Page 43 of Out of Control

I step back. His touch. It’s . . . like a drug. “A truce. That’s it. That’s what I’m—”

“A truce?” He angles his head to the side and studies me.

I swallow. “Yes. I’ve been having such a good time tonight, and it seems every time we start down this path—”

“You mean acknowledging our attraction?”

“I mean sparring over it like it’s a game to be won . . . when games always have consequences.”

“Go on.”

“It seems one of us gets our feelings hurt or walks away angry. So let’s . . . I don’t know . . . do something different.”

“Like a truce?” he asks and I nod. “And what does that entail?”

“Us talking.”

“About?”

“How about the last race? You did a great job in your first one with the team.”

“It was mediocre.”

“You all say that unless it’s a win, but everyone’s talking about how well you managed a difficult car.”

“I could’ve done better.”

“And I have no doubt that you will.”

“Why?”

“Why do I have no doubt?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a smirk. Man, I wish he didn’t smirk like that. He’s . . . irresistible.

“The fact that you were brought into Team Gravitas speaks for itself, right?”

“I guess.” But the look that flickers over his features seems agitated. Does he really hate the team that much? “I’m going to head inside, Sofia.” He shakes his head, looking resolved. Angry?

“Rossi—”

“Look, Sofia. You know how I feel about you. You know I want you. But small talk with you is making me want you more, and even though you want me, you won’t act on it.” Well, that’s the end of that short-lived truce. The problem is who could walk out any moment. We’re in a place where everyone would talk. But how do I verbalize that? “I think I prefer even footing to truces. Even footing means you at least act on what you want.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He smirks again. “Great talking to you then. Go back to Chamalet. Dance as provocatively as you want. I’ll watch. I’ll want. And I’ll remember every damn second we were together.”

He goes to walk past me. “Rossi.” Those two syllables have never sounded more desperate.

He spins.

I hesitate.

“What is it that you want this time, Sofia?”

“Don’t be angry with me. You have every right to be. I want you and that means you’re unknowingly caught in this fucked-up tug of war I have going internally, but—”

“But nothing.” He shrugs and his indifference makes my stomach twist. I’m a riot of conflicting emotions that I can’t seem to control. “I understand. Good sex can’t override . . . all of that.”