My stomach bottoms out. Why is he making this harder than it already is? He’s screwed too if word gets out. ‘Jack?—’
He leans so close his heat radiates onto the side of my face. ‘Meet me outside the bathroom in a couple of minutes.’ Before I can argue, he fades into the crowd.
Did that just happen? My every nerve being on fire would suggest so. It’d be easier to take this back to his hotel, but there’ssomething so delicious about staying. Taunting, forbidden fruit. The promise of release. I never bend the rules. Would it be so bad to bend them once?
With my heart in my mouth, I make my way through the hordes of sweaty dancers to the bathroom. He’s not waiting outside. I’m about to go searching when my arm’s tugged towards a little storage area. It’s not the most private, but I don’t have time to question it before I’m backed against the wall and Jack’s lips are on mine. He tastes of beer and I lap it up.
Greedy hands find my legs and hoist me in the air. I melt around him, covering every part of his body I can. We fit so neatly together. His hardness is right where I want it if only there weren’t three layers of fabric separating us. I grind my hips and he tenses.
‘Now now, no need to play dirty.’ His eyes are the darkest I’ve seen them.
I flutter my eyelashes. ‘Who, me?’ I do it again.
His kiss is savage, all tongue and desperation. He clutches my rear towards him so he’s locked tight against my centre. It would be nothing to tilt my hips. I’m pretty sure I could get off just doing that.
He skims his thumb across my swollen lower lip. ‘You’re too much for me, Miss Roberts.’
As much as I’d love to stay right here, teasing us both to oblivion, reality slowly slips into focus. It’s too risky. He’s too well-known.
Ignoring the throbbing between my thighs, through a pained out-breath I force myself to say, ‘We should get back.’
He rubs his nose against mine and it’s so wholesome it makes my heart hurt. He sighs. ‘Yes ma’am.’
Jack rejoins the party first, and by the time I arrive at our table, his mood’s done a complete one-eighty. He’s muttering toGeorgie, posture rigid, jaw clenched. I’m too far away to hear and their hushed conversation doesn’t quite beckon me over.
‘I suppose Micah does come to parties,’ Étienne remarks in French, polishing off his glass. Ah, that explains it.
I thrust a finger at him. ‘You owe me one million euro!’ At our first afterparty together in Bahrain, he promised me one million euro if Micah ever came out. Looks like today’s my lucky day.
Hepffts. ‘I wasn’t serious.’
‘I’d like it as a Maison Margiela gift card, or cash. Whichever’s easiest.’
In the corner of my eye, Jack’s hand movements are sharp. He’s pointing, lecturing, throwing his arms in the air. I’ve never seen him so wound up. I’m partly putting it down to alcohol; it can’t all be Micah. He’s nowhere near us. He’s talking to a friend, minding his own business, drinking what looks like Coke through a straw.
‘You know, in the drivers’ parade today, he asked me if you were single,’ Étienne says, mouth downturned like he’s just shared semi-interesting gossip and not a giant bombshell.
I instantly sober up.‘Micah?’
‘I know.’
Jack failed to mention that. He definitely knows – the paddock grapevine’s relentless. Could it have anything to do with why he was so aggressive on the opening lap today? He almost clipped Micah’s front tyre, and he didn’t need to be that close.
Micah’s just playing another mind game. Nowhere during our Silverstone interview was I under the impression I was anything more than press to him. I puked, for crying out loud. Jack can see right through him, can’t he? Time to find out because Jack’s headed our way. Correction: my way, since Étienne’s slipped away to wingman Kurt.
‘What the fuck’shedoing here?’ Jack seethes.
Best to play dumb. ‘He’s alright. He’s not doing anything wrong.’
He huffs a black laugh. ‘He’salwaysdoing something wrong.’
‘Let’s just leave him?—’
‘He asked about you during the drivers’ parade.’ The way he says it sets me on edge, like he couldn’t imagine why.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Wondered if you were seeing anyone. I’ve half a mind to punch his lights out.’
