I startle, turning away from the ledge where I’ve been watching the sun begin to set.
He looks dapper in his dark suit. He forwent a tie and left the top few buttons of the crimson dress shirt open.
A thrill shoots through me, though there are nerves there, too, as I rush toward him.
“What if I stayed?” It’s all I’ve thought about over the last few hours. My desire to stay. My certainty that he wants this, too.
I shuffle closer, stepping into his personal space, fully expecting him to curl himself around me.
He hovers, that same hesitation I clocked earlier swimming in his dark eyes. But then he captures my chin and tips my head back.
My heart flip-flops. But he doesn’t make a move to kiss me.
Instead, he releases a shuddering breath and gives an incremental shake of his head. “That’s not an option, I’m afraid.”
I knew he’d be too logical about this. That’s why I’ve already concocted a plan.
I drape my arms around his neck, slinking closer. “What if I checked into the hotel tonight and used the room as home base? That way I can make sure I’m seen in the lobby. But then each night…” I waggle my eyebrows, hopeful that he’ll see the vision.
He grimaces. “I can’t allow you to do that, angel. Not only would it be misappropriation of company resources, but it would be too risky for your career.”
Wait. What?
I stagger back, genuinely stunned by his outright rejection. Since when has he cared about company resources in the context of our relationship? After everything that’s transpired this week…
I press my hands to my head, fighting like hell to regroup. To make sense of his words. And to keep myself calm. “What do you mean it would be too risky for my career? How does any of this affect my business?”
He swallows audibly. “I wasn’t referring to your business. I was talking about your future in Formula 1.”
I deflate, calming my breathing and recalibrating. Slipping my hands into the deep pockets of my paper bag shorts, I shuffle a few steps closer once more. “I don’t care about a career in Formula 1.” It’s a bold statement, but it’s 100 percent true. “I only took this job so I could make extra money and travel as planned. But now…”
I reach out to brush a few loose strands of hair off his face.
He shifts back. The move is slight, but it’s enough to rebuff my advance.
Heart stopping, I gape at him. As I take him in, I note the stiffness of his posture and the way he’s balled his hands into fists at his sides.
With a huff, he shakes his head, once again focusing on a spot just past my shoulder.
Why won’t he look at me?
“We can’t even be seen together in public, Evangeline. That’s not fair to you,” he says, falling back on the tired line I thought we’d moved past. “You deserve to be cherished all the time, without risk or reservation.”
This conversation is giving me whiplash. When it comes to the optics of this relationship, am I supposed to be more concerned with my pseudo-career or with what I allegedly deserve?
Steeling my spine, I plant my hands on my hips. “What about what I want?”
He narrows his eyes, the usually warm brown irises colder than I’ve ever seen them. At least he’s finally looking me in the eye.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You’re standing here telling me what I deserve. I’m telling you directly, without conditions, what I want. This is it.” I lift both hands in a helpless shrug. “I don’t care about working in Formula 1, and I don’t care about what people might say or think when they learn about our relationship. I just want you.”
Tension crackles between us, but it isn’t the warm, tingly kind I’m so used to when I’m facing off with this man.
This is different.
This is… iniquitous.
