Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
VIOLET
Heat pressed against my spine. For one sleep-fogged second, I didn’t understand why.
Then I felt his arm banded around my waist, his chest rising and falling against my back, his breath warm against my shoulder.
And the soreness in my thighs, the raw scrape of his stubble against my shoulder, the way he held me—
My breath stilled.
Oh.
Oh shit.
The memories hit all at once. His hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my throat, his body moving against mine. The rough, desperate way he said my name, like a prayer and a promise all at once.
Three times. We’d done it three times. Each time, I’d made a conscious choice to continue, to sink deeper into whatever this was between us.
My stomach twisted.
I let this happen.
And worse, I wanted it. I’d asked for it. Begged for it, even.
Griffin shifted behind me, his arm tightening around my waist, his fingers flexing, slow and possessive against my stomach. Warm lips ghosted over my shoulder, barely there, but enough to send my pulse into a sprint.
“Could get used to this,” he said, his voice rough, thick with sleep.
For one stupid, dangerous second, I almost let myself sink back into him, into the quiet, reckless fantasy that this could be something.
But that wasn’t how this worked.
This wasn’t something to get used to.
I was Hazel’s nanny, which was bad enough.
But I’d also sworn off drivers, watching them choose podiums and contracts over the people who loved them.
I’d learned the hard way that men like Griffin didn’t do half-measures.
They burned through life at full throttle, and I had no intention of being something he sped toward, only to leave me in the rearview the second something faster, bigger, better came along.
And I had two months.
That was it.
Two months until I walked away.
And if my father ever found out, I wouldn’t even make it that far.
He would lose his mind.
His driver, the golden boy of the team, sneaking around with his daughter?
No.
That wouldn’t just be leverage.
It would be a weapon.
Julian would use me to control Griffin. Every decision Griffin made, every contract negotiation, every moment he tried to stand up for himself, my father would dangle me like a threat. Do what I want, or watch me burn everything she’s worked for to the ground.
I’d seen him do it before. He called it ‘team management.’
And I refused to be the knife my father held to Griffin’s throat.
I tried to shove Griffin’s arm off, but the sod used his training against me. His bicep flexed, fitting me snug against his chest, locking me in like I was just another part of him. His nose brushed my shoulder, warm breath against my skin.
A groan rumbled low in his throat. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the jet’s ready. Just—”
“I need to check on Hazel.”
Griffin hummed, low and lazy. His fingers flexed at my waist, pressing just enough to remind me how easily he could keep me there.
“Hazel’s asleep.” His lips brushed my shoulder. “We aren’t.”
A laugh, too bright, too forced, slipped from my mouth. “Right, but shouldn’t I check on her? I mean, just because she’s not crying doesn’t mean she doesn’t need something.”
“Vi,” he said, his voice edged with amusement.
I cleared my throat and flashed what I hoped passed as a casual, easy-going grin over my shoulder. “What?”
Griffin exhaled slowly, brushing his nose against my skin. “You’re making excuses.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I’m being responsible.”
“You’re being something,” he muttered, rolling onto his back.
The sheet dipped low, dragging over his hips as he stretched, muscles flexing with an easy, effortless confidence that made my stomach flip.
My gaze dropped before I could stop it, before I could remind myself that I had seen every inch of him last night, had touched every inch of him, had felt what it was like to have all of that power braced over me, moving inside me—
I snapped my eyes back to his face, pulse slamming through my ribs.
A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.
Bastard knew.
I launched myself out of bed before he could say anything else, before he could trap me with that tone, that lazy, impossible confidence. My legs protested, but I ignored them, grabbing the first thing I could find—his shirt—and yanking it over my head like it was some kind of armor.
Griffin dragged his appreciative gaze slowly over me, propping an arm behind his head like he had all the time in the world. Heat prickled at my skin, creeping up my neck, making me hyperaware of how naked I was.
I huffed, pretending that didn’t make me ache. “Well, don’t get used to it.”
His grin was pure sin. “Too late.”
I turned, shoving my arms through the sleeves like this was just another morning, like my hands weren’t shaking and my pulse wasn’t pounding in places I had no business acknowledging.
I had to get out of here.
Hazel stirred the second I stepped into the living room, her little fingers rubbing at her eyes before they blinked open, round and still thick with sleep. For a breath, she just looked at me. Then her face scrunched, a wobbly frown forming—
And she wailed.
I moved on instinct, reaching into the crib, scooping her up before her cries could hit full volume. “Shh, sweetheart. I’m here.”
She burrowed against me, still warm from sleep, her tiny hands gripping at the collar of Griffin’s shirt.
“You’ve been a bad influence on her.”
I glanced over my shoulder, brows lifting. “Excuse me?”
Griffin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Hazel nuzzle into my chest. “She’s picked up your flair for dramatics. Didn’t even open her eyes all the way before deciding the world was ending.”
I huffed, adjusting Hazel in my arms as I bounced her. “She’s nine weeks old, Griffin. Everything is a crisis.”
His smirk was slow. “Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes, turning my attention back to the baby, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re just hungry, aren’t you, love? Let’s get you fed.”
I moved toward the kitchen, but Griffin followed, his presence unmistakable at my back. I ignored him and grabbed the bottle, focusing on Hazel.
“We should start packing soon,” I muttered once Hazel started sucking on her bottle.
I’d hoped it would distract him. Instead, his fingers brushed my waist, light, barely there, but oh how I felt every graze.
“Griffin!” I whirled around and glared up at the willfully obtuse sod.
He smiled, but didn’t back off. Slowly, he leaned down, his breath skimming my cheek. I twisted, nearly knocking into the counter. Hazel let out a startled hiccup.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
I swallowed hard, adjusting Hazel’s bottle. “You can’t just—”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“I’m feeding your daughter.”
