Chapter Eight #2
My finger found the button already illuminated. Thirty-first floor. Same as mine.
Merde.
I kept my gaze locked on the numbers climbing. Anywhere but at her. The walls seemed to press in with each passing second, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.
I made it exactly four floors before the quiet cracked me open. “You nearly took me out in Turn 9.”
Her laugh was brittle. “Well, you nearly took me out in free practice.”
My fingers started to tap against my thigh. “That was different.”
“Why? Because it was you doing it?”
I glanced at her then; I couldn’t help it.
Those defiant green eyes met mine, challenging and fierce.
Something hot and unwelcome twisted in my chest. Heat that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with how that dress cut across her collarbone, how her lips were stained dark from whatever wine she drank at dinner.
“Because I wasn’t myself,” I snapped.
“Oh?” She seemed genuinely curious by my response, tilting her head in a way that made her hair slide over one bare shoulder. “Then what were you today?”
The answer stuck in my throat. Trying not to think about what would happen if my car went into the wall again. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does if you’re planning to wrap yourself around a barrier and take me with you.”
“Like you did to me in Miami?” Heat flared in my chest, welcome this time, because anger I could handle. Anger made sense.
That got her. She spun, hands on her hips, and suddenly we were close enough that I could see her breathing had gone shallow and quick, making that gold necklace rise and fall against her skin. I could count the freckles scattered across her collarbone. “For the last—”
But before my brain could catch up with my body, before I could think through the consequences of stepping so close to Lily, I moved toward her, closing the distance between us in one step.
“You’re insufferable,” I whispered, my voice rough.
“And you’re impossible.” Her words came out breathless, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
My gaze dropped to her lips—I couldn’t help it—and when I looked back up, I saw that she’d been watching my mouth too. My hand lifted, drawn toward that loose strand of hair falling across her cheek—
The distance between us evaporated.
Her mouth met mine halfway, fierce and demanding, and every coherent thought scattered. She tasted like red wine and something sweet, addictive, dangerous. My hand slid into her hair, angling her head back as she pressed closer, her fingers twisting into my jacket.
Wrong. After what I’d told her in Las Vegas, this was so wrong.
But her lips parted underneath mine, and suddenly wrong didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except the soft sound she made in the back of her throat, the way her nails dug through my shirt, the heat of her body against mine in this too-small elevator climbing toward floors neither of us cared about anymore.
The elevator pinged.
We stumbled out still tangled together, her back hitting the hallway wall as my mouth found that spot just below her ear. She gasped, fingers tightening in my hair, pulling me closer.
“Which room?” The words came out rough against her throat.
“3117.”
We made it maybe ten feet before I kissed her again—couldn’t help it—spinning her around until she was pressed against the wallpaper. Her leg hooked around mine, the slit in her dress revealing smooth skin that my hand found without thinking.
She broke away, breathing hard. “Come on.”
At her door, she fumbled with the key card, hands shaking as she swiped it once, twice. The light flashed red both times. I pressed against her back, kissing her shoulder, her neck, anywhere I could reach.
The lock finally clicked green. We practically fell through the doorway, my shin cracking against a small entryway table.
Pain shot up my leg, but when I bent down to massage it, I saw a note with her name written across it on the floor.
There was no signature, nothing to indicate who had sent it.
I took it out of the envelope, read it twice, then looked up at Lily, who was now reaching for it.
“What is this?”
“Give it back.” She grasped for it again, but I stepped back, the piece of paper clasped tightly in my hands.
“What is this?” I demanded again. “Someone threatened you. When?”
“It’s just a note, Henri.” She rolled her eyes, though something flickered in her expression—something that looked like fear but was quickly replaced with indifference. “Can you not make this into a whole thing?”
“A whole thing?” I stared at her. “Someone is threatening you.”
“Someone sent me hate mail. It happens.” She snatched at the card again, and this time I let her take it, watching her fingers close around it like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t made my blood run cold. Like it wasn’t making me want to track down whoever wrote it and—
“This isn’t a tweet or an Instagram comment, Lily.” I fought to keep my voice level. “This was given to you. When?”
“After Miami.” She tossed the card back onto the coffee table like it was junk mail. “And nothing’s happened since, so clearly it was just some idiot blowing off steam.”
“You don’t know that’s all this is.”
“And you don’t know it isn’t.” She moved past me toward the minibar, and I caught another wave of that floral scent.
It didn’t distract me this time; I was too busy trying to reconcile how casually she was treating all this, like we were discussing the weather.
“Look, Henri, I appreciate the concern or whatever this is, but I’m fine.
It’s one note from one crazy person. I’m not going to run to security over every piece of hate mail I get. ”
“This isn’t…” I grabbed the card again, holding it up. “This specifically mentions me. ‘Mess up Henri again.’ What does that even mean?”
She took a long drink of water, her expression unreadable. “Probably referring to Miami. You know, when I ‘caused’ that whole incident.” Air quotes around the word “caused.” “Even though the stewards cleared me.”
“That’s not what this sounds like.”
“Then what does it sound like to you?” She set the bottle down with more force than necessary. “Because to me, it sounds like some fan got upset their favorite driver didn’t win. It’s creepy, sure, but it’s not exactly a death threat.”
“‘Next time, you won’t walk away’ sounds pretty threatening to me.”
“What do you want me to do, Henri?” She spun to face me fully, exasperation clear in her voice. “Go crying to the FIA? Make headlines about how poor Lily Blackwood can’t handle a little hate mail? Give the media another reason to question whether I’m tough enough for this sport?”
“This isn’t about being tough.”
“Of course it is.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Everything is about being tough enough, strong enough, good enough. You think if I report this, it’ll stay quiet?
Someone leaks it, and suddenly I’m the fragile female driver who needs extra security or who can’t handle the pressure.
I saw that last year with my friend in Indy Car. ”
I stared at her—at the defiant tilt of her chin, the way she stood like she was ready for a fight. But I could see it now: the slight tremor in her hands, the too-quick breathing she was trying to hide.
“You’re scared,” I said quietly.
“I’m annoyed.” She turned away. “Annoyed that you’re making this into something it’s not, and annoyed that you apparently think I can’t handle my own problems.”
“That’s not—”
“Just leave it alone, Henri.” She moved to the door, opening it pointedly. “It’s one note. I’m not going to let some coward with a pen ruin my night.”
I didn’t move. “What if there’s another one?”
“Then I’ll throw that one away too.” She gestured to the open door.
“Well, you haven’t thrown this one away.”
Without hesitation, Lily grabbed the card from me, dropping the piece of paper into the trash closest to the suite’s entrance, a smug look on her face.
“Happy?”
“You should still report it,” I said, softer this time.
“You know what, Henri? I’m not really taking notes right now.”
I looked down at the note in the bin, almost appreciating the irony of her terrible joke.
I walked to the door, stopping just on the other end of the threshold. “Lily…”
“Good night.”
The door closed with a soft click that felt like a dismissal. I stood in the empty hallway, staring at her room number, pressing my palm flat against the wood for a moment before letting it drop. Then I pulled away and made myself walk.
Her kiss clung to me all the way back to my room. So did the threat.
I unlocked my door and stood there in the dark, waiting for one of them to fade. By morning, I’d stopped expecting them to.