Chapter 6 #2
"Hey," I protest, "I think I'm pulling it off. Brings out the hazel in my eyes."
"That probably needs a medical touch."
"You're heartless. I'm wounded—literally—and you're making jokes."
Her smile widens. "Poor baby. Want me to kiss it better?"
The words hang between us, her teasing tone not quite masking the heat underneath. My pulse stutters, then races.
Is she flirting with me? Here? Now, that’s a first.
"Actually," I say, stepping half an inch closer, testing boundaries, "I do."
Violet's eyes widen slightly, and a flush creeps up her beautiful russet neck and ears. She glances quickly down the corridor—empty, but potentially not for long—and steps back, putting professional distance between us again. But her eyes... Her eyes stay locked on mine.
"You're insufferable," she says, but there's a glint in her eyes.
"You like me anyway," I counter, emboldened by the color in her cheeks.
"I tolerate you because you drive my car fast." She hands back my sunglasses, fingers lingering against mine a moment longer than necessary. "Though I may reconsider if you keep showing up looking like you're on the run from the law."
I slip the glasses into my pocket instead of putting them back on. No point hiding now that she's seen the damage. "You're telling me this doesn't look dashing?" I gesture to my bruised face. "Very rugged and mysterious."
"Very idiotic and reckless," she corrects, but her lips twitch. "Are you in any actual pain? Do you need anything for it?"
There's that concern again, warming me from the inside out. Violet Colton, who commands an entire racing team with steely efficiency, is worried about my stupid eye. I want to pull her into my arms right here, audience be damned.
Instead, I edge slightly closer, lowering my voice. "Just your company. That's better than any painkiller."
Her breath catches, and for a moment, I think I've pushed too far. Then she rolls her eyes, but the smile playing at her lips gives her away. "Always the charmer, aren't you, Foster?"
"Only for you, boss." I wink with my good eye. "Is it working?"
"Marginally better than your disguise attempt." She glances at her—my—watch. "Shouldn't you be heading to the simulator? EJ's probably waiting."
"Trying to get rid of me already? And here I thought we were having a moment."
She gives me her patented Team Principal look—raised eyebrow, slightly narrowed eyes—but there's a warmth there that wasn't present months ago. "We can have all the moments you want next week," she says quietly. "When we're not in the middle of headquarters."
The reminder of our Christmas plans sends a jolt of anticipation through me. Seven days. Just us. No interruptions.
"I'm counting down the hours," I tell her, not bothering to hide the sincerity in my voice. "When we clock out today, get in your car and come to my place. I can even escort you to make you feel like a queen."
Something flickers across her face—vulnerability, desire, maybe both—before she rebuilds her professional facade. But now I know what's behind it. I've seen her walls come down, felt her body against mine, heard her laugh without restraint. And in 8 hours, I'll have her all to myself again.
The thought makes me grin like an idiot, even as my battered face protests the movement.
"What?" she asks, suspicion coloring her tone.
"Nothing," I say, still smiling. "Just happy you're back. Even if you're cruel to injured drivers."
She shakes her head, but her eyes are soft.
Out of the corner of my eye, someone is walking fast to engineering. So, there are some people here today.
"Walk with me to grab coffee first? I need caffeine if I'm going to keep up with that kid."
Violet hesitates, glancing at her watch. "I don't have any meetings today. Just emails to answer."
"So that's a yes?" I grin, already turning toward the break room. "Good. I've missed your scintillating conversation."
"You talked with me on Monday," she points out, falling into step beside me.
"Exactly. Four days. An eternity."
She rolls her eyes but matches my pace as we walk down the corridor. The few staff members we pass nod respectfully to Violet, then do double-takes at my face. I've removed the beanie along with the sunglasses, giving up all pretense of hiding the injury.
"How's your week been?" I ask as we turn the corner. "Since you got back from Italy, I mean."
Violet sips what is left of her coffee, considering her answer. "Busy. Finalizing arrangements with sponsors, working with Blake and Johnson on next season's car specs based on your sim and EJ’s data." Her lips quirk into a small smile.
We reach the break room—empty, as I'd hoped. The new espresso machine gleams on the counter. Violet leans against the wall, watching as I select a cup and punch buttons. She grabs some napkins to clean the spilled coffee from her shoes.
"I have a meeting with Belforte after New Year's," she continues. "Officially welcoming him as strategic advisor and majority investor."
"Should I be there?" I ask, watching coffee steadily stream into my tall cup.
"He specifically asked for you to be." Her eyes meet mine. "Said he's followed your career for a long time."
This surprises me. "The mafia guy is a fan?"
"Don't call him that," she chides, but there's amusement in her eyes. "And yes, apparently, he is. Should I be worried about him poaching my star driver?"
The coffee machine hums, a mechanical heartbeat filling the silence between us. I turn to face her fully.
"Never," I say, the word carrying more weight than I intended. Then, heart racing, I reach for her hand. "I've missed you."
Her fingers are tense in mine, but she doesn't pull away. "Will..." she warns softly. "Don't push boundaries here."
"What boundaries?" I step closer, still holding her hand. "There's no one around. First floor's practically empty. And I haven't seen you properly in ages."
"A couple of weeks is not ages," she corrects, but her tone has lost its edge. Her eyes flick to the door, checking for observers.
