“Perhaps, but do you know what you are?” he asks with an easy smile, taking a step back with my camera still in his hands. He lifts it to his eye, pretending like he’s taking a picture of me.
“Please, enlighten me. I’m dying to know what you think of me.” I hope the sarcasm is laid on just thick enough.
“You are devastatingly beautiful.” My cheeks heat in response to his words. There is fire in the way he looks at me now, heating my skin in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Can I have my camera back?” I ask and hold out my hand for him to place it there. He seems confused by my rejection as if it has never happened to him in the past.
“Yes, of course,” he says, his face falling a little as he gently places my camera in my hands.
His fingers briefly brush over mine, causing another wave of shivers to run over me. I lift my eyes to meet his, trying to see if the spark of electricity was a mutual sensation. By the way, he watches me, I can tell that it was.
“I apologize for taking pictures of your car,” I croak out, watching him lick his lips with utter fascination.
“Why did you?” he asks with an inquiring look.
“Because I love cars, and I’ve never seen a Velocitá Rossa SUV in real life. It’s magnificent,” I admit, clearly surprising him.
“It’s not mine, it’s just a rental,” he blurts out, and I nod.
He looks a bit unsure now as if I’ve completely thrown him off by not flirting back. I can’t lie. I kind of want to. He’s attractive, and once he drops the whole cocky act, he’s actually a little… sweet almost.
“It’s a hell of a rental,” I reply with a small smile, and he takes a casual step to the side so I can admire it.
“If I’d known it would attract a gorgeous woman like you, I’d have bought it instead.”
His eyes rake over my face, stopping at my lips before sliding back up to my eyes. The urge to laugh nervously almost threatens to take over, but I swallow it down well enough with a smile that probably reddens my cheeks.
“Okay then. Again, I’m very sorry about photographing your car, Mister,” I say because if I start flirting back, I’m not sure I’d leave here anytime soon.
I attempt to walk away, even when his words threaten to stop me.
“You don’t know who I am?” he starts, jogging to catch up with me while maintaining a respectful distance.
“Should I?” I open my car door and grab my camera bag to place it inside. He’s grinning at me as if he knows something I don’t.
“I guess not.” He stops for a second, watching me take off my jacket so I can be comfortable while I drive home. “Do you watch Formula One?” he asks a moment later, and I shift my eyes back to his irritatingly beautiful ones. The way his long, black eyelashes shape his eyes so perfectly is something I’ve never seen before.
It captivates all of my attention.
“I try not to,” I admit. There is no way I’m telling this stranger about the complicated relationship I have with the sport, though. “Why?” I don’t know why I ask.
“Have you ever heard of Adrian Romana?”
No, it can’t be.
My eyes trail over his face once more. Then, I notice the dirty blonde strands coming out from underneath his beanie, notice the Velocità Rossa symbol—a running horse—painted across his chest pocket area, tiny but there.
Oh my God.
It’s him.
A fresh wave of nervousness hits me, but I play it off, something I’m very good at thanks to the years of covering up my anxiety so people around me don’t notice the change in my behavior.
“No, but I’ve heard of his sister,” I say and get into my car to turn it on.
Part of me wants to leave while another part is more intrigued by him now than I was before. I’ve spoken to Formula One drivers before, but never one this young, never one that called me beautiful and looked like an angel sent from heaven.
Adrian closes my door for me, and I roll down my window so we can keep talking for a moment longer.
