Chapter Twenty-Four
Victoria
I guess this is the VIP of the VIP part of the club. It’s small, intimate, and currently abandoned—save for me and Asher.
The air is so thick, you’d need a scythe to slice through the tension.
I don’t know what to say or do, so I just stand there like an idiot, staring at Asher with wide-eyes and waiting for him to make a move.
I’ve already inadvertently made my play of the night by shouting my question into the ether. Now, it’s his turn.
If he brought me here to let me down gently, I’ll never recover.
He sets the tray of shots down on the table and rounds on me.
His eyes are dark, his expression intent.
He threads his fingers through mine. It’s such a casually intimate gesture that it nearly undoes me.
Slowly, he steps forward, and I match it with a step back, until our dance ends with my back softly thudding against a cool wall.
It’s not cold enough to dim the heat blasting through me like a firestorm of biblical proportion.
I’m alone in a room with one of the most famous and gorgeous people in the world, who’s staring at me with a silent intensity that makes alarm bells blare in my head.
What is he going to do? What am I going to do?
“Ask me,” he says.
“W-what?” Jesus, I’m stuttering now?
“Stop going behind my back. If you have a question, ask it to my face.”
“Uh…” Get yourself together, Victoria. It’s hard when he’s so overwhelmingly masculine and devastatingly sexy; any moment now, I’m going to start drooling all over him.
It should be illegal for someone to be this hot, or smell this good.
Like a dark wintery forest on a cool night; pine, frozen earth, fresh-sprinkled snow.
“Ask,” he commands.
“Are you dating someone?” I squeak.
A slow, sensual smile curls his lips. “No. I’m free game.” He curls a lock of my hair around his finger and tugs playfully. His hand squeezes mine. “Who were you with that night at the restaurant?”
“My brother,” I whisper.
“Good. Are you dating anyone?”
I shake my head, stomach dropping as if I’m going over the steepest curve of an out-of-control roller coaster. “No.”
“Very good.”
I blink at least twenty times in a row. “Why?”
“Because if you were, I'd have to fight someone for the right to do this.”
His head lowers. My heart stops, and my stomach drops like it’s zero-gravity. My hand tightens over his, fingers digging into his flesh. Anxiety and excitement initiate a battle to the death inside me, trapping me somewhere between complete shock, fear, and extraordinary desire.
Asher stops when his lips are a millimeter above mine, giving me the chance to stop him or pull away. I don’t; I can’t. Instead, I make possibly the greatest mistake of my life by lifting my head and sealing my lips to his.
They’re warm, soft, and inviting, a complete contrast to his harsh and spiky personality and his otherwise marble-hard body. My free hand develops a mind of its own, rising to squeeze his biceps, which are deliciously firm.
His lips are even more delicious. A heartbeat after I give my unspoken permission, he starts moving them over mine, and I nearly die on the spot.
He’s slow, skilled, and surprisingly tender—as if he’s mindful of how skittish I am tonight.
He’s surprisingly playful, too; his tongue traces the seam of my lips, but he pulls away each time I part them to give him access, until I let out a small grunt of frustration.
He slides his hand fully into my hair, cradling my head as he finally deepens the kiss, swirling his tongue over mine in sensual, velvety rubs.
Molten heat spreads from the contact between our lips, traveling down my neck, tightening my nipples into stiff peaks, and slinking further south.
Electricity tingles over every inch of my skin, and a low, warm pulse overtakes my core.
He melds his body into mine, his grip on my hair tightening. His erection presses against my navel, and I gasp into his mouth, sliding my hand from his arm to the back of his neck, holding him even closer. He raises our intertwined hands and presses them against the wall, trapping me.
I’ve kissed and been kissed before, but never like this.
Never with such care, deliberation, or passion.
Our kiss morphs from tentative to ravenous, teeth clashing, tongues twining, any juvenile hesitance chased away by raw desire.
I can’t get enough of his minty taste sharpened by the bite of alcohol, or the feeling of being wanted like this.
I feel like I drown and get resuscitated by his lips a thousand times. This moment is what true enlightenment feels like. It’s revelation.
When we’re about to pass out, he finally pulls his lips away from mine, only to trail them across my jaw.
He catches my earlobe with his teeth and gently bites it; I nearly combust with an unabashed moan, fingers pulling his silky hair.
