Page 146 of Off the Grid

An idea that was so out of the blue but that felt so perfectly right. There will always be another gala, but there will never be another chance to distract Riggs, to give him the time and grace to have a quick reprieve from all the pressure surrounding the upcoming Suzuka race.

So here I am with a plan in place, nerves present, and excitement bubbling up.

It’s ridiculous, really. The man has seen me naked from every angle imaginable.

So why when I’m dressed to the nines am I nervous for him to see me like this?

Because he never has.

After looking both ways down the hall, I draw in a fortifying breath, and then knock on the door of his room.

He opens the door swiftly and the moment he sees me says, “You’re not my driver . . .” But it’s the widening of his eyes and the quick, audible intake of air he emits when he sees me that has me preening ridiculously.

“Hi,” I say, suddenly shy.

“Hi? You can’t just stand there and say hi when you knock on my door dressed like that and expect me to be able to speak. I mean, Camilla . . .” He twirls his finger to prompt me to turn around, and I do. The low whistle that follows has a smile turning up the corners of my lips. “Holy fucking shit. I’m speechless. I mean, other than saying holy fucking shit, I’m speechless.”

I know I look good. Is that conceited to think?

After six years of my public Camilla Moretti uniform, I think I deserve the right to think that. And by Riggs’s reaction, he thinks the same way.

My dress is a deep red. It’s formfitting with spaghetti straps, a sexy but not too revealing neckline, and falls just above my knees. My heels are nude, my hair is up, and my makeup is there but a muted natural.

I debated doing this. The dress. The surprise I have in store for him. But I figured if there is any time to get his mind off the day-to-day and what’s coming up this weekend, it’s right now.

Plus, the look on his face is too priceless to have not seen.

“You like?” I ask coyly as I take in everything about him in his classic black tuxedo. The tailored fabric. The broad shoulders filling it out. The way the collar hugs his neck. How goddamn devastating he is in it.

“Baby, I more than like. If I wasn’t waiting for my driver to come take me to the gala right now, I’d pull you in here, lock the door, and show you just how much I like.”

I grin. Why does his praise feel so good to hear? It’s ridiculous, but it does.

“Well, about that. Your driver isn’t coming.”

“What do you mean he’s not coming?”

“Something came up and as far as everyone knows, you have a sudden, undeniable stomach bug.”

He eyes me. “I do?”

“You do.”

“What’s going on here?”

“You’re coming with me.” I take his hand and try to lead him down the hall, but he hesitates.

“Gasket?”

“No one is here. The others staying here for the even have already left for the gala. I might have a lookout.” I wink. “It’s just you. It’s just me. And a car waiting to take us somewhere.”

“Camilla—”

I put my finger to his lips. “Shh. Trust me.”

He gives me one more long, disbelieving stare, but he follows me when I start walking again.

An hour and one helicopter ride later, Riggs stares at me as the aircraft flies off into the sunset and leaves us atop a hill in the outskirts of Champagne.