I reach up, finally allowing myself to touch his hair. It curls around my fingers, as if welcoming me back. "I'm sorry about Christmas," I say softly. "About New Year's. About all of it."
"Hey," he says, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm—a gesture so unexpectedly tender, it makes my throat tight. "You're here now.We'rehere."
William brushes my cheek, then trails along my jaw. "You've been carrying everything. The team, EJ, Belforte's investment. All of it." He then traces my lower lip, the touch barely there butsending chills down my spine. "Let someone else carry you for a change. Letmecarry you. Pamper you. Support you, Violet."
I almost laugh at the impossibility of it, but the sincerity in his eyes stops me. William isn't offering empty platitudes—he means it.
"I kind of like it when you get like this," I find myself saying, as a pulse of warmth surges through my chest, still disarmed by his actions.
"Like what?" His head tilts slightly, curious.
"Caring. Soft." I slide my hands up to his shoulders, relishing the strength there beneath thin cotton. "Most people only see the reckless driver with too many tattoos, and a reputation for trouble."
"That's still me," he says, leaning closer until his forehead rests against mine. "But this is me, too. The version only you get to see."
He presses a kiss to my temple, then my cheekbone, then the corner of my mouth—each one gentle, reverent almost. His fingers thread into my hair at the nape of my neck, massaging slightly, and tension I didn't even know I was carrying begins to release. Another kiss, this one at the junction of my neck and shoulder, makes me sigh involuntarily.
"I can become a wolf around you," he whispers suddenly in my ear, his voice dropping to something darker, hungrier. "But I'm holding it in, because I want to be the gentleman you deserve." His teeth graze my earlobe, sending a sharp pulse of desire through me. "But as we both know… your office has good soundproofing, so the temptation is at its maximum..."
Heat floods my body, a flush rising from my chest to my face. The soundproofing—installed years ago to allow private conversations about driver and sponsor contracts and team strategy—suddenly takes on new significance. William's handstighten slightly at my waist, his body radiating warmth that seems to envelop me.
I’m suddenly being pulled under by the current of wanting him—a dangerous undertow in these professional waters. His lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear, and my hands clutch reflexively at his shoulders. Carefully controlled communications, responsibilities that left no room for personal need—all of it crystallizes into this moment of acute desire.
The rational part of my brain—the part that negotiates with sponsors and neutralizes rival teams—tries to remind me that we're in my office, at headquarters, surrounded by staff. That Dominic's threats still hover over us. That reconnecting with William was inevitable but should happen somewhere safer, more private.
But the part of me that has missed him—his touch, his smile, the way he sees past my carefully constructed walls—doesn't care about rational thinking. That part only registers the heat of his mouth against my skin, the strength of his hands at my waist, the familiar scent of him surrounding me like a memory come to life.
"That's tempting," I murmur against his neck, allowing myself one more moment of weakness before pulling back slightly. "But this is my office, William."
The words come out less convincing than I intended, undermined by the flush spreading across my skin, and the reluctance with which I create space between us. My hands remain on his shoulders, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer—suspended in indecision, just like everything else about us.
William's eyes darken, that familiar mischief dancing in their hazel depths. "That hasn't stopped us before," he points out, voice low and intimate. "Remember that strategy meeting thatran late? When everyone else had gone home and you bent over that desk to show me the Singapore track modifications—"
I press my palm against his mouth, cutting off words that conjure memories too vivid, too visceral for this moment. My body betrays me with an involuntary shiver, recalling exactly what happened after that particular strategy discussion.
"Stop," I whisper, though there's no real conviction behind it. "I can't think when you talk like that."
His smile forms against my palm, then he gently removes my hand, pressing a kiss to my fingers before releasing them. "Thinking's overrated sometimes."
I take a steadying breath, trying to gather the professional composure that seems to evaporate in his presence. The wood floor is solid beneath my feet, anchoring me as I step back further, putting the corner of my desk between us. Not because I don't want him—God knows that's not the problem—but because what I need to say requires distance, clarity.
"I hate to ruin things," I say, voice strengthening with each word, "but we need to have a heart-to-heart, Will." I gesture between us. "About this. About what could happen if our... time together becomes known by everyone."
His expression shifts, playfulness giving way to something more serious, more attentive. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to dismiss my concerns with another joke or reminder of our past intimacies. Instead, he leans against the edge of my desk, giving me the space I've created while keeping his focus entirely on me.
"Dominic's threats weren't subtle," I continue, running a hand through my straightened hair. "He made it very clear that he knows about us. That he's been watching. And that he wouldn't hesitate to use that information to undermine the team."
The windows behind me frame the test track, where rain has begun to fall again, drops racing down the glass like tears.
"If our relationship became public knowledge," I say, carefully selecting each word, "the board would have questions. Legitimate ones, about conflict of interest. About preferential treatment." I meet his gaze directly. "You know how the paddock works, William. The rumors would start immediately—that your position is secured through personal connection rather than talent, that team decisions are compromised by our... involvement."
William grinds his teeth slightly, telling me my words have struck a nerve. "Anyone who's seen the telemetry knows that's bullshit," he says quietly. "I earned my place here."
"Of course you did," I agree immediately. "But perception matters in this world. Especially with sponsors, with the board, with potential investors beyond Belforte. The optics of a Team Principal dating her driver..." I trail off, the reality of it sitting heavy between us.
"And Dominic knows this," William concludes, connecting the dots. "That's why he's threatening to expose us."
I nod, relieved he understands so quickly. "It's more than that, though. He specifically hinted he would leak it at the most damaging possible moment. Probably right before a race weekend, or before a major sponsorship announcement if we're lucky to score another one." I find the edge of the desk, gripping it for support. "He wants to destroy what we're building here. The team's revival. And he sees our relationship as the perfect weapon."
