Pride After Her Fall

He couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed his mind.

She was so long and lovely, taller than most of the women standing around her, and possessing a fine-boned elegance that drew a man. Made him want to protect her, shelter her...do a great deal for her.

But he’d been down that road with this girl.

He’d spent yesterday mopping up her messes. Last night contributing to one of his own.

No more. Even if he had to take fifty cold showers, no more.

Let Massena or whoever take care of her.

He had some kids to run around the track, some photos to pose for and then he was taking off up the highway to his house in the Cap d’Ail for some well-deserved R’n’R before he flew out to Mauritius for meetings, then lockdown for training.

He was about to turn away when she raised her hand. It was just a little gesture, a half wave arrested by uncertainty, and it was the uncertainty that stilled him. His body suddenly felt tight, the blood in his veins heavy, his muscles tensing one by one in anticipation.

He was vaguely conscious that the crowd had surged forward as he headed over. This was an insanely public gesture to make. He conned himself it was a small event. Everyone was here by invitation. He doubted him chatting up a random blonde at a practice track was even going to make the internet despite all the phones madly going off.

Her expression had frozen. She looked like a mountain deer caught in a spotlight. She looked as if she didn’t know what to expect. Something twisted in his chest.

He hadn’t planned what he was going to say to her. He looked her right in the eye and she gazed unblinkingly back. And then he knew.

His tone was soft, low, deep. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

Those amber eyes widened fractionally and she gave a slight nod.

He winked at the pair of gawping teenage girls standing next to her and strode off.

* * *

Most of the crowd had dispersed. Only the volunteers were cleaning up, the track crew coming and going. Nobody had questioned her wandering onto the track, walking alongside the cars, peering in.

It was getting late. Another half hour and it would be dusk. She glanced back towards the buildings. It was growing cooler and she only had her light cotton jacket. Maybe he’d forgotten what he’d said. Or maybe he’d been caught up. Or maybe he’d never intended to come in the first place.

She had put herself in this precarious position. She didn’t chase after men. They chased her. Growing up watching Raymond work the female sex like a one-armed bandit had taught her that powerful lesson. To be the object of desire, not the one caught by desire. Therein lay hurt, abandonment and shame.

She knew she should go and get in her car and drive home. This had been a bad idea... Her idea of waving her chequebook at him and forcing him to accept payment for the Sunbeam seemed impossibly naive.

‘Fancy a ride?’

His deep voice wrapped around her, every bit as delicious as the first time she’d heard it.

She turned around and found him a few feet away, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt—so similar to the first time she’d seen him. All that thick dark hair was rumpled and a faint five o’clock shadow etched his strong jaw. His intense blue eyes gleamed in the fading light, watchful as a stealthy animal of prey. He was holding the straps of two helmets in one hand.

‘Careful, Nash, what if someone sees us together?’

‘Sweetheart, about fifty cell-phone cameras went off at once around us this afternoon. I think caution at this point is overrated.’

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. She wanted him to say he didn’t care and put her in his car anyhow.

‘Come on,’ he said abruptly.

He had opened a door. She stepped back. ‘This one?’ She looked doubtfully at the low-slung car.

‘Blue 16. It won’t bite.’ His eyes were on hers, and why the expression in them reminded her of the wolf’s paw reaching for Red Riding Hood she couldn’t have said.

‘Much,’ she added dryly, reaching out a hand for the helmet.

He grinned.

Oui, the wolf.

He laid his helmet on the top of the car and moved in with hers.

Lorelei reached up to free her hair from the scarf but he was tangling his hand in it, tugging it away. Memory of the other time he’d touched her like this made her unbearably conscious of his big hard body only a hand-span from her own.