“I love you too,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “So fucking much. More than anything.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Best crazy idea you ever had.”
“We,” he corrects immediately, brushing his nose against mine. “Best crazy ideaweever had.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and when he kisses me it’s soft and slow and sweet. “We.”
CHAPTER 24
JACK
Sunlight streams through the windows, warm on my face, and the first thing I’m aware of is Lark completely wrapped around me. One leg thrown over mine, her arm across my chest, her face buried against my neck where I can feel her breath, warm and even, against my skin. Her hair is everywhere—this wild tangle of dark silk spread across the pillow and my shoulder.
I just lie here soaking it in. Her body pressed against mine, solid and real. Her peaceful breathing. Even in sleep her fingers curl loosely against my ribs, like she needs to be touching me. Outside I can hear birds calling to each other and the faint sound of water from the stream nearby.
And I’m realizing something that should probably terrify me but doesn’t: I could do this every morning for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. Never want anything different. This right here, waking up with Lark in my arms, is enough. More than enough.
When did I become this person? The guy who thinks about forever with one woman? Part of me wants to believe it’spossible. That I can have this and racing. That I won’t fuck it up like I fuck up everything else eventually.
Nobody ever made me want to try before. The idea of commitment always felt like something to run from. But Lark… Lark changes everything. She makes me want things I didn’t know I was missing.
She stirs against me, making a soft sound. Her leg tightens around mine and her hand spreads flat against my chest. I’m already getting hard just from the warmth of her body pressed against mine, from knowing we’re both still naked under these sheets.
I run my hand down her spine slowly, feeling every curve. My fingers trace lower, over her hip, squeezing slightly. I can’t get enough of touching her.
She makes that sound again, this pleased little hum, and shifts closer. Pressing herself more firmly against me. Her eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the bright sunlight. She blinks a few times, confused for a second, and then she looks at me. A slow smile spreads across her face, sleepy and soft and so beautiful.
“Creeper,” she mumbles, snuggling closer against my neck, her voice still thick with sleep. “Watching me sleep like some kind of stalker.”
“I can’t help it,” I say, pushing hair out of her face. “You’re too fucking pretty to look away from.”
She lifts her head slightly to look at me, eyes still half-closed but clearly pleased.
“Flatterer,” she says, stretching against me deliberately, pressing her whole body against mine. “Trying to get in my pants with your sweet talk?”
“You’re not wearing any pants,” I point out, my hand sliding down to grip her bare ass. “So I’d say I’m already there.”
She laughs, low and a little husky. “Fair point.”
“You know, last night you made me promise to make you breakfast this morning,” I say, even though getting out of this bed is the last thing I want to do right now.
“You did,” she agrees, but her hand is sliding down my stomach now, lower, and her eyes have that look in them that makes my mouth go dry. “But that can wait.”
“Yeah?” My hand tightens on her hip.
“Yeah.” She shifts, pushing me onto my back and climbing on top of me in one smooth motion. The sheet falls away completely and she’s naked and beautiful above me, her hair falling around her face, and I forget how to form words. She grins down at me, wicked. “I have a better idea.”
Saying goodbye to Lark at the Banff cabin, knowing she was heading back to Dark River while I flew to São Paulo, Brazil, was harder than I expected. But this is the job. This is what I signed up for.
The Interlagos circuit is one of my favorites—challenging corners, unpredictable weather. I spent all day today in the garage and simulator, going over race strategy scenarios with the engineers, reviewing telemetry data from Friday’s practice sessions. As a reserve driver, I need to know every detail of Davis’s and Luca’s setups in case I have to jump in the car. It’s not likely, but it’s my job to be ready.
These race weekends are always the same mixture of the best and the worst. Best because I’m here, in the paddock, surrounded by the sport I love. The smell of racing fuel, the sound of engines screaming down the straight, the energy of a Grand Prix weekend building, this is where I belong. This is home in a way nowhere else has ever been.
Worst because I’m so close to it and yet I can’t race. I’m watching from the garage instead of being in the car. Watching Davis struggle to extract pace from a Ferrari that I know I could put on the podium. Eighteen months of this. Eighteen months of being right there but not quite there.
But if Thomas is right about what he wants to discuss tonight, maybe that’s about to change.
São Paulo at night is cool, the air almost pleasant after the dry heat of the day, nothing like the mountain cold I left behind in Canada. The restaurant Thomas picked is in Jardins, one of those places with white tablecloths and waiters who move like they’re performing ballet, tucked into a quiet street away from the chaos of Avenida Paulista.
