This man was a menace. Temptation in human form.
If there was a God, He wanted me to sin.
My legs shifted again. The ache was unbearable now. Hot and steady and dangerous. Like every nerve ending had decided this wasthe hill to die on.
Then I thought about slipping my hand between my thighs. Just for a second.
Absolutely not. Be serious.
But that dangerous, traitorous ache between my legs said,Just once.Just a little. Just enough to take the edge off.
I set the phone down, still angled so I could see it.
My hand slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts, fingers brushing over my already damp panties.
Fuck.
He'd said my name at the bar. He'd played with my hair. He'd let me touch him and—no.I came to my senses and yanked my hand out of my shorts as shame crept in.
I launched my phone across the bed like it had personally offended me. That was something I used to do, before this sport made him unavoidable.
This was a disaster. I was a disaster. I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket up over my face, groaning.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We are not doing this today.
Because next week, the season would begin. I was facing enough scrutiny. There was enough doubt on my role and I still had to provemyself in this sport.
There couldn’t be distractions. Not now. Not even for Callum Fraser. No matter how good his abs looked in low-rise sweats.
Traffic was hell.Even with the police escort, the crowds were insane. Paparazzi and reporters swarmed, hungry for a glimpse into the so-called glamorous life ofF1.
The buzz of the entire paddock hit me the moment I stepped out of the car. The air was thick with anticipation, the energy almost tangible as team personnel darted betweenmotorhomesand camera crews set up their shots. The first race of the season was always like this—loud, chaotic, and as fucking electric as a live wire.
I wondered whatAuréliethought of all the commotion. If she'd like it, if she was accustomed to it between her racing career and her brother's, or if she found it bothersome.
I hadn't seen her in over two weeks. Not since theafter-partyin Bahrain, when she'd walked away with that parting shot I'd been replaying more times than I cared to admit. It wasn't just what she'd said, or how her hand had brushed my shoulder. It was also how she regarded me with little more than bored curiosity, the fucking fire in her eyes that hinted at just how dangerous she could be—both on and off the track.
And then there was the follow request last week.
When I saw her name pop up on my private account, I couldn't accept it fast enough. The idea that she'd searched for me, scrolledthrough my feed, tapped like—it did something to me that I didn't have words for.
And yes, I followed her personal account back, loving the private view into her life a little too much. Her public socials had always been a little provocative with shots of her in various bikinis and in various party locales, but her private account? It would be downright scandalous to the world ofF1.
I may or may not have jerked myself off to a few of those photos... Okay, I definitely did.
But now, as I moved through the paddock, I wasn't sure what I'd say to her when I saw her again. Not that it mattered—I was a professional, and had been my entire life. And she… well, she was my colleague now. Nothing more.
“Fraser!” Marco's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He jogged over, his grin as cocky as ever. “Media pen in ten. Ready to face the circus as the Vanguard dream team?”
“Always,” I said, smirking, feeling the Australian heat beat down on us. “Though I think they're more interested inDuboisthis week.”
He raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, my attention snagged on none other than the woman herself.Auréliestood a few meters away, her straightened hair catching the sunlight as she listened to one of the PR reps. Dressed in herLuministeam gear, her expression was calm and composed. In broad daylight, she was glowing. Tan, poised, light makeup adorning her features. Fuckinggorgeous.
God, I needed to pull it together.
“I think she'll be the focus all season,” Marco said, pulling me back.
We chatted about grip levels and tire choices, pretending we weren’t both painfully aware of the tension crackling between us. But when I glanced at her again, unable to resist the urge any longer, I realized something was off.
