to let her in, they would never be more than what they were now: unexpected flashes of tenderness, stolen moments in bed, tethered by nothing but desire.
Why did she want more?
Because something in Taz De Rossi called to her. Beneath the arrogance and the fire, she’d glimpsed a man who was deeply lonely, profoundly isolated. And, yes, he could be brutal and demanding, but there was also kindness in him, flashes of goodness that made her chest ache. He was infuriatingly complicated. He was many things at different times, and trying to make sense of Taz De Rossi was like trying to staple mist to a wall.
Her current exhaustion made her feel shaky and weak, and it amplified everything—her hurt, her anger, her impossible attraction to a man who was far too dangerous. When she felt steadier, when she was stronger, she’d untangle her emotions and decide what, if anything, they meant.
But she doubted they’d fade or would shrink to manageable levels, and suspected she was already in too deep. And she didn’t think she could swim her way out.
In the hallway, Taz stopped dead as the door to the hospitality suite clicked shut behind Millie, the loud snick reverberating down the empty passage.
He tipped his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, looking for a way to ease the storm raging inside him. Today was not going to plan. Not even close. Every cell in his body ached to be on the track, clad in his De Rossi colours, listening to the roar of his car’s engine, navigating the track’s twists and turns. He knew what he was doing on the track.
He was wasting time and points, hampered and sidelined by his damned cast. Frustration dug its nails into his soul as the ugly combination of rage and helplessness swamped him. And because the universe seemed to delight in screwing with him, he’d taken out his anger on Millie earlier. She hadn’t deserved it—but her simple questions about his brother and father had been enough to set him off. It was a topic he’d deflected a thousand times before, so why had it pierced through his shell this time? Why hadshe?
Taz braced a hand against the wall and let his forehead rest against it, his teeth grinding.
Millie was a problem he hadn’t anticipated. He’d always compartmentalised his life—emotions in one box, sex in another and racing in a sacred safe all its own. But Millie had smashed some of those boxes, blurring the perfect lines he’d spent years drawing. She was a walking contradiction: infuriating and fascinating, soothing and incendiary. She’d painted his black-and-white world with wild streaks of vibrant colour.
He hated it.
He wanted more.
Taz groaned and banged his cast against the wall, shaking his head to clear it. He’d completed the bulk of the charity events he’d committed to—all with Millie at his side—and only had the ball in Monaco to attend. In three weeks, he’d be racing again, and life would return to being predictable, and he could focus on winning the championship. Proving, once and for all, that he was the best driver in his family, the greatest De Rossi to ever race.
The thought left him hollow.
Instead of relief, he felt…lost.
His jaw tightened.Enough. If he was going to survive the next three weeks, he needed to fix the mess he’d made with Millie. Lashing out at her had been cowardly. He hated cowardice; it was wholly unacceptable.
Steeling himself, he slipped into the hospitality suite, locking the door behind him. Millie turned at the sound, her brows arching, her expression cool.
Her outfit was simple—black jeans, a De Rossi team shirt, and high-tops—but Taz’s pulse kicked up. Like two thousand other employees, she wore his name, but at seeing his name above her heart, something primal and possessive unfurled in his chest. He shoved the thought down, then stomped on it.
‘Millie,’ he began, his voice low, careful.
She sipped from her mug, her gaze steady, unwavering. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
Good. He didn’t deserve easy.
‘I was out of line this morning,’ he said, his words clipped but honest. ‘You didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t have—’
‘Snapped? Stormed off?’ she supplied.
‘Exactly,’ he admitted, forcing himself to meet her eyes. ‘Sorry.’
The tension in her shoulders remained. ‘Apologies aren’t your strong suit, are they, Taz?’ she said, her voice softer now but no less firm.
‘No,’ he confessed. ‘But I’m learning.’
Her lips twitched, almost, but she caught herself, the flash of amusement replaced by wariness.
