He froze. Searched her eyes. Whatever he saw there made his pupils dilate, made his breath hitch.
Then he moved.
One hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her face exactly where he wanted it. The other arm banded around her waist, pulling her in hard until her breasts pressed against his chest, hips flush, no space left between them.
For a split second she stiffened—taken aback by the sudden heat, the sheer intent in the way he claimed her mouth. Her breath caught, eyes widening against his closed ones. Then instinct took over. She melted into him, hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer as she opened for him completely. A soft, surprised sound escaped her throat as she arched into his body, meeting his hunger with her own.
His mouth was firm, deliberate, then ravenous. Lips parted hers on the first pass; his tongue slid in, stroking deep and slow at first, then faster, matching the quickening rhythm of her breath. She answered with equal need—tongue tangling with his, teethgrazing his lower lip, a quiet moan swallowed by the music and the crowd. Her hands slid up to grip his shoulders; one leg hooked instinctively around his calf, pulling him tighter. He growled low—barely audible, but she felt it vibrate through his chest.
The kiss stretched longer than it should have in public—wet, urgent, consuming. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Her lips felt bruised, slick. Jax’s eyes were nearly black, pupils swallowing the irises. His hand stayed cupped at the nape of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her.
Aria’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin felt too tight, too hot. Every nerve ending buzzed. She could still taste him—champagne, salt, want. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the sudden, insistent ache low in her belly. She was flustered—dangerously so—cheeks burning, breath uneven, fingers trembling where they still clutched his shirt.
She glanced sideways.
The girl was still filming—phone steady, mouth agape. The clip was already in the wild; she could practically see the notifications exploding.
Good.
That should drown out the sceptical comments. That should keep Min-Jae hooked. That should buy them more time.
She looked back at Jax. His expression was unreadable—jaw locked, breathing still uneven—but his hand hadn’t moved from her neck.
“That should do it,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. It came out husky, unsteady, betraying how rattled she really was.
He didn’t smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Should.”
But neither of them stepped away.
Dana’s voice cut through the tension from a few feet back—teasing, but fond. “Okay, lovebirds. Seriously. Get a room. Or at least move to the dark corner before security escorts you out for public indecency.”
Aria laughed—breathless, shaky—and finally eased back half a step. Jax’s hand slid down her arm as she did, fingers trailing until they laced loosely with hers.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again—dark, intense, no trace of the easy grin he usually wore for the cameras.
Aria still tried to steady her breathing, still felt the flush crawl across her chest and up her neck.
Whatever had just happened—it wasn’t PG-13.
???
Chapter Nine
Jax
The memory of the Vegas kiss clung to Jax like smoke he couldn’t shake, thick and persistent, curling into every quiet moment. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lips parting under his—soft, yielding, then hungry. He felt the way she’d arched into him, her small body pressing flush against his, the instinctive hook of her thigh around his leg pulling him closer. He heard the soft, needy sound she’d made when his tongue found hers, a quiet moan that had vibrated straight through him. His body remembered too—vividly. The hard press of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her through that thin dress, the slick warmth he’d felt when his hand skimmed lower. He’d spent the entire flight to Qatar hard and restless, shifting uncomfortably in the first-class seat, trying to will the ache away with deep breaths and distractions—telemetry data on his tablet, noise-cancelling headphones blasting a playlist. It didn’t work. The plane’s hum only amplified the pulse in his veins, the way his mind kept replaying the kiss like a loop he couldn’t escape.
Qatar arrived with dry desert heat that hit like a furnace blast and floodlit nights that turned the Lusail circuit into a glowing arena under artificial suns. The routine snapped back into place like nothing had happened: hand-holding in the paddockwhenever cameras were near, his arm slung loosely around her shoulders for sponsor photos, quick hugs after every session, cheek kisses timed for maximum visibility. Aria played her part flawlessly—smiling up at him with that practiced warmth, leaning into his side during walkthroughs, laughing at his quiet jokes like they were the funniest thing she’d heard all day. She gave no sign that the kiss had rattled her the way it had rattled him. No lingering glances when their hands brushed, no flushed cheeks when he pulled her close for a staged moment, no hesitation before the touches. She was calm. Professional. Oblivious.
Or pretending to be.
Jax wasn’t sure which was worse. The uncertainty gnawed at him during downtime—staring at the ceiling in his hotel room, replaying her words from that night:That should do it.Like it had been nothing more than a scene in a script. Maybe to her, it was.
Friday practice went smoothly—P5 in FP1, P4 in FP2. He climbed out of the car after FP2, helmet off, sweat dripping down his back and soaking the fireproofs under his race suit, the desert air doing nothing to cool the heat trapped against his skin. And there she was at the barriers, waiting like always. She stepped forward for the expected hug. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her slightly off the ground like routine demanded. Her body pressed against his for the usual three seconds. Soft curves moulding to him, faint perfume cutting through the sharp bite of fuel and rubber, the press of her breasts against his chest. His body reacted instantly—blood rushing south, cock twitching against the confines of his race suit, a sharp reminder of what one real kiss had done to him. He set her down fast, jaw tight, and turned away before she couldnotice, busying himself with his gloves to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
She didn’t seem to. She just smiled up at him, bright and easy. “You looked fast out there.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Car’s good.”
