“Have I?” Her tone was light, but the hard set of her jaw said otherwise. “I thought I was just here to fill my brother's shoes.”
“That's what everyone thinks,” I said, leaning back against the bar. “But I've seen you race. You're not here because ofÉtienne. You're here because you're really fucking good.”
For a moment, surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by a guarded expression. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It was,” I said, my voice softer. “But you know as well as I do, talent only gets you so far in this sport.”
“True,” she said, her lips curving into a sly smile. “But luck favors the prepared.”
I couldn't help but laugh. “And are you prepared for this?”
“More than you know.”
Something shifted in the air between us, an unspoken tension that felt like the moment before the lights went out at the start of a race. She was different from anyone I'd met in this world—sharp, self-assured, and completely immune to my usual charm. It was infuriating. And intoxicating.
“If I'm being honest, I've been curious about you for years.”
She hummed. “Curious how?”
I smirked, setting my glass down. “You're one of the only women to make it this far inmotorsport. That's impressive. And you've got talent—raw talent. It's hard not to notice.”
For the first time, her guarded expression softened. “I appreciate that,” she murmured. Her fingers continued tracing the rim of her glass—distracting in a way I didn't want to name.
Because if I did, I'd never get it out of my head.
“But let's get one thing straight,” she continued, voice smooth. “I'm not here to be anyone's distraction. I've worked too hard for that.”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” I said, my own voice low and a tad suggestive. Maybe a little dark and teasing. “But you should know, distractions go both ways.”
Her lips parted, a flicker of surprise crossing her pretty face before she quickly masked it.
Then, slow. Calculated. A tilt of her head, a half-smile that shouldn't have had my heart slamming against my sternum the way it did. “Well,” she mused, lifting her drink. “Here's to not being distracted.”
We clinked our glasses together, my eyes locked on hers like a damn lifeline. “I'll drink to that.”
Then, before I could say another word, she knocked back the last ofher drink. “You're staring, Fraser,” she whispered, and I swear I stopped breathing. She was teasing me in a knowing way, like a fucking cut from a dagger, disguised as a caress.
Heat crept up my neck.
No.
No, no. This was not good.
Auréliestood, graceful as ever. She was short, but at eye level with me as I remained seated. I raised my eyebrows, not responding to her comment, simply running my tongue over my lower lip.
Which she watched. Intently. Fuck.
Instead of leaving, her fingers dragged over my shoulder, lingering, pressing just enough to sear through my shirt and straight into my fucking bloodstream, deliberate enough to send ashock wavestraight down my spine. She leaned in close, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin.
“Thanks for the chat, Fraser,” she murmured, voice low and teasing. “But be careful. You might just end up the onedistracted.” Then she stepped back, her wry grin just visible beneath the dim glow of the bar lights, a flicker of something playful in the hazel depths of her eyes.
And then, she disappeared into the crowd.
I stared after her, watching her hips sway and hair swing, my pulse hammering against my throat, my body caught in a stunned limbo between frustration and something far more dangerous. My grip tightened around my glass.
That damn woman. She had no idea what she'd just started.
Or maybe… maybe she did.
