Chapter Two
MASSIMO WISHED HE really could put the pedal to the metal and floor it somewhere with her.
The bad racing banter had gotten worse and worse but he’d relished every silly pun and he didn’t want it to stop now.
Which it would—instantly—if she knew who he really was.
The lack of light saved him. Bought him more time. More intimacy.
He’d almost admitted it but she’d assumed he was a courier and he’d not corrected her.
He’d not lied. But he felt uncomfortable.
Except if he confessed all now, she would be furious; she’d want to know why and how and they were both too tired to deal with that discussion.
He’d tell her nearer the end of the flight.
Yeah, he was a selfish jerk, but there was no point in making the next few hours a complete awkward misery.
‘It doesn’t seem as if that light’s going to come back on,’ she murmured. ‘This really is a poor girl’s private plane.’
‘A what?’
‘My team teased me with that when I told them I was flying cargo, but I think it’s great.’
It was extremely different to Massimo’s private jet. He had a decent sofa on there on which they could stretch out together and sleep. Or not sleep. They could—
What the hell? He mentally berated himself. The woman wanted peace and solitude, not a leering jerk invading her personal space.
‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ she whispered, before yawning.
He leaned closer, eager to hear anything she wanted to share, especially something secret. ‘What?’
‘Canada was my first full race weekend with the team.’ She spoke soft and slow, sounding disappointingly sleepy. ‘I’m not the wheel gun-blazing super-pit-crew queen I made myself out to be.’
Yeah, but he understood the need for some bravado, a veneer of quiet confidence to hold her own.
P1 Global was a tough enough nut to crack without the additional gender imbalance she faced.
‘Well, maybe not yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long before you are.
’ He meant every word. She was a true enthusiast, living her dream life with the job she’d long wanted. ‘Was it everything you’d hoped it?’
‘And then some.’ She yawned again. ‘It was amazing.’
He sat in the darkness, enjoying the satisfaction in her voice. Not wanting to ruin her moment, or for the moment to end, he played ignorant and couldn’t resist asking. ‘Where’s the next race?’
He waited for her to answer. But there was silence.
‘Lily?’ He winced, realising he’d used her name when he shouldn’t know it.
But despite that mistake, she still didn’t answer. He leaned close enough to see her face and saw she’d fallen asleep. Just like that.
He sat back, oddly miffed. Women didn’t fall asleep in his presence.
They flicked their hair. They flirted. They scrambled to grasp and hold his attention.
And yes, he was spoilt because of it. He was also jaded and untrusting.
He avoided social media like the plague.
Avoided anything social like the plague, knowing people wanted anything and everything from him—but not actually him.
He only attended work events with elite-level sponsors now—so spending twenty minutes not being sucked up to, not flattered or basically frisked for money, but being treated as an ordinary guy was weird.
It hadn’t happened since he was eight years old and finally pulled into the Hearnshawe family fold.
Her manner towards him would change once she knew.
Everyone changed when they realised who he was.
It was unbelievably nice to be anonymous for a few minutes.
He wanted more of the light banter and laughter.
He wanted more of her secrets. He wanted more of her palpable excitement and joy when talking about being at a race weekend. He fully felt the same thrill.
She wasn’t a threat to Emiliano. She’d been adamant about her disinterest in any drivers—certainly not one four years younger than her and still a teenager.
She’d had the driver faults nailed. They were all arrogant, egotistical, single-minded.
They had to be. But she was driven, too.
Making it as a mechanic to P1 Global was a serious achievement.
She’d meant it when she’d said she’d worked too hard to mess it up.
Which made him inclined to believe her about everything, including the part about wanting to be placed first.
That wasn’t something he could ever offer anyone. For him, the company would always come first. He owed that to his father.
But Lily was engaging and gorgeous and no wonder his cousin had been hanging on her every word earlier today.
He’d been an overly suspicious idiot, but he’d fix it.
He’d confess—to a degree—and step back. Though he would insist Emiliano be kept away from her; the kid needed to concentrate.
He’d filter the instruction via Shane rather than antagonising his cousin directly.
He breathed out the niggle of guilt and settled lower into his seat.
He might as well rest now. Except her scent enveloped him; her words and passion lingered in his mind.
Refreshing. Bewitching. Beautiful. Maybe no threat to Emiliano, but a terrible temptation to him.
No. He didn’t get tempted. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would tell her who he was the second they woke.
Heaviness gradually invaded his limbs. He felt an overwhelming sense of peace and well-being descend like a warm weight upon him.
He blinked drowsily and realised there was an actual weight.
She’d slumped sideways, her head pressed against his biceps.
The armrest between them was digging into his ribs; it had to be doing the same to hers.
He roused himself enough to carefully push her upright.
She didn’t stir as he slowly lifted the armrest, making their seat a double.
She still didn’t rouse. He was ruefully reminded of how unaware she was of him.
He could just make out her features—her turned-up nose, the full pout of her lips, her delicate, high cheekbones.
She was even prettier than he’d imagined from that video clip.
Only now, to his infinite regret, she didn’t slump back towards him.
The banked-up tiredness from the past few weeks hit full force.
He couldn’t remember why he’d even boarded this damned plane anymore.
All he knew was that it was dark and warm and he was wrapped in her lightly fragrant scent.
He shifted and she tumbled close again. He froze for a moment, then gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, keeping his hand above the small blanket.
Not copping a feel but getting them both comfortable.
He carefully stretched out, closed his eyes again and let her softness melt his muscles—determined to suppress the desire stirring low in his body.
He would sleep so very soon. In this last second, he would enjoy these few moments of innocent intimacy with a stranger.
He would forget who she was. Who he was.
In the dark, with the low hum of the engines lulling them, nothing mattered anymore.
Drowsily, almost unconscious, he pulled her closer, absurdly comfortable despite the bare-bones surroundings.
And for the first time in forever, he fully relaxed.
Lily woke with a feeling of supreme comfort, realising she was pressed against solid, breathing security.
Her hand was splayed on his abs and her breathing was in sync with the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.
She would die of mortification at being all over him like a vine if it weren’t for the fact that both his arms were wound around her—one heavy across her shoulder, the other stretched over her waist and resting on her hip.
Holding her close. Safe. Thus cocooned, Lily was warmed through to the bone, every muscle within her lax.
The humming plane engine provided a sound screen, adding an additional layer of privacy to the velvety dark, sensual sanctuary already enshrouding them.
She had no idea what time it was nor how long they had left in the air, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this. Tenderly. Intimately. Fiercely.