VIOLET
Heat pressed against my spine. For one sleep-fogged second, I didn’t understand why.
Then I felt his arm banded around my waist, his chest rising and falling against my back, his breath warm against my shoulder.
And the soreness in my thighs, the raw scrape of his stubble against my shoulder, the way he held me?—
My breath stilled.
Oh.
Oh shit.
The memories hit all at once. His hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my throat, his body moving against mine. The rough, desperate way he said my name, like a prayer and a promise all at once.
Three times. We’d done it three times. Each time, I’d made a conscious choice to continue, to sink deeper into whatever this was between us.
My stomach twisted.
I let this happen.
And worse, I wanted it. I’d asked for it. Begged for it, even.
Griffin shifted behind me, his arm tightening around my waist, his fingers flexing, slow and possessive against my stomach. Warm lips ghosted over my shoulder, barely there, but enough to send my pulse into a sprint.
“Could get used to this,” he said, his voice rough, thick with sleep.
For one stupid, dangerous second, I almost let myself sink back into him, into the quiet, reckless fantasy that this could be something.
But that wasn’t how this worked.
This wasn’t something to get used to.
I was Hazel’s nanny, which was bad enough. But I’d also sworn off drivers, watching them choose podiums and contracts over the people who loved them. I’d learned the hard way that men like Griffin didn’t do half-measures. They burned through life at full throttle, and I had no intention of being something he sped toward, only to leave me in the rearview the second something faster, bigger, better came along.
And I had two months.
That was it.
Two months until I walked away.
And if my father ever found out, I wouldn’t even make it that far.
He would lose his mind.
His driver, the golden boy of the team, sneaking around with his daughter?
No.
That wouldn’t just be leverage.
It would be a weapon.
Julian would use me to control Griffin. Every decision Griffin made, every contract negotiation, every moment he tried to stand up for himself, my father would dangle me like a threat. Do what I want, or watch me burn everything she’s worked for to the ground.
I’d seen him do it before. He called it ‘team management.’
And I refused to be the knife my father held to Griffin’s throat.
