Chapter 22
ALARIC
The natural ease with which I wake up is so much gentler than being woken by the violent sound of my alarm clock, which is necessary when traveling the world and constantly jumping from time zone to time zone.
With a heavy yawn, I stretch my legs, savoring the low pops in my back as I fully come to. I blink several times, the brightness of the room making me question what time it is.
I shift to fetch my phone from my pocket, but when my arm doesn’t move, I still, holding my breath. I’m trapped.
No, not just trapped.
My arm is cradling the soft, warm curve of a woman’s hip.
No fucking way.
I’m in bed with a woman?
Panic lances through me, but then memories of last night materialize in my mind, and my breathing steadies.
I must have fallen asleep with Evangeline.
Stretching my free arm around my back, I try in vain to reach my pocket. As if my phone knows I’m awake, it vibrates against my ass.
I slam my eyes shut. This is my emergency work phone. Any notification, especially first thing in the morning, can’t be good.
With a soft hum, Evangeline rolls over, freeing the arm that’s been wrapped under her lower half.
Slowly, not wanting to disturb her, I retreat.
Once I’m free, I survey her, ensuring she’s still asleep. But I don’t allow myself the pleasure of really drinking her in. I can’t afford to waste another second. After I’ve confirmed she’s still out, I flop onto my back, clamoring for my device, then squinting at the screen.
Eleven missed calls and twenty-two messages. Fuck. My gut plummets when I see the time.
It’s 9:13 a.m.
I had an early breakfast meeting scheduled with my race director, followed by a slew of media interviews beginning at eight.
Every bone in my body is urging me to scramble out of bed and get down to the paddock.
I’ll need to pop into my room for a change of clothes and to brush my teeth and do something about my hair.
But as more flashes of last night trickle into my consciousness, the pull to leave this room practically disappears.
I turn, allowing myself to finally take Evangeline in.
This woman well and truly broke down in my arms last night.
She was so distraught, sobbing as I helplessly held her, giving her hollow assurance that she was okay.
She trusted me to see the most raw, vulnerable parts of her. That sort of candor requires a special kind of trust. The worst thing I could do after all that is abandon her. The last thing she needs is to wake up to an empty bed.
There’s no version of this morning in which I leave her before she wakes up.
I need to go, but I can’t. I have commitments and responsibilities to my team, but right now, all I care about is her.
Roughing a hand through my hair, I scan the unread texts. When I discover they’re all from my assistant, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Alaric
Just now waking up and seeing all this. Sorry for the delayed response. I didn’t sleep at all last night, then finally passed out a few hours ago.
I hit send and stare at the ceiling, waiting for his reply. It’s not uncommon for me to struggle with sleep, especially the first few nights in a new place.
Quinn
No worries. I figured as much and rescheduled your first few meetings.
Quinn’s a good man. I’m lucky to have found him when my old pal from Archway Prep Academy mentioned his executive assistant was looking for a new role.
Alaric
Please extend my apologies wherever needed. You can extend my schedule as late as necessary to accommodate the people I missed meeting with this morning. I should be in the office by noon, but don’t reschedule anything before 2 pm, just in case.
Surely by then Evangeline will have woken up, and we’ll have had a chance to talk.
That also buys me a few hours to shower and get my head on straight.
Despite the lie I spun to my assistant, I slept shockingly well with this woman in my arms.
It’s a remarkable feat, considering I’m a god-awful sleeper.
Although I curse my insomnia most nights, I’m grateful for the built-in excuse now.
Quinn replies, confirming he’ll take care of everything.
With a sigh, I close my eyes and rest my head back against the pillow.
“Are you okay?” a groggy voice says.
I turn my head, finding her pretty blue eyes searching my face.
Ignoring her question, I reach out, unable to resist touching her now after holding her unabashedly all night.
I tuck her hair behind her ear and cup her cheek, savoring the way her lips curve up in a smile in response. I don’t want her worrying after me for even a second. Despite the long day ahead, she’s my one and only priority right now.
“Good morning,” I say, my own voice thick. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m…” She trails off, closes her eyes, and shakes her head, that now familiar look of embarrassment appearing.
“Hey.” I smooth my thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. “None of that. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She keeps her eyes closed for a few seconds and inhales, like she’s gathering her composure.
Finally, she opens them again, focusing on me. “You spent the night,” she states plainly.
“Not intentionally,” I object. “I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I guess I fell asleep, and I only woke up a few minutes ago.”
With a soft smile, she shrugs. “You never make me uncomfortable. Besides… nothing happened.”
She’s not wrong.
But my god, how I wish she were.
After she fell asleep last night, I stayed up for at least an hour, holding her close, fantasizing about what it would be like if I could make her mine.
Her body is sensational, every soft curve molding into my frame as if it were made to be there.
I allowed my mind to wander recklessly, ignoring all the very real reasons why nothing can ever happen between us.
I focused on how her hip felt under my hand.
Relished the rhythm of her inhales and exhales, letting it soothe me.
I soaked up every minute, filled with pride that in my arms, she was able to truly rest. But I didn’t anticipate that her breathing, a metronome of calm, would lull me into a deep, restful sleep so easily.
Despite how incredible it was, it can never happen again.
“I know nothing happened.” I pause, letting the sentiment linger, and allowing myself one more moment of indulgent, wishful thinking. “It was my honor to be here for you. I wanted to ensure you were okay today and promise you that what happened last night will never happen again.”
Her face falls, hurt mingling with embarrassment.
Angling closer, I rush to ease her discomfort.
“It has nothing to do with you, Evangeline. You’re amazing. Beautiful and captivating. I’m in awe of everything you do. Any man—” I cut myself off, clenching my jaw.
I can’t even think about another man having her. Yet she’s not mine to claim.
