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His mind was already thinking of different positions to put her into. He wanted to know so much more about her. He needed to cool his jets if he wanted this to work.
SIX
VIOLET
Violet was charmed beyond belief. She had gone to many gyms before, for the sake of her mental health, and been surrounded by men who looked like they’d been carved from stone. Women too. The gym could be an intimidating place for a person who wasn’t comfortable in their own skin. Violet was an outlier, a woman who could walk into a room crafted to honor the physical form and not feel a single itch of self-consciousness.
But that had all changed with Franco.
She stood in the elevator, eyeing her pit stains and blooms of perspiration coating her underboobs. She’d had her hair tied back for the duration of the workout, but some had come loose, fine strings of raven-black hair hanging in front of her face. She breathed heavily, her generous bust rising and falling rapidly. But it wasn’t because of the difficulty of the workout.
Franco had not only looked like a Greek god, his shoulders the shape of ripe watermelons and his traps as thick as finely cut meat slabs, he had acted with humility not only toward his own physique but in how he had treated her. It was rare for anyone, especially a man of such fame and status, to admit their wrongdoings and follow through with a repentant act.
His apology had softened her, prying open her vulnerability and sense of forgiveness. It was strange, but perhaps that went with the entire pull-of-the-fated-mate sensation.
As she lathered her body in the shower, she ruminated on the ease with which Franco lifted nearly three hundred pounds over his head.
Violet felt intrigued and serene when she dried off and dressed in a casual jean-shaded jumpsuit. She had packed it without realizing that it looked akin to the jumpsuits the pit operators wore, dipping into the shallow well of knowledge she had about racing. She combed her wet hair and tied it up into a neat ponytail, brushing excess strands out of her eyes.
She applied a bit of makeup, admitting to herself that she wanted to stand out, at least a bit, to capture Franco’s attention. She understood what he had said in the gym; the timing was severely off.
But she wanted to tease him just a little. Her tiger purred at the idea, like holding a fresh piece of meat outside the lion’s den. She bit her cherry-red lips, considering what might happen.
They met in the lobby, and Violet spotted Franco first. He wore a beige long-sleeve T-shirt with loose athletic pants … a casual but form-fitted look. He was going to be planning and training, yet he still managed to look elegant standing there in the unrelenting lights of the reception desk, a dark shadow of recently shaved stubble peppered over his strong jaw.
Violet held onto her bomber jacket for dear life, clutching at her purse with the other hand.
“Good morning again, I suppose,” she said.
Franco gazed up from his phone, a sparkle passing through the dark sea of his eyes. He slid his phone into his pocket, then walked toward the exit.
“It’s not far from here. I figured we could walk. The weather isn’t bad today.”
He spoke, facing away from her, passing through the automatic doors and into the neutrally cool day. He squinted for a moment before placing sunglasses over his eyes.
Violet thought he looked so cool, so smooth, probably without realizing it.
It was just past 7:45 when they strolled across the road to the Eden International Speedway. The parking lot was vacant beyond a few scattered cars and a handful of event trucks and food delivery. It was a whole new world for Violet, who observed the thrilled engagement of Franco’s silence as they passed through the gated entrance.
“Has this always been here?” she blurted out.
Franco shook himself from his daydreaming, gazing down at her as they moved past merchandise booths and various concession stands.
“For as long as I’ve been driving,” he said, a smile teasing his lips. “They host other motorsports here and sometimes music festivals.”
Violet nodded along, feeling humbled that he was welcoming her into his world. For the first time in her life, a part of her felt unworthy and maybe even a little guilty. He was a focused man who had worked at his art for years before she burst into his life. He had been blunt but delicate with her about why he couldn’t get involved just yet. It had made sense, yet her body and mind were telling her another tale entirely.
She had to hold off, though. She had already trusted him enough to give him that space while hovering inside the world that had been his home for ages.
The sun began to rise just as the clock struck 8:00 a.m. It warmed Violet’s resolve as they moved through layers of security, passing through the spectator area and into the pit where the drivers would climb into their carriages.
“We are going to have the meeting immediately,” Franco said as they shuffled past team members of other drivers. She was still too focused on him, her tiger craving him. “You are welcome to listen and linger or look around the track if you’d rather.”
Violet smiled at him just as he was looking down at her. Her heart clenched, knowing that his hazel delights would have sparkled if he had removed his sunglasses.
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Violet looked out over the racetrack at the concrete curves and the barbed-wire fence that separated them. It was a sport she had known about but figured it was meant for overbearing, testosterone-fueled men who never got over their teenage years. But meeting Franco had said otherwise, so when she wandered around, she did so with genuine interest.
