Page 45 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 1-4
‘Cargo?’Startled, Massimo glanced up. For races beyond Europe, the cars and kit were sent through the night on chartered cargo flights. ‘Why?’
‘Sometimes we send a courier with new components. Maybe that’s the situation here.’
Except this was the journeyhome, not the trip from the factory to the next race. Massimo watched the video once more, grimly noting the elegant arch of her neck and the tantalising glimpse of her fine-boned jaw as she laughed. A few strands of dark blond hair had escaped her cap and he absently wondered how long it was. Heshouldn’twonder. But just like Emiliano in the video, Massimo couldn’t stop staring, and the tiredness that had slowed his progress over the past hour now vanished. He was a details man. As CEO of Hearnshawe Auto Group, he had to be. There was an insane amount to manage.
Their main business had long been high-end luxury road cars, but twenty years ago their popularity had started to decline. Ten years ago, Massimo had snatched the reins and steered them in a different direction. The direction his father would have taken had he lived.
The elite motor-sport arm had always been a side project, but Massimo had poured resources into reviving it. Now it brought billions in sponsorship deals, merchandise and global brand awareness. Furthermore, his recent diversification into luxury products—for those living and loving the Hearnshawe lifestyle—was increasingly successful. The entire conglomerate was increasingly successful, but it had taken every ounce of Massimo’s time to achieve it. In his mind, Hearnshawe’s resurgence would only be complete when they had both P1 Global trophies—fastest driver, fastest car. Today’s race had been the fifth in this year’s series. Both Conrad and Emiliano had scored points, pushing Hearnshawe Racing into third place in the car-engineering competition. That was the best ranking they’d had in years, not yet first, but they were finally on the brink.
Massimo’s temper lifted, firing fuel into his system. He would allownothingto disrupt the trajectory of Hearnshawe’s success. He would restore the honour, triumph, reputation—he lived only to fulfil that legacy. He wouldn’t let Emiliano mess everything up by fooling around with an employee.
The responsibility for both of them ultimately rested with Massimo.Hehad to ensure Emiliano kept his focus;hehad to ensure his employee’s safety. So he needed to know more about Lily Jones—where she’d come from, what she really wanted from her work at Hearnshawe. He would ensure neither was a risk to the other.
Aside from sitting in the race car, there wasn’t a job within Hearnshawe that Massimo couldn’t and wouldn’t do himself. While he’d prefer to question Shane discreetly, the lead mechanic was already in the air and out of reach. Which meant Massimo had to learn all he needed to know about Lily Jones directly from her. He’d spent years suppressing his innate spontaneity, but this impulse was both imperative and undeniable.
‘Get me on that flight,’ he muttered.
Andre gaped at him. ‘Sorry?’
‘Get me on that cargo flight.Now.’
Lily Jones climbed the steep stairs onto the plane, relief seeping into her with every step. She could sit and sleep so very soon. She’d just survived the best, most exhausting, week of her life. Nailed her first away race as a mechanic for Conrad Tate,Hearnshawe Racing’snumber-one driver. Sure, she wasn’t yet in the pit crew—clad in a helmet, working the wheel gun in the lightning-fast pit stops for both drivers—but she’d been on tyre prep and working on the car. Feedback had been minimal but she didn’t need praise. She’d gone her entire life without it. She’d done her best and while she knew it was good, she aimed to get better still. To make that pit crew. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and she was doing nothing to screw it up. Head down, eyes on the job, no distractions. One week down. Seventeen to go.
Cargo flights were generally scheduled later than passenger jets and their journey times slightly slower, but in her limited experience the solitude and silence made it worth it. She wasn’t bothered by the lack of windows, or that there were barely any amenities, no cabin crew offering snacks, no screens with on-board entertainment. There wasspacefrom others. After almost a week of screeching rubber, of being aroundthousandsof screaming spectators, she was more than ready for the lulling hum of the plane’s engines. Yet, ironically, loneliness flickered. She wished she could share her experiences with someone who cared.
That wasn’t going to be her family. They didn’t consider P1 Global ‘real’ motorsport but rather a circus for spoilt posh playboys. They preferred a straight street drag race between cars illegally pimped up by themselves. They’d long derided her desire to work in elite motorsport even before they’d dismissed her from their lives completely. They weren’t and would never be interested not only in P1 Global, but also inher. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but as she was only human, right now it still did.
You’re just tired.
She could share her weekend stories with her mentor, Derek, and his wife, Jean, tomorrow. The old guy hadn’t just helped her secure an apprenticeship; he and his wife had even provided accommodation when she’d been thrown out of her home. In fact, she was returning to the little caravan at the bottom of their property having given up her flat share because hopefully she’d be travelling so much with P1 Global. She’d have her performance review with Shane, the chief mechanic, next week and find out if she was now secure as away crew.
On board, she got to the small area for cargo couriers positioned behind the cockpit and crew sleeping area. There was a bank of just four seats. Two of them had containers strapped into them. The plane must be at max payload. She took the empty seat at the end, leaving the one next to her empty. Take-off was scheduled for just three minutes’ time and she crossed her fingers no one else boarded. She could stretch out and sleep the entire time.
She glanced at her phone to check the time again. One minute to go and she was still alone.Perfect. Less perfect was the red flash of her phone battery icon, but it didn’t matter; she intended to sleep the whole way. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, hoping it was the pilots.
It wasn’t.
Like her, he wore a cap but his wasn’t emblazoned with a racing team logo; it was plain black and tugged so low it hid half his face. She glimpsed stubble on a chiselled jaw but honestly, it was enough just taking in his body. Black jeans clung to long legs. A grey T-shirt stretched across wide shoulders. Her fleeting disappointment at not being alone swiftly morphed into a flicker of sensual interest. He was tall and carried a fancy leather satchel that was incongruous against such casual clothing. Definitely an on-board courier. She knew a cargo flight held less risk of interference than a commercial passenger liner, and while it took a slower time in the air, there was a faster exit on the ground. Maybe this man was delivering documents too sensitive to be emailed. Or something so important it needed timely, secure transport. He definitely looked like he could do secure. Lily enjoyed a decent action flick and he totally had the look to take the lead. There was a lethality and anonymity about him—walls up as he walked in. With that lean, visibly fit frame, he was probably ex-Special Forces—all strength and speed and body easily used for intimidation. There were no visible honour tattoos but she thought she saw a scar running down his forearm before he turned towards the loadmaster who’d arrived behind him.
‘Taking off shortly.’ The loadmaster pulled her veering thoughts back on track. ‘Buckle up and read the safety sheet.’
Lily dutifully scanned the document, trying to ignore the heat rising within her as the hot-bodied courier took the seat beside her and fastened his belt.
‘Here’s a couple blankets. You can see the coffee machine.’ The loadmaster gave them one each. ‘Sorry—’
‘Thanks, we’ll be fine,’ the courier interrupted.
Confident and calm, quite posh. Ex-military for sure. Probably had flown the route a billion times.
The cabin lights dimmed for take-off, leaving only the coffee machine LED casting a faint blue light over them. Which was a relief because she was sure her heated reaction to him had reached her cheeks in an almighty flush. The engines fired and the plane hurtled down the runway before rising steeply into the air. As it levelled out, Lily toed off her trainers and spread the blanket on her lap. She would regulate her breathing—her reaction to him—and get some much needed sleep.
‘Guessing from your cap that you went to the race this weekend,’ he said.
Her flush flooded back at his huskiness and she was glad the cabin lights hadn’t flicked back on.
‘It’s my job to,’ she answered. ‘I’m a mechanic for Hearnshawe Racing.’
It still thrilled her to say it.