Changing tack, I offer a sincere apology. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed last night. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
“I’m not.” Nostrils flaring in challenge, she shifts closer and tentatively reaches for my hand.
My breath catches at the contact.
Tracing my knuckles with her fingertips, she assesses me, her eyes bright and inviting. Then she licks her lips.
Discord hums between us, heavy and tense, with a crackling sizzle below the surface.
I want her. God dammit, I want her so badly it hurts, the ache blossoming behind my sternum. Jaw clenched, I rub at it. Fuck. If anything about our situation was different, she’d be mine in a heartbeat.
Her eyelashes flutter, hope floating between us as the moment draws out and grows heavy with all the words we can’t say.
What I wouldn’t give to drop all my pretenses and tell her that she’s not alone in her feelings.
“I’m your boss,” I remind her instead, reclaiming my hand and running it through my disheveled hair.
She sits up, mirroring my position and pulling her robe tighter over her chest.
“You’re also Luca’s dad.”
The pain in my chest is sharp this time.
“So it’s a very good thing nothing happened,” I insist.
As my words hover between us, she pulls the covers all the way up to her chin, though she keeps her focus set on me. And right before my eyes, she goes rigid, all the defenses she wears for the rest of the world snapping back into place.
With a resigned sigh, she whispers, “Thank you for staying with me last night.”
“Nothing happened.” They’re the only words I can force out. It’s more of a reminder for me than for her. Because if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t felt this kind of attraction with anyone in years.
The way I would have made an absolute mess of this woman, ensured she was satisfied in every way possible, if our situation were different.
I would give anything for the opportunity to take all that hurt and replace it with pleasure.
I would have made sure she truly unraveled.
Over and over. As many times as I could push her.
Then I would have spent all night holding her, encouraging her to just rest, allowing her to be soft in my arms.
She’s magnificent: effervescent and independent. She puts on a convincing front, though, the moment I’ve shown the slightest bit of kindness or compassion, she breaks down. As if the treatment is foreign to her.
She deserves soft. She deserves easy.
What I wouldn’t give to be the man who could provide that for her on a regular basis.
An extra sense of responsibility underscores my desire to take care of her. I harbor guilt regarding how terribly my son treated her.
“Evangeline,” I hedge. This is a sensitive subject, but I’ve got to try at least one more time.
“You said the live you did last night was exhausting, but you told me a few weeks ago that lives were the only way you could earn extra income.”
Her cheeks flame red.
Dammit. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. But her current predicament is Luca’s fault, and that kills me. I can’t always be here to take care of her after a live stream. I hate knowing how much the experience drained her.
“I know it’s not my business, but if you have a chance to speak to my son—”
She shakes her head, the movements jerky. “Please, Alaric. Just leave it alone. I’m handling it.”
“I could talk to him for you,” I offer, not mentioning that I’ve already tried.
She flops back onto the pillow, pulling the covers all the way over her head. “You should go,” she says through the fabric, the energy between us turning defensive and heavy.
Head hanging, I give up. Clearly, I fumbled this.
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I’ll go.”
I rise from the bed and slip on my shoes. Once I confirm I have my phone and wallet, I shuffle for the door. At the threshold, I turn back for one last look.
She’s sitting up now, but the covers are still pulled tight over her shoulders.
Her face is turned toward the window, her profile illuminated by a streak of light where the blackout curtains split.
“Evangeline.”
She meets my gaze. I force myself to hold back my smile.
Her hair’s a rumpled mess, and her eyes are puffy from crying last night.
She’s so breathtakingly beautiful.
I want to tell her how lovely she is, inside and out.
But I resist. It’s not fair to send mixed messages. I just told her how what happened last night can never happen again. Indulging my attraction or even hinting at how badly I want her would be a shit thing to do.
“No one can know I was here,” I say softly. No one from the team, no one from the media, and none of her friends, many of whom are drivers on the grid and therefore my direct competition.
“I know what’s at stake,” she assures me with a sympathetic smile.
It’s not about her. Or me. Or Luca.
My job is to protect Granata’s reputation, and to do so, I must follow the highest moral standards, showing the world that I’m the antithesis of Bolton Reynold.
“Truly no one,” I emphasize.
She holds my gaze and nods again. The sad smile she offers lances through my chest. For the first time in my career, I resent my role and the level of responsibility that comes with it.
I trust her. Putting faith in her is easy. Because while we met only weeks ago, I feel as if I know Evangeline on a deeper level than I know almost anyone.
Despite her best efforts to hide from the world, she’s allowed me to see so many wonderful, brilliant facets of who she is.
I know how she likes her rice prepared and how bright her smile can be when she’s genuinely excited.
How proud she is of her business and the distinct scent of her sweet honeysuckle shampoo.
I know she looks amazing in Granata red, and now I know what she looks like when she wakes up.
I know this woman, yet I’m desperate to know more.
But regardless, I can’t act on my attraction.
“Thank you for dinner,” she adds as I step out of the room. “Thank you for…” She trails off with a slight shake of her head. “Everything.”
Fuck.
I hate leaving her like this.
I don’t want to leave her at all.
But it’s for the best. For both of us. For the team.
Our interaction last night wasn’t okay. And because of my professional role, it’s my responsibility to ensure that nothing like this happens again.
The urge to stride back to the bed, take her face in my hands, and lean into whatever this is that’s growing between us washes over me.
Thankfully, my phone beeps at that moment—another message from Quinn, no doubt—and the distraction makes it easier to ignore my impulses.
“You’re welcome.”
As I’m forced to retreat from her room, dread fills me. Not because tomorrow will be a particularly grueling day or because I don’t love the work I do. But because the very nature of going about my day requires me to leave her. And all I want to do is stay.
Resentment blooms with each step. What I wouldn’t give to not have to walk away.