"Feels like ages," I murmur. Then, seeing no one in the corridor, I gently pull her toward me. "Just one hug. For medical purposes. Studies show hugs speed up recovery from horrific mosh pit injuries."
A smile tugs at her lips—the real one, not her Team Principal smile. "That's not a real study."
"It could be. We can be pioneers. Let's gather data."
Before she can protest further, I wrap my arms around her waist, drawing her against me.
For one tense moment, she remains stiff, professional barriers firmly in place.
Then, with a small sigh that sends warmth cascading through me, she softens.
Her arms slide around my neck, her body melting into mine like it was designed to fit there.
I drop my head to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her—something expensive and subtle, mixed with the coffee-and-paper smell of the office, and that indefinable something that is purely Violet.
I press my lips to the soft skin just above her collar, and her pulse jumps beneath the contact.
It feels like coming home after a long journey.
"Will," she breathes, but it doesn't sound like a warning anymore.
"Hmm?" I murmur against her skin, placing another kiss slightly higher.
"Someone could walk in," she says, though she makes no move to pull away.
"Let them," I reply, trailing my lips up to her earlobe. "Worth it."
She shivers, then pushes gently against my chest, creating enough space to look at my face. "You're insatiable, raccoon boy."
I grin, sliding my hands to her hips and drawing her back to me. "Your fault for being irresistible. Even when you're being mean about my battle wounds."
"Battle wounds?" She raises an eyebrow. "From what war? This year’s Great Elbow Uprising?"
"Mock all you want," I say, leaning closer until our foreheads touch. "You make me want to tease you endlessly, you know that? The way your eyes flash when you're trying not to smile. The little crease between your eyebrows when you're pretending to be annoyed with me."
Her breath catches as I brush my nose against hers. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the rational voice that says this is too risky, too exposed. I don't care. All I see is her—Violet, who quiets the chaos in my mind, who makes me feel simultaneously grounded and weightless.
"I want to kiss you so badly right now," I whisper as her pupils dilate, noticing the slight tremble in her hands where they rest against my chest.
"Will..." Her voice is barely audible, a blend of warning and want.
"Fuck the rules. Just for a second."
I don't wait for permission. I capture her lips with mine, swallowing her soft gasp of surprise.
The kiss deepens immediately, weeks of distance and restraint crumbling like a poorly built sandcastle.
My hands roam her back, pulling her impossibly closer, the heat of her radiating through the layers of clothing between us.
She tastes like coffee and something sweet from her pastry, and beneath that, as our tongues caress, the flavor that haunts my dreams—my Violet.
The kiss grows hungrier, edging into dangerous territory for a break room at work.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging slightly in the way that makes my knees weak, and my cock hard, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I walk her backward until she meets the counter, lifting her slightly to sit on its edge, stepping between her legs without breaking the kiss.
God, I want her.
I have always wanted her, from that first team dinner before we headed to Barcelona pre-season testing last season, even when I thought she was cold and unreachable and just wanted her to be my friend.
Now I know better. Know the fire beneath the ice, the passion she keeps carefully contained.
One look from her, one touch, and I'm burning, ready to risk everything just to be near her.
The coffee machine beeps insistently, shattering the moment.
I pull back slightly, both of us breathing hard, swollen lips still close enough to share air.
Her eyes are dark, dazed, her professional composure thoroughly dismantled as I lick her lower lip before I press another kiss.
Softer. More restrained. She looks devastatingly beautiful.
"I should stop," I murmur, voice rough, "before I do unspeakable things to you right here."
She blinks, reality returning to her expression, then hops from the counter to the floor. Her hands smooth over her blazer, attempting to reclaim some semblance of dignity.
"You'd better," she says, but the breathlessness undermines her stern tone. "Or I'll have to hit you."
"Kinky," I tease, finally stepping back to retrieve my forgotten coffee. "But maybe save that for next week."
As I turn, I notice her reaching for her pastry. Without thinking, I snatch it first, taking a bite before handing it back.
Her expression of pure shock is comical. "Did you just—"
"You've had enough sugar," I say, gesturing to myself from head to toe with an exaggerated movement. "This," I continue, pointing at my chest, "is all the sweetness you need, Queen."
Her cheeks flush copper, and she clamps a hand over my mouth before I can say more. "Don't," she hisses, eyes darting to the door again. "You're impossible."
I kiss her palm before removing her hand, entranced by the reddish tinge spreading from her neck to her face. "And you're adorable when you blush," I say quietly, tracing the side of her neck with my fingertips. "I'm glad you're back. Even more glad you'll be all mine for a week."
She squirms away, shoving my coffee cup against my chest. "Go. EJ is waiting."
"Trying to get rid of me?"
"Successfully," she retorts, then bites her bottom lip. "Go to the simulator. Be useful."
I take a long sip of coffee, holding her gaze over the rim of the cup. "Yes, boss," I say finally, heading for the door. I pause on the threshold, throwing a playful look over my shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."
Her eye roll is perfectly executed, but the smile that follows it—private, genuine, just for me—sends warmth spreading through my chest. I walk down the corridor toward the simulator room, unable to keep the grin off my face, bruised eye be damned.
6 PM can't come soon enough.