“Four titles later, and I suppose you know a thing or two. But you better watch your back on the track,” she threatened with a wolfish grin that had my heart sputtering like I'd released the clutch on my car too soon. “I'm coming for that title.”
I had no doubt.
Feeling cheeky, I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear. There were a million reasons why I shouldn't do this, but the way she shifted toward me—barely perceptible, almost instinctual—sent logic out the window.
Her breath hitched. Not in a dramatic way. Not something anyone else would've caught. But I did.
“Not the only way you'll be coming for me before the end of the season,” I murmured.
I pulled back just in time to catch her lashes fluttering, the her mouth opening in silent protest.
And then that fuckingblush. Slow. Creeping up her neck. Spreading high on her cheekbones.
Jesus. That blush was worth everything.
She was not as nonchalant as she'd like people to believe. She was just good at masking her emotions and pretending she was unaffected, but I could get underneath all that with enough will and determination. Those exact attributes are what got me to where I was.
“And here I thought you were the golden boy.”
I chuckled huskily, noting her eyes dip to my mouth momentarily. “Hardly.” With a wink, I turned to leave before the moment stretched too long.
As I walked away, I couldn't help glancing back over my shoulder.Auréliewas still standing there, her arms crossed, as she tracked me. There was still a faint blush on her cheeks.
It shouldn't have made my pulse quicken or my thoughts wander to places they had no business going. But it did. The image of her standing there, pink-cheeked and flustered, burned itself into my mind.
I wondered, against my better judgment, if that blush spread everywhere.
For fuck's sake, Fraser. Get a grip.
I turned back toward the paddock, shaking off the thoughts that were already threatening to distract me. I had bigger things to focus on—like winning another championship.
But as I walked away, one thought lingered.
AurélieDuboiswas going to turn this grid upside down. And, God help me, she might turn me upside down, too. I couldn't fucking wait to see it happen.
I paused in front of Marco, who was waiting for me by the media pen with an amused look.
“What was that all about?” he muttered in a hushed tone.
I shrugged and squeezed his shoulder so we could enter the pen together. “Nothing, mate, just talking about predictions of the season.”
The media pen was a circus.It always was, cameras flashing and microphones shoved in your face as reporters clamored to get their soundbite of the day. I'd been through this drill enough times to know the script: keep it charming and don't give them anything too real to run with. That was asking for a PR nightmare.
And PR was something I'd been trained very well on, because nothing was worth rocking the boat for.
Today, though, the energy felt different. The eyes weren't all on me this time. They were on her.AurélieDubois. The newcomer. The woman. The wildcard. And the press was eating it up.
I leaned casually against a table as my turn approached, listening to snippets of other interviews. I caughtAurélie'scalm and measured voice as she battled the onslaught of questions.
“Do you think your brother's legacy made this opportunity easier for you?”
“I think my own results speak for themselves.”
“Is there added pressure being the only woman on the grid?”
“I don't see gender when I race. I see the track.”
She handled it like a pro, but I noticed the way her shoulders tensed each time a reporter pushed too far.
