“That’s what you get for passing upmon paninithis morning,” she shot at me, winking and flouncing ahead like she hadn’t just detonated my brain for the second time today.
I caught her wrist and pulled her back in, dipping her low with a hand firm at her lower back under her pack. She gasped, the motion stealing her balance and her breath, and I kissed her hard and slow, tongue deep, sweat-slick, filthy and sinful. Her fingers curled in my shirt as I devoured her, teeth grazing, lips dragging, all tongue and promise.
When I finally broke the kiss and pulled her upright, she was flushed and panting, dazed in the best possible way.
“Careful what you offer up, mon coeur,” I murmured in her ear, voice low and commanding. “Next time I won’t stop until you forget your own fucking name.”
She whimpered. Actually whimpered.
And I fucking beamed.
She shoved at my chest, flustered and pink. “You’re feral.”
“You love it,” I said, swatting her perfect heart-shaped ass as she started down the trail.
She did love it. And me.
We fell into step again, her fingers brushing mine.
I glanced over at her and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “How about this one—F1 Legend Retires, Makes Best Investment of His Life. Marries the Girl Who Made Him Want to Stop Running.”
Aurélie scowled up at me, eyes flashing. “Callum, you say shit like that again and we’re flying home right now to elope so it can happen faster.”
I grinned wickedly. Leaned in closer as we bounded downhill. “Fastest Man on the Grid Slowed Down for Her.” I paused, just long enough for her to melt. “And Never Looked Back.”
She made a wounded sound, like I’d hit her right in the chest. “There’s not even a tree for you to push me up against,” she whined.
“Deal with it, princess,” I said, smug and helplessly in love. “I plan to tie you up later, but only after we finish applying for a marriage license.”
The villa was serene when we returned. Warm and filled with the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the sliding doors still cracked open to let in the sea breeze. Our shoes hit the tile with soft thuds, breaths ragged and skin slick with sweat. She made a beeline for the kitchen.
I followed behind, palms braced on the counter as I drank, still catching my breath from the hike and the kiss and the way her legs looked in those tiny fucking shorts.
Neither of us spoke—we didn’t need to.
I grabbed two glasses. She watched me, her cheeks flushed and her thighs pink from the sun. She looked like a goddess who’d just climbed out of Olympus and decided to shack up with a mortal. She looked like mine.
“You good?” I asked, voice low.
She nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah. You?”
“Never better.” My heart did something stupid and massive in my chest.
The air between us was thick with heat and the heady scent of sweat, citrus, and something dangerously close to forever.
She poured water. I stepped behind her and grabbed her by the hips, just to feel her pressed to me again. Her head dropped back against my shoulder, a soft hum slipping from her throat as I pressed a lazy kiss to her neck, then licked a drop of sweat from her skin.
“Stop,” she said with a grin, nudging me off. “We have paperwork to fill out, husband-to-be.”
“I’m just making sure you’re hydrated, wife-in-training.”
We changed and sprawled out on the massive fur rug in the living room, legal documents and snacks fanned around us like a map of our future. Two laptops open, a protein bar wrapper crinkled somewhere under my knee. Her feet tangled in mine. Her hair was still twisted up.
She wore a snug crop top with no bra. Bare thighs, nothing but those tiny underwear that should’ve been illegal. I wore just a pair of boxer briefs.
Without a word, we listed the country house as our primary address—six consecutive months—and mine as the other. No discussion. No hesitation.
Passport forms followed. I typed while she spelled things out in French and teased me about taking her last name. We kissed between questions, fingers brushing and breaths hitching, laughing like the whole world had finally gone still.
