Page 153 of Full Throttle

“This,” Dominic said, “was my mother’s favorite place in Paris.”

Juliette half turned. “This room?”

Dominic trailed a hand down the knobs of her spine. “She said it felt like you were standing in the heart of the city.”

Juliette smiled. Seeing her in that silky dress, half-cast in shadow, like something plucked from the deepest parts of his dreams…Fuck, Dominic thought helplessly. I’m so in love with her. “What did you want to tell me?”

She drew a quick breath. She was nervous, he realized. “Do you remember that female drivers’ academy that Ranya was talking about? The one that the FIA wouldn’t sponsor because it wasn’t lucrative enough?”

Cautious hope filled him. “I thought they couldn’t get funding.”

“Well, they couldn’t,” Juliette said. “But then an anonymous donor made a fuck-off donation, and now they’ve asked me to help run it next season.”

Dominic stared. “As in two months from now?”

“Yes.” Juliette seemed to interpret his silence as tacit disapproval, and she barreled on at speed. “I mean, I told them I’d think about it. Obviously, we’d try to structure it so that it wouldn’t interfere with my racing schedule. And it’s more of an honorary position. I’d be teaching a few classes, but nothing crazy, and I—”

“I think it’s brilliant.”

She paused. “You do?”

He was grinning. Like an idiot. “Come on, Marchmont. You know you’ll smash it. Stop fishing for compliments.”

She laughed. The sound warmed something in him, and suddenly he couldn’t stand not to be touching her. He caged her against the cool glass, and Juliette shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. Black spires cut through the night like iron keys. He could see a glimpse of the Seine, curling around whitewashed stone buildings, although Dominic hardly noticed it. Every dizzying beat of his heart was consumed by her. Juliette, Juliette, Juliette.

“I asked Ranya who the donor was,” she murmured. “She reckons it’s some wealthy European royal.”

He kissed her shoulder blade. “Should I be jealous?”

“Maybe.” She shivered. “He did ask for me specifically.”

Dominic’s hand lingered over the thin strap of her dress. “Right. Well, I’ll obviously have to kill him then.”

Her laugh vibrated through him. “Can we please not murder anyone? You’re going to get Project Arc killed before it’s even off the ground.”

He stilled. “What did you just say?”

“About murder? Generally, it’s a good idea to avoid it—”

“No, the project. What’s it called?”

His heart hammered. No. He had to be mistaken. Juliette smiled, looking slightly baffled. “Project Arc. Like Joan of Arc. I think it has a nice ring to it. The female resistance and all that.” She tilted her head. “Why?”

Something warm filled his chest. Well. Not a wealthy European royal after all. “I’ll tell you later.” His mouth dropped to her shoulder. “Have I mentioned that I like this dress? That being said, I’d like it even more off of you.”

She shivered. “There are a lot of hidden buttons.”

“I drive a car for a living,” Dominic murmured. “I’m very good with my hands.”

Juliette’s mouth curved. Just the hint of a challenge. “Prove it.”

Dominic flipped her around, undoing the top clasp in a fluid motion. The dress slipped down, and Juliette let out a little gasp. The sound was like kerosene, and he bit back a groan. God. How was it that he never stopped wanting her?

“What,” Dominic said, his voice low, “do you think of Paris?”

Juliette half closed her eyes. “I like it.”

“How much?”