Page 143 of Full Throttle

“I would have…”

She trailed off. Would have what? Charged into Vance’s office? Reported him to the FIA? Rung up every team and told them that Vance had threatened her? It didn’t matter, Juliette realized; Vance had the FIA in his pocket, and he supplied engines to most of the teams. Dominic was right. His father would have ruined her career.

Vance could still ruin her career.

But…

“There are some things,” she said evenly, “more important than trophies. I know that now.” She reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck. “And I’m sorry for what I said that day in the art gallery. I didn’t mean it. I was…” She swallowed. “I was angry, and I was hurt, and I lashed out with the one thing that I knew could hurt you too. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret saying it.”

A muscle fluttered in Dominic’s jaw. “So you don’t think I hide behind my father’s money?”

“No. God, no.” Juliette’s grip tightened. “Look at what you’ve accomplished, Hastings. You’ve finished third in the championship, driving the worst car on the grid. How many other drivers could do that?”

His smile was rueful. “You did.”

“Well, I’m exceptionally talented.”

She’d expected him to laugh, but Dominic shook his head. “But I didn’t get first place.”

“Does that matter?”

“That depends.” Dominic’s eyes were shadowed. “Do you still want me?”

Something squeezed her heart. “Is that a serious question?”

“Even though I’m not a world champion?”

Juliette paused. Something lodged in her throat, burning like a hot coal. How terrible, she thought, to grow up believing that love was only given as a reward for something. She chose her next words carefully.

“Listen to me, Hastings, because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t care if you’re a driver, or a sous-chef, or a bloody—a bloody acrobat. I care about you.” Cameras flashed, although she hardly noticed. Every muscle—every ounce of her being—was trained on Dominic. “I’m in love with you. Not your career, or how many trophies you win, but you. Do you understand?”

Dominic studied her. “Head chef.”

“What?”

“Obviously I’d be the head chef,” Dominic said indignantly. “You can’t imagine I’d agree to mash someone else’s potatoes while they took all the glory—”

Exasperation filled her. “Hastings?”

“Yes?”

She smiled. “Shut up.”

She tipped her face up. Surprise flickered in his eyes, and something bittersweet tangled in her chest. She’d done that, Juliette realized; even now, Dominic was wary of kissing her in public. Well. She’d have to rectify that, wouldn’t she? She stretched up on her toes, touching his cheek lightly.

“Let them see,” she murmured.

A dimple appeared on his cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“For the record,” Dominic murmured, “I’m in love with you too.” His fingers threaded in her hair, his smile growing as he leaned in. “I was going to tell you tonight, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you beat me. You have a habit of doing that.”

He kissed her with devastating force, his mouth slanting to claim her. Camera flashes exploded, but Dominic either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Mine, his mouth said, and Juliette sank into the warmth, her body singing in response. Yours, her heartbeat said. Yours, yours, yours.

She made a little noise of protest as he pulled back, and Dominic smiled ruefully. “The things I’m going to do to you later…” His voice was laced with dark promise. “Come on. We’ll miss our trophy ceremony.”

Juliette hesitated. There were a thousand things she wanted to say. A million questions to ask. But that could wait, she realized, her shoulders relaxing; they had that evening, and tomorrow, and the next day.