She didn’t act like someone grateful just to be in the room.
And yet—there was something tightly reined about her. Something careful. He recognised it because he wore the same thing, only his was colder, sharper.
“You’re very calm,” he said suddenly.
She paused mid-note. “This is my job.”
“No.” He tilted his head. “You.”
Her eyes met his. Cool. Assessing. “So are you. When you want to be.”
A beat.
He felt it then—the strange, unwelcome pull. Not just lust.Curiosity edged with friction, the kind that made his blood run hotter. His cock twitched, thickening against the snug fabric as his mind flashed to closing the gap, pinning her against the table, testing exactly how long that calm would hold if he pressed his mouth to the soft hollow of her throat, felt her pulse jump under his tongue.
She stood abruptly, signalling the end. “We’ll keep working on this. It gets easier.”
“Does it?” His voice came out rougher than intended.
“Yes,” she said. “When you stop fighting it.”
She gathered her things and moved past him—close enough that her hip brushed his arm. The brief contact sent a jolt straight to his groin. He stayed seated, forcing himself still, refusing to react, refusing to reach.
Professional, he reminded himself. She was part of the team now. Part of the machine.
But as the door clicked shut behind her, Lucas exhaled slowly, pulse hammering in his ears, cock still half-hard and aching beneath the table.
This wasn’t going to be simple.
And for the first time since stepping into Ashworth, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to be.
???
CHAPTER FIVE
Mia
The weeks had passed in a blur of pre-season testing in Bahrain, simulator sessions, and endless briefings. By the time the team touched down in Melbourne for the season opener, Mia felt like she’d lived three lifetimes in the paddock already.
The heat hit Mia first.
Melbourne in March was a slap after London’s grey dampness—sharp sunlight bouncing off tarmac, air thick with jet fuel, anticipation, and the low roar of engines being tested somewhere distant. She stepped off the team shuttle at the airport arrivals curb, tugged her blazer off immediately, and draped it over her arm as the Ashworth group moved with practised efficiency: bags grabbed, credentials checked, cars waiting.
Race mode. Already.
Lucas walked a few paces ahead, sunglasses on, shoulders squared, cutting through the small crowd of fans and media like this chaos was his natural element. Like the noise and expectation fed him.
Don’t romanticise him,she told herself.He’s still a nightmare off-track.
The first media obligation was locked in barely two hours after landing: a breakfast radio slot with a popular Melbourne station. Casual, local-flavoured, meant to make drivers seem approachable before the serious paddock press kicked in onThursday afternoon. Claire had flagged it as low-stakes warm-up—perfect for testing Lucas’s preparation.
Mia had drilled him on the flight: Australians aren’t that different from Kiwis or Brits. Think Jax—lean into self-deprecating humour, laugh at yourself first, never punch down. He’d nodded, distracted, already mentally at the track.
She stood just off to the side in the small studio setup at the hotel conference room, notes tucked under her arm, reading the rhythm: the hosts’ easy energy, the quick back-and-forth. It felt familiar. Comfortable. The interview started strong—jet lag jokes, heat complaints, laughs all round. Her shoulders eased, just a fraction.
Then the host tossed in a light one about Aussies being laid-back.
Lucas smirked.
