Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Shower? Check.
Makeup? Yeah.
Sexy outfit?
“Fuck.”
I stare at my suitcase. There’s plenty of team gear, workout clothes, and post-race casual clothing.
I have one decent dress I take for sponsor parties because I can stuff it in my travel bag and it never wrinkles.
But there’s nothing even remotely good enough for a first proper date with a Formula One champion.
Sure, Nico said, “casual,” but I know pink combat boots and baggy camo pants aren’t what he meant.
This is ridiculous. He’s seen me sweaty and cursing in karts. Covered in champagne on podiums. That time in F3 when I got food poisoning and puked all over myself… and him.
“Huh. I forgot about that.” Christ, Nico’s always been there when I needed someone. How have I not noticed?
I shake my head. “Focus, Petra.” I snatch up my phone and text Jacintha.
S.O.S. Wardrobe crisis.
You just realized you packed like a complete scruff?
I wasn’t planning on dating when I left home.
No, you just planned on punching people. Much more practical.
You’re not helping.
You don’t pay me enough.
Probably true, but now isn’t the time.
Hmm. What’s the ask?
He said casual.
OK. I’ll call in an expert. 10 mins.
Bless you, cousin.
Ten minutes later, Maiken appears at my door with clothing draped over her arm and a bag in hand. “Cin said there’s a fashion crisis I need to manage because we can’t have our driver on a date with a sexy beast looking like she raided Athol’s closet.”
“I hate you both.”
“No you don’t.” She spreads a dress across my bed and, yeah, it’s perfect. Fitted and black with a chic structured cut. “Now, d’you wanna look casually hot for El Conejo or not?”
“I’ve known him since karting. He’s seen me at my worst.”
“Yeah.” Her grin turns wicked. “But he hasn’t seen you in this.”
“Shoes too?” I eye the white silk stilettos Maiken produces from her bag. “How?”
“Borrowed from Zara.” She sets them down and adds a matching clutch. Both are embroidered with gorgeous Otomi flowers and leaves in pink, blue, red, and green.
“Those are Zara’s?”
“Girl’s got fantastic taste in shoes. It’s a shame her feet are smaller than mine.”
The shoes fit perfectly, the embroidery catching light as I test them.
“The clutch too,” Mai insists. “It’s a set. Very appropriate for your first official Mexican date.”
“This is absurd.” But I’m already slipping into the dress. “It’s just Nico and me.”
“No.” Maiken zips me up “This is the first public date between F1’s newest power couple. The story’s trending higher than actual race coverage.”
“I’ve known him since I was fourteen, Mai.”
“Mm-hmm, and yet he looks at you like you’re better than pole position.” She snorts at that, because she’s got a filthy sense of humor, then she starts fussing with my hair. “Now, updo or flowing tresses?”
“Erm.”
Maiken points to the desk chair. “Sit.” She sections my hair with expertise. “We’re going for ‘effortlessly sexy’ not ‘just climbed out of the car.’”
“There’s a difference?”
“One involves a lot less sweat.” She weaves my long hair into something that feels complicated but probably looks simple. “Especially since half of Mexico City’s paparazzi are camping in the lobby.”
Right. Because this isn’t just dinner.
“Stop overthinking.” She finishes with my hair, then considers my face. “I’m going to fix your eyes.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just going to make them better.” She finds my eyeliner, frowns, and throws it in the wastebin.
“Oi!”
“Hush. Trust an expert. That’s garbage.” Maiken pulls liquid liner from her bag and goes to work with the kind of efficiency and expertise I expect from our pit crew. A few sure lines, then some added eyeshadow, and she directs me toward the wall mirror. “Go look.”
I stand and…
Oh.
The dress is sleeveless and has a plunging neckline that intricately folds under my chest and gives the illusion of cleavage, something which, let’s face it, isn’t one of my greatest assets.
But that dress hits every curve perfectly, and the stilettos add just enough height.
My hair falls in soft waves, pink streaks artfully placed.
She’s winged out my eyeliner and given me eyes so smoky there’s definitely a fire. The whole effect is pretty bloody hot.
Mai looks smug. “El Conejo’s gonna lock-up when he sees you.”
I wave that away. “It’s just Nico.”
“Exactly. He hasn’t seen you looking like sex on stilettos for him.” She hands me the beautiful embroidered bag. She’s already transferred my ID, phone, and key card into it.
“The first time we met, Petra, you threatened to run my ass over if I hurt Reece.”
I laugh. “Did I? Sounds like something I’d do.”
