Prologue
Lily
The club’s pounding bass echoed in my ears as we pushed through the revolving doors into our hotel lobby.My body was still buzzing with adrenaline from my Las Vegas Grand Prix win.Considering it was a casino, the lobby of the Venetian Hotel was relatively calm at this hour, just a few scattered guests and staff.Music from the casino floor hummed in the distance, but here in the marble-floored expanse, surrounded by elegant Greek statues, it felt almost peaceful.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Henri said, his hand finding the small of my back as we headed toward the elevator.
I looked up at him, smiling widely.“Such a gentleman.”
His lips quirked into that lazy grin that drove me crazy.“Always.”
My feet ached in my heels, the cost of spending the past three hours dancing.As my third victory of the season, this Las Vegas win had been special, with Henri coming second in his Hermes F1 car, and Georgia, my teammate, coming in third.
We made it to the elevators, and Henri pressed the call button.The doors slid open almost immediately, and we stepped inside.The sudden quiet, the enclosed space, it felt intimate after the chaos of celebrating.
I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall.Flushed cheeks, smudged eyeliner, hair wild from dancing.My black dress was slightly askew at the shoulder.
Henri stood beside me, top button undone, looking unfairly handsome for someone who’d matched me drink for drink.He’d been watching me all night with those devastating hazel eyes of his, and he was watching me now.
“Thirty-one?”he asked, his finger hovering over the button panel.
“Yup,” I confirmed, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
He pressed the button.The doors slid shut, muffling the casino floor, and finally it was just the two of us.Henri leaned against the wall, that slow smile again playing at his lips.
“That overtake on Georgia in Turn 14,” he said.“Absolutely mad.”
“Mad brilliant or mad stupid?”
“Both.”He pushed off the wall, moving closer.
The elevator jolted into motion, and I swayed slightly—whether from the movement or the champagne, I wasn’t entirely sure.Henri’s hand came to my waist, steadying me, and suddenly we were standing much closer than we were a moment ago.
Three years.Three years of stolen glances in the paddock, of text messages that had started professional before becoming good-night texts that were anything but.Three years of finding excuses to stand just a little too close in press conferences, of “it’s too complicated” and “maybe someday.”
And tonight, I’d conquered Las Vegas, and I was done ignoring the tension between us.His thumb stroked slowly against my waist, through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Henri…” I said softly.
“Oui, ma belle?” His voice had gone rough, and his other hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his.“Lily, you’re—”
“If you say drunk, I swear—”
“—incredible,” he finished.“You were incredible today.Youareincredible.”
My heart stuttered.“Henri.”
But there was no response from him, just deep longing in his eyes.He leaned forward, his lips just barely touching mine.
And then he kissed me.
Finally,finallykissed me, and it was everything I’d imagined during all those long nights on the road, alone in hotel rooms, trying not to think about him.His lips were soft at first, then gentleness gave way to hunger.I pressed closer, three years of want pouring into it, my fingers curling into his shirt as his hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back.My back hit the elevator wall, but I didn’t care about anything except the way we moved together, the way his thumb traced along my jaw, the small sound he made against my mouth when I pulled him impossibly closer.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, his forehead resting on mine.
The elevator chimed.Thirty-first floor.
Henri caught my hand, lacing our fingers together as the doors opened.We made it maybe three steps down the hallway before I pulled him back, kissing him again, pushing his back against someone’s door, not caring if anyone saw.
