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“I needed the extra money,” I growl.
“Oh, I would pay you a thousand dollars to cheer for me as a lobster,” he chortles as I roll my eyes. I realize this is the first time I’m seeing Aaron LeBeau laughing. He’s usually so intense and in control.
“I really can’t figure you out, Elle.” Our eyes connect briefly before I turn my face away, not trusting myself from plunging into the azure-blue of his eyes. “The night certainly went an unexpected way.”
“You can’t have it all, Aaron,” I tease him.
But when he wets his full lips with his tongue, I instantly regret my comment. I remember my ex saying he used to like that I was so docile. Not anymore. At least not with Aaron. The hunter is back and wants to activate my horny—yet feisty—emotional state.
“I can. Don’t confuse my respect for you last night with me withdrawing from the race.” He approaches me, and I gasp, knowing I’m the race. “I need you to be fully conscious the day I thrust my cock inside you, because trust me, it’ll be something worth remembering, Elle.” His confidence and bluntness should give me the ability to take a pit stop from whatever this is, and yet I can’t help but lose myself into the abyss of his soul. His fingers travel the length of my arm, to my neck, to stop at my chin. “You know us, it will happen.”
“It won’t,” I mumble, probably trying to convince myself more than him. “You had your chance.” Even a man who likes a challenge as much as Wolf will not push to conquer me if he knows it’s a dead end. And I need him to believe that for my self-preservation.
Our moment is interrupted when a man barges into Aaron’s suite. “Aaron, we need to talk about what happened—” He stops at the sight of us—halfway undressed, a guilty expression on our faces.
I recognize that man. He’s Mattias Longfoard, the CEO of Aaron’s racing team. He’s known to be an exigent man and a figure of respect and power in the Formula 1 industry. He might be sixty years old with long gray hair, but he is an Italian shark. Longfoard has led the Amorino F1 racing team to dominate the past ten seasons, six of which they finished first. Four of them won by Wolf.
“Fuck, Mattias. I—” Aaron curses, but Longfoard stops him by raising his hand, expressionless. He leaves his suite, shaking his head, and grumbles in a language I don’t know.
Wolf storms after him in the hallway and closes the door behind. I feel like an outsider. An outsider who shouldn’t be here. I gather my things quickly, looking for my blue dress and my leather jacket. I rush toward the bathroom to see my reflection in the mirror—god, I look like a mess. My mascara has dropped, forming black circles under my eyes; the alcohol has made my golden skin look pale, my hair messy. I dress quickly and check my phone, The Wicked Witch—aka my boss—has left me five messages asking about the article. And I don’t have enough for it. I need more than an anecdote, I need to unravel who Wolf is. I tap to reply, but my phone battery dies.
Fuck. I leave my cell phone number on Aaron’s bed with a thank-you note. I hope he’ll get the memo to call me for the article. He’s my last hope. I rush to the elevator, praying it will open quickly. I glance at Wolf arguing with Longfoard in the hallway. I’m such a coward to leave like this.
My heart is bouncing, my nerves are shaking. Please, hurry. I’ve been a supporting character my whole life, and then suddenly I’m cast to play the main character. The heroine. It’s too much for me. A rush of inexplicable and contradictory feelings is traveling throughout my body. Fear and excitement, a guilty and liberating adrenaline storming into me. I enter the elevator and push thezerobutton.
I inhale, closing my eyes for a second, dazed by the crazy hours I just experienced. When I look up, I see Aaron standing in front of me like a vision. We stare at each other, losing ourselves in the moment, memorizing each other’s features. I mouth to him I’m sorry, feeling ashamed at running away. I believe another man would have been mad or would have forced me to stay, complained about my actions, but he curls his lips into a dangerous smirk, as if he could read me.
“This is just the beginning, Miss Monteiro.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. LeBeau?”
“No. It’s a promise.”
The elevator doors close.
My heart races.
… Breathe. I need to breathe.
The right word
I readjust myself during the elevator ride, looking at my reflection in the mirrored glass. I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear before caressing my neck with the tips of my fingers, remembering Aaron’s touch on my skin. The carnal passion. The lust. The need. I put my black leather jacket on, to notice that it isn’t mine, judging by the red bands on the side and the cut—it’s Aaron’s. For a moment I simper; this jacket represents him. Powerful. Daredevil. Rebellious. The opposite of me. His words haunt my mind…It is just the beginning.I’m certainly just a game for him. A race he has to win. A flag he has to take. Nothing more.
I stride into the lobby. I need to head back to my hotel as fast as possible. But my plans are compromised and the memory of my night with Aaron vanishes when I hear a voice I know way too well calling me out. I’m praying that I am wrong, but when I look back,heis here standing behind me. Stephan, faking a smile as he scans me from head to toe. His mother is shaming me, even if she’s talking on the phone. She doesn’t even bother to greet me from where she is. I feel like a virus from which she needs to keep a safe distance. Felicia Walton, or as I call her moray Eel, is the classical Upper East Side wife. She lives only for the 4G’s: Gold, Gossips, Galas, and misoGynist values.
“Elle. Seeing you twice in less than twenty-four hours, how interesting.” Stephan lets out a dry laugh. “You’re still wearing the same clothes as last night.”
I tighten my fists, hiding my discomfort with a proud smile. “It’s not any of your concern, Stephan.” I close Aaron’s jacket on my chest and peek at the side. I got this.
“Oh, my sweet…”
I swallow, and my pulse accelerates.Don’t call me that.“I’m not your sweet,” I articulate, but my lips are trembling.It’s been almost a year, Elle, don’t let him get to you.
His vampiric gaze meets mine. I want to run away, but my legs are glued to the floor. I know what he is going to say, what he is going to do. He’s manipulative and vicious. I can’t let all the work I’ve done to rebuild myself fall apart, all the confidence I’ve gained fall into ashes.
“I saw you dancing with Aaron LeBeau.” A sardonic smile spreads on his face as he approaches me. “I can’t believe you fucked him. Didn’t take you for the kind to open your legs so easily.” The whisper of his voice is like a blade. He takes a step closer to me. No. Don’t. My breath sharpens, my heartbeat increases…I don’t want to feel like nothing.Not again. I need to escape him.
My lips open, but I’m left with the incapacity to respond. He grips my wrist, seizing me hard, yanking me closer to him so I can smell his nauseating breath. “I should have known that sooner, treat you like a one-night stand like he did. That way I wouldn’t have been bored to death in bed by you.” I close my eyelids, thinking about all the therapy I had, his words bleeding me, making me feel worthless. Broken. Undesirable. “You know it wasyourfault, my sweet.”