She smiles and it’s dazzling, because Maiken is Vegas glitz from head to toe. “It’s what I needed to hear. So I’m returning the favor. If you don’t give this sweet Spaniard a fair chance, I’ll tell Reece to run your ass over.”
I laugh again, but a knock at the door catches a reply in my throat.
Maiken gives me a gentle shove. “Now you have a date to knock dead.” She opens the door with a flourish.
Nico stands there looking casual-cool in pale trousers, a dark-brown button down shirt—sleeves neatly rolled—and brandy-hued Oxfords.
He looks exactly like every fantasy I definitely haven’t been having since that first kiss.
The man is dead sexy, which I’ve noticed in the past, yes, because I’m not some frigid beast, but seeing him like this now and knowing he’s here looking so fit for me makes a real fucking difference.
Nico’s eyes go wide, then dark as he drinks me in. “Petra... eres perfecta.”
The way he seems to taste my name as much as pronounce it makes something low, warm, and filthy unfurl just below my belly button.
Sure, I’ve slept with men, but I don’t ever remember one of them making me feel like this.
Like I’m beautiful and sexy and wanted, without also making me feel like I need to lessen myself for their ego.
Nico isn’t fragile, like other blokes. He’s not asking me to stand in his shadow or pretend I’m not his equal on track and off. That, alone, makes him hot as fuck.
“Eyes back in your head, Belmonte.” Maiken sounds entirely too pleased with herself. “You can thank me, Zara, and the emergency fashion squad later.”
But Nico’s still staring, gaze traveling from the stilettos up to my carefully arranged hair. When he meets my eyes again, the heat there makes my pulse jump because my body still remembers what he did to it.
“Me vuelves loco.”
Apparently, I drive him crazy. “?En un buen sentido?” In a good way?
His smile turns wicked. “I’ll tell you later.”
“And that’s my cue to go.” Mai grabs her bag. “Have fun, be safe, good luck dodging the Honey Bunnies.” She strides down the hall.
“So.” I sound surprisingly steady despite the way he’s still looking at me. “This favorite place of yours better be worth all this effort.”
He steps closer, fingers brushing my hip. “Absolutamente.” His lips brush my ear and I shiver as he murmurs, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Petra Lison Meris Hayter.”
My breath slows because, Christ, his compliments seem so bloody sincere. Sure, I know I’m pretty, but no man has ever made me feel it the way Nico does. I meet his gaze. “Thank you, Nico.”
He brushes a kiss across my lips. “You’re welcome.” He steps back and takes my hand and leads me to the lift. “Just so you know, I cleared this with Coy and Marcus.” His smile turns bemused as he adds, “I had to show them the security plan before they agreed to let us leave the hotel tonight.”
“You needed permission from our team principals for a dinner date?”
“Welcome to la Ciudad de México.”
Cameras flash the moment we step into the hotel lobby.
Questions fly in Spanish and English. I blink, startled by the intensity of the media focus.
It’s a wall of noise and light that hotel security barely contains.
Like Nico calling me beautiful, this is something I’ve experienced all my life, but tonight the scrutiny feels bigger and more volatile than ever before.
“Ready?” Nico’s hand settles at the small of my back.
I swallow and plaster on my brave media face. “Always.”
The security team creates a human barrier, clearing just enough space through the crowds in front of the hotel for us to reach a convoy of three enormous black SUVs with tinted windows. As we approach, a team of black-suited security personnel forms a cordon around us.
Oscar, Nico’s local head of security, introduces himself and his partner, Eduardo, as he opens the middle SUV’s door. Rodrigo appears beside them, coordinating with the local team in rapid Spanish before switching to English.
“Transportation’s secure, Ms. Hayter,” he says. “Local team’s vetted, routes confirmed.”
Meanwhile, Eduardo scans the surroundings and another security member speaks into a two-way radio, coordinating with the other vehicles and guards.
More cameras appear, more questions are shouted, more chaos builds.
“Petra, how do you respond to Kelley’s interviews about your relationship?”
“Nico, is this relationship a PR stunt?”
Oh, seriously?
“Nico! Petra! How long have you been together?”
“What do you say to people who claim this relationship damages your teams?”
That last one pisses me off, but now isn’t the time to address such bullshit. I just want to enjoy a dinner date. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
Finally we’re in the middle SUV. Oscar sits in the passenger seat while Eduardo drives. Rodrigo and another security member occupy the back row behind us.
Oscar turns to address us. “The route’s been altered since this afternoon, Senor Belmonte,” he explains in English. “We’ll take the longer way to avoid traffic.”
I’m impressed. “You’ve done this before.”