“Yeah, and I tried to kiss you, and you nearly threw yourself across the room to escape it.”
My grip on the bottle faltered. “Because it was inappropriate.”
His laugh was quiet, humorless. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Yes.” I turned, carefully shifting Hazel in my arms as I met his gaze. “Last night shouldn’t have happened. And it’s not happening again.”
“You don’t believe that,” he said, watching me closely.
I had to.
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
His jaw flexed. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the only thing that matters.”
“I don’t agree.”
Before I could react, Griffin closed the distance between us. His fingers gripping my chin, tilting my face up. His lips met mine. I should have pulled away the second his fingers touched my face, shut this down before it could start, reminded him—and myself—that this couldn’t happen.
But I didn’t.
Because his lips caressed mine with a gentleness I hadn’t known he possessed. He kissed me like we had forever, savoring rather than claiming.
Soft. Persuasive. I expected lightning and received gentle, life-giving rain that was more devastating than any storm.
I should have expected him to fight me on this. He was stubborn, relentless, trained to chase the impossible. A man who spent his life addicted to the risks that would make most people hesitate.
His touch almost made me believe that anything was possible, that none of my reasons for putting distance between us made sense.
And for one impossible second, I nearly did.
If we were different people in a different life, I might have let my fingers twist into his shirt, let my body press against his, let myself chase the slow drag of his mouth against mine.
But wanting him didn’t change our reality. It didn’t erase the fact that I worked for him, that my father would lose his mind if he found out, that I had two months before I walked away from this life and never looked back.
It didn’t make this safe.
It didn’t make him mine.
And for all of Griffin’s stubbornness, for all his refusal to back down, even he couldn’t change that.
I tore myself away, breath uneven. “No.”
His hand lingered at my jaw until I forced myself to take another step back, breaking the contact completely. A flash of vulnerability flickered across his features, there and gone in a heartbeat. The cocky assurance I’d grown used to seeing—the look that said he always got what he wanted—faltered.
“Vi—”
“You don’t get to do that.” I hated how unsteady and sharp I sounded. “You don’t get to kiss me like that.”
His jaw tightened. “Like what?”
I swallowed hard. “Like you’re promising me something you can’t possibly give.”
Men like Griffin didn’t slow down. They didn’t stop. They chased the next podium, the next contract, the next win. That was how they were built, how they survived. And even if he meant it now, even if he believed he could have this, could have me, it wouldn’t last.
Even when the racing ended, the chasing wouldn’t.
If he retired, what then? Did I get to play second to a different kind of ambition?
A team principal, a commentator, an ambassador, something to keep him in the sport?
Because men like him didn’t know how to stop, and I had spent my whole life watching drivers choose their careers over the people who loved them.
I wouldn’t be another name on that list.
I wouldn’t be someone’s second place.
When I let myself fall, I needed to know the man standing next to me would put me on the podium for once.
And that would never be Griffin.
My fingers curled tighter around Hazel, needing something solid and real hold onto. He sighed, his throat bobbing as his hands curled into fists at his sides.
I forced my chin higher, ignored the sharp pull in my chest. “Last night shouldn’t have happened. And it won’t happen again.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re wrong.”
“Griffin—”
“No. It wasn’t a mistake. And I’m not pretending it was.”
“We are a mistake.” I held his gaze, willing him to just stop.
“Once would be a mistake,” he said, voice low and cutting. “Three times was a choice, Vi.”
He was right, but if I admitted that, this would never end. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” he whispered.
“That’s because you don’t think things through.”
His lips parted, like I’d actually stunned him. “Excuse me?”
“You act on instinct,” I said, tapping against Hazel’s back. “You want something, you go after it. That’s how you’re wired. But this,” I motioned between us, “isn’t a race. It’s not about what you want in the moment.”
“You think I haven’t thought this through?” He stepped forward, shaking his head like I was missing something obvious. “You think I didn’t spend every second of the last week wanting you? Every second before that fighting it?”
My chest tightened, but I kept my voice calm. “Wanting something doesn’t make it right.”
“Why not?” His voice rose, frustration laced through every word. “Because of your dad? Because of the press? Because of some bullshit rule you made up when you were sixteen?”
I clenched my jaw. “Because it’s reckless.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Vi.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.
“No. You can’t argue me into this.”
His eyes locked onto mine, something raw and desperate in their depths. “Why not?”
“Because I’m right.”
He huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. “So I’m just supposed to pretend this doesn’t mean anything?”
“Yes.”
His expression darkened. “That is not happening.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“That’s not true.”
He took a step forward, drawing closer than he should. Close enough that the warmth of him curled around me. Close enough that if I breathed wrong, I might lean into it.
“I want you,” he whispered.
He lifted his hand, fingers skimming along my jaw, tilting my face up until there was nowhere else to look but at him. His thumb traced lightly over my cheek.
“I don’t care how many excuses you throw at me. I know what I want.”
His gaze dropped to Hazel, her delicate hand curled against the fabric of the shirt I’d stolen. His expression softened, longing wrapping around the edges of his frustration like he was seeing something he wanted so badly it hurt.
My throat closed.
Hazel let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, burrowing closer.
I lifted my chin, holding onto the only thing keeping me from slipping under his pull. “And I know what I can’t have.”
His thumb paused at my cheekbone, as if memorizing the shape of me before he blew out a frustrated breath and stepped back with a grimace.
“Right.”
Griffin’s shoulders dropped, the fight draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. No sharp comeback, no lingering look, no last attempt to change my mind. He just turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.
I rocked Hazel, pressing my lips to her head, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of baby lotion, grounding myself in something solid.
Even as everything inside me threatened to break apart.