His lips continue an unhurried, leisurely exploration down my neck, where he briefly pauses to swirl his tongue around my pulse, which draws an even louder moan from me.
His scrape over my collarbone, and his hand releases my hair in favor of fingering the neckline of my dress.
His eyes meet mine with silent question.
Before I can respond with an enthusiastic, fuck yes, the door opens.
The heat molding me into another person disappears, chased away by the cold bite of reality as another couple stumbles into the room.
The man is unfamiliar, but the woman is Amanda. We both freeze, staring at each other. Asher turns around with a growl, then also stops cold.
Fuck, what are we doing? We’re in a nightclub in a different country, making out like rowdy teenagers in a semipublic space. We were probably about to do a whole lot more than kiss.
My cheeks burn so brightly I think I might have a fever.
“Well,” Amanda says, releasing the man she’s clutching and smoothing down her dress. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s had too much to drink.”
My jaw tightens. She thinks I’d only sneak away with Asher because my inhibitions are lowered? Does everyone think so poorly of him?
Now isn’t the time to hash it out.
“Barbie, take your boy-toy out of here,” Asher growls.
Amanda offers him a one-finger salute. “Whatever you say, jerk.” She opens the door again, ushering the man out, but catches my gaze before she disappears. “Be careful.”
A second later, she’s gone, leaving her words echoing on a loop in my head. Be careful, be careful.
What I’m doing right now is anything but careful. It’s completely careless. Kissing Asher could screw everything up, including our slowly-improving working relationship, my image on the team if anyone finds out, and my prospects of moving up in the F1 world.
What the hell am I doing?
Am I really this dumb and this desperate?
“Victoria…” Asher notices my change of mood. He releases me and steps back, his brows furrowing. “That was—”
“I have to go.” Now that his lips are no longer draining all the blood from my head and sending it to my clit, I feel like a complete idiot for coming here. I should never listen to Keith’s advice; he’ll forever be the devil on my shoulder.
“Victoria.” He takes my hand again. I stop cold, trying to think past the electricity that reignites.
“Was that… did I…” he rakes a hand through his hair, looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. “Was that okay with you?”
“Oh, god, yes,” I say, probably too quickly. “I mean, yes.” My attempt to sound more calm is completely ineffective. Fuck, I need to get out of here before I make even more of a fool of myself.
Without further ado, I offer him a wobbly smile that collapses under the weight of my anxiety and scurry out of the room.
Since Keith is the devil on my shoulder, I call Delilah as soon as I get back to my hotel room.
She’s smart, composed, and always cool as a cucumber.
I need some of her composure while dealing with the aftereffects of that kiss with Asher, which completely unraveled me.
It left me with aching nipples, soaked panties, and a head full of very inappropriate fantasies and very real fears regarding the future.
After I’ve half-shouted a rundown of the evening’s events, Delilah says calmly, “First, go splash water on your face and take some deep breaths. I can’t deal with any more of your screeching—I already have a headache.”
Okay, fair enough. I set my phone on speaker, go to the bathroom, and do just that.
When Delilah hears the water turn off, she starts speaking again.
“You’re not in any violation of the team conduct code.
Asher is not your superior. He might be perceived as such because he’s the driver and you’re the intern, but that isn’t the case—you don’t answer to him, and the hierarchy isn’t set up with drivers at the top.
They’re treated mostly as their own entities, separate from the leadership pyramid.
All of this is to say, you’re not going to get fired over this, even if the world finds out.
And, if the team tried to fire you, you could sue for millions. ”
I exhale a breath. “Okay. But I could be seen as fucking my way to the top.”
“That’s always a risk. Another tidbit in the code of conduct is that relationships between teammates are officially acknowledged when they’re shown to be serious and committed. So, if the day comes where you and Asher decide to—”
“There’s no way that’ll happen!” I screech.
“If the day comes,” Delilah repeats, her voice extra icy, “that’s when I’d go public. There’ll still be backlash, but nowhere near as much. For now, you better keep your shit under wraps.”
“Okay.” I think I’m hyperventilating. “But—Delilah—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says firmly. “Hear me on this, Victoria, you did not do anything wrong. You and Asher are obviously attracted to each other, and you acted on it. My only note is to not do it in such a public setting next time.”