“Whatever you say.”
They drifted toward the far side of the terrace. Lantern light caught in Sloane’s hair and glowed against the side of her face.
“You were good today,” Sloane said. “Not just fast. Smart. I really enjoyed watching you drive.”
Reese leaned her forearms against the cool stone. “High praise.”
“It’s sincere,” Sloane said, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “You’re fun to watch. In a lot of ways.”
“Do tell.” That warmth settled low in Reese’s chest.
Before Sloane could respond, someone called her name. A sponsor. Sloane sighed quietly and touched Reese’s wrist. That touch was everything. So simple in nature, but intimate enough that she never wanted it to end.
Reese smiled. “Do you have to go? It’s nice out here. Just us.” The moments when it was just the two of them were turning into Reese’s absolute favorite of each week. She craved morethemtime and was becoming increasingly aware of it.
Blue eyes met hers. “I wish I didn’t. Maybe I’ll run into you later.”
“I really hope so.” Sloane turned to go, and Reese’s eyes fell to the smooth skin of her shoulder. “Sloane.”
“Yes?” she asked, turning back. The breeze lifted the loose strands of hair around her face.
“Just … enjoy your evening.”
The night fractured after that.
Reese talked. She networked. She answered questions. Laughed with her friends about why Delaney was so uniquely superstitious when it came to race days, right down to the brand of socks she wore. Time slid sideways, measured in moments instead of minutes. Sloane, from across the courtyard, lifting her glass at Reese; Sloane sending her a glance before turning back to her conversation with Veronica; Sloane leaning in close to murmur something dry that made Reese laugh before being pulled away again.
It was a jumble of very concise moments that added up to a night that had Reese pressed to her limit with pent-up desire. The ice-blue dress was doing things to her that she couldn’t name in public. She wanted her lips on Sloane’s shoulders and her hand beneath that hem. She wanted it so badly she ached. Instead, she took a deep breath.
When the reception began to wind down, and Sloane brushed past Reese on her way out, her fingers ghosted Reese’s hand, barely there, but unmistakable.
Reese closed her eyes for half a second, savoring the tiny shred of contact.
Sleep was not happening tonight.
The elevator doors slid shut behind Sloane back at the hotel. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she stepped into the quiet hallway, grateful for the silence after a night of laughing politely at everyone’s jokes and pretending she hadn’t spent every second acutely aware of Reese’s eyes on her.
She reached her door, digging through her bag for the key card. When she looked up, she stopped cold.
Reese leaned against the wall a few doors down, barefoot, her heels dangling from the loose curl of her fingers.
Well. That was certainly a sight she’d never forget. She blinked again to be sure she wasn’t a mirage.
“Not your floor,” Sloane said, heart thudding. She knew exactly what was happening, and just as clearly, that there was nothing she could do to stop it. They were an avalanche already breaking loose, too much momentum to undo now.
“No,” Reese said, pushing off the wall.
“And you lost your shoes.”
“Confession. I wear them because they look good, but I’ve never actually been a heels kind of girl.”
Sloane’s gaze dropped despite herself—long legs, painted toes, the faint sway that came from hours of smiling and a little too much champagne. “Trust me. No one would ever know.”
Reese’s smile softened. “Except you.” She took a step closer. Then another. Each one thickened the air between them. “And I have a feeling my secret’s safe.”
“What brings you by?” Sloane asked. The voice that came out barely sounded like hers.
“I figured we got pretty good at the circling-each-other thing tonight.” Reese stopped just inside Sloane’s space. “Thought maybe we could try something else.”
