Chapter 1 #2
Then they asked about the crash that had altered his career, and he stiffened with a blank, cold stare. The fury in his eyes was clear. How dare they bring up the incident that had him in the hospital and made him miss the last year of racing?
The glare of the lights narrowed his eyes, and the constant rage of his quickening breaths made me tighten my thighs.
Angry men should not be a turn-on for me.
And I could emphasise… a little.
We’d been at it for hours. The sheen across his body had started to dance in the bright lights that he’d shaded his eyes from multiple times, and the questions were becoming increasingly obnoxious and repetitive.
When they mentioned getting footage with his teammate after a few more questions, he winced under the lights. “We’re done here.”
At first, I went to argue, but he stood, the stool scraping back, but the second his booted foot hit the floor, he wobbled, and one hand shot back to grab the stool, the other his forehead.
I gripped his arm, keeping him standing.
“He needs five. Medic’s orders.”
Don’t know where that came from. I was a translator, not a medic.
I didn’t give them a chance to argue, just guided him towards one of the other small rooms where there was a fridge and some chairs.
We’d been there for a few hours, and he hadn’t sipped any water. And the Portuguese heat and those leathers…
I opened the fridge and shoved a bottle at him. “Drink.”
He frowned at me before snatching it. “I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
He scowled, then cracked the lid and guzzled half—unzipping his leathers to his navel. The 91 on his chest was pulled apart by the zip.
I looked at the door because I was not about to oggle this man’s shimmering, sweaty abs and the way his chest heaved as he recovered from drinking so fast.
“Have you eaten anything?”
“No.”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door, ready to grab him one of my snack bars from my locker.
“Where?” he called out in English.
“To get you something to eat. I have a…” Oh shit, what was the word for granola? “… Snack in my locker.”
“Can you go to mine? I need my bag.”
I nodded, he gave me his code, and I fled, hoping he’d have the decency to zip himself back up in my absence.
His gym bag was so heavy that I might need to reconsider going back to the gym. I grabbed some pastries from one of the tables and then returned to our little kitchenette.
Instead of going for the croissant I’d wrapped in a serviette for him, he pulled out a white, thin tube from his bag, reached over from his seat to open the fridge, threw some tablets in his mouth, and nearly downed a new bottle of water before wolfing down the pastry too. “Paracetamol.”
“Keep drinking like that, and you’re going to need to pee,” I told him.
“With how sweaty I am, I might need you to peel the leathers off me.”
I scoffed, nearly choking on a flake from my pain au chocolat. “Absolutely not.”
He sat back in his chair, eyes narrowing on me, a soft smile on his lips. “Livie said you could ask me to take my shirt off. If you wanted. Did you want to wait until we were in private?”
Now I was choking on my laughter. “She didn’t say that!” I snatched the water from him to clear my throat.
“That’s what I heard.”
“Thank god you have a translator,” I sighed, passing back his drink.
He took a swig, looking me over. His voice was low and casual as he said, “You don’t look like a translator.”
I didn’t know what that meant.
My heritage spans Europe. My biological father was Hungarian, my mum was Portuguese, and the man I called ‘Dad’ was French. I was brought up in England, but of course, I had multiple languages up my sleeve.
But my pale skin, dark hair, and British accent didn’t exactly hint at any of that.
My sister, Everly, looked far more exotic than I did. She had the same dark olive skin tone as our dad, as she shared half of his DNA.
So defence blurted, “And you don’t look medically cleared to ride, yet here we are.”
I didn’t mean for it to be so clipped.
He blinked, putting the water on the side. “And you don’t look medically trained.” He leaned back, shook his head, and let out a deep sigh. “I forgot my contact lenses. Without them, sometimes I feel sick.”
Shit.
Talking about someone’s health wasn’t exactly the professional way to start a placement.
Even if his lips curled into a slight smile.
“I’m not technically qualified,” I admitted, reaching for the clipboard I’d brought from my locker.
There were no notes; I just didn’t want to look at him.
“I’m finishing up my master’s degree. Livie’s a family friend and offered me a placement.
It’s better than the hospital one the university offered me. ”
He cocked his head to the side, assessing me. “You’re not what I expected.”
There was nothing for him to expect.
I glanced up. “You’re exactly what I expected.”
He grinned. “Which is?”
“Cocky. Demanding. Angry at the world.”
His grin grew with laughter. “Infuriatingly hot?”
“Okay, see how I said cocky?”
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in the small space between us. “You’re not denying it, kis szemtelen.” He called me a little tease?
And I liked that a lot. My face felt warm, and my thighs clenched. Oh, I was in trouble.
“You know you’re hot,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “There’s no point denying it.”
“Come for a drink tonight,” he said. “To thank you for making me sound so poetic today.”
I shook my head. “I’m working, Zoltán.”
He shrugged. “And if I walk out of here, there’s no one for you to work with.”
“There are more people in the world than just you.”
“Are there?”
“Yes.” But his silent gaze made me repeat, “I’m working.”
“I can wait.”
I stood, ready to finish the conversation and demand the final shots with his teammate. “I… I have a boyfriend.”
I tried to keep my expression stoic. Uncaring. Like that didn’t hurt.
He levelled me with an icy, disbelieving look, brows high, then said in English, “Liar.”
“I’m—I’m not.”
“Not once have you stuttered, despite flitting between three languages today,” he said. “Yet you can’t speak English to tell me about your boyfriend?”
Three? Oh yeah, when my sister Everly called, saying she and her boyfriend would be there soon, we spoke in French.
“He’s so hot, I struggle to speak about him,” I retorted, immediately feeling the heat creep up my neck.
He snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back in the chair. His voice was laced with humour. “Poor guy. Imagine being your boyfriend when you flirt like this with other men.”
“I do not—”
“Have a boyfriend?”
My lips tightened, nostrils flaring. I was so close to stomping my foot.
“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll go for one drink with you if you promise to behave for these final shots. And…”
I was playing with fire, but it was already so damn hot in here. He cocked a brow in question.
“And you speak English the whole time.”
Let’s see how much he wants a drink.
“You want my seduction routine?”
“No.” The heat crept further up my neck. I didn’t think I meant that. Not consciously anyway. “I admire men willing to learn. And I want to see just how much of the language you know.”
“And for however long I keep speaking English… you’ll stay out?”
I pursed my lips in thought. “Yes.”
He saluted and shot up, releasing a deep breath. “To work.”
“Hold up,” I said, lifting a finger to stop him, before gesturing at his chest.
His brows knotted, but he followed the movement of my finger like a cat did a laser.
All the way up his chest as I zipped him up.
Eyes wide, my hand froze at the Velcro fastening at the top where the zip rested.
Shit. I should not have done that.
My wide eyes met his crinkling ones. “You’re meant to take it off later. Or are you getting territorial already?”
No. Blood sprinted in my veins as I sighed through my nose. “To work, Zoltán.”