Page 25 of Full Throttle

He raised an eyebrow. “I assume you’re familiar with the term. Speaking politely, exchanging handshakes, not setting each other’s helmets on fire—”

“I’m amazed they found one big enough to fit your head.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. She wanted to go there? Fine. He’d go there. “Don’t worry, love.” He gave a pointed look at his trousers. “They only had to make one thing in a larger size for me.”

Juliette’s smile was sweet. “The car insurance on your contract?”

Dominic startled himself by laughing. Fuck. He’d forgotten that she could be funny; that was so much worse than being reminded of how beautiful she was. Then Juliette leaned closer, and he was back in that art gallery, listening to her tear his heart into pieces. Any amusement vanished.

“How about this?” Juliette’s perfume tickled his face. “Don’t get in my way this season.”

His jaw tightened. “We’ll work well together. We always have.”

Juliette looked like a mechanic sizing up a broken car. “What about your…” She waved a hand at Dom’s torso area. “You know.”

He snatched a cucumber sandwich from a passing tray. “It’s working well, thanks. Much to the delight of women everywhere.”

Juliette’s mouth tightened. “I meant your wrist.”

She looked irritated. Good.

“Healed,” Dominic said shortly, popping the sandwich into his mouth, and he might have said more if Anthony sodding Sinclair hadn’t chosen that moment to appear with two glasses of champagne. He extended a glass to Juliette, who, to his irrational annoyance, accepted it with a smile.

“For you,” Anthony murmured. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m—”

“Anthony Sinclair,” Juliette finished. “Two crashes, twelve wins, and twenty podiums last season. Not to mention world champion.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve not been living under a rock. I know who you are.”

Anthony blinked. His surprise would have been amusing, Dominic thought, if he wasn’t eyeing Juliette like a starving man surveying a chocolate cupcake. “I’m flattered you’ve been keeping tabs.”

Juliette took a sip. “I make a point of knowing my competition. Anyway, everyone knows who you are.” She nodded at the flashing cameras. “The Bad Boy of Racing.”

She said this last part ironically, but she wasn’t wrong, Dominic thought; that really was what the papers called Anthony. He’d built a reputation as a roguish, devil-may-care scamp. Unfortunately, that largely gave the dickhead license to say whatever he wanted and then pass it off as a cheeky comment. And Sinclair milked that for everything it was worth.

Anthony waved a hand. “You shouldn’t believe what you read in the papers. All of it’s rubbish.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “So you didn’t smash up all your golf clubs after you lost a tournament last year?”

“No.”

“Or do cocaine with the pope?”

“Never happened.”

“Or temporarily marry an American girl in Vegas?”

“That one’s true,” Anthony acknowledged. “But she was Canadian. Not American.” He drained his champagne. “Thank fuck I was sober enough to get a prenup.”

To Dominic’s great irritation, Juliette looked amused. “So your reputation is only partially deserved. That’s what you’re saying?”

Anthony gave a toothy smile. “Why don’t I take you out this weekend and you can find out?”

“We should go find Ranya,” Dominic said curtly.

A pulse beat in his throat. If he had to stand here for much longer and watch Sinclair leer at Juliette’s cleavage every time her head was turned…it wasn’t going to end well. Yes, he was pissed off at her, but come on. That was basic human decency, right?

Anthony looked at Dominic as if he were a pebble at the bottom of his shoe. Juliette squared her shoulders. “Ranya said to wait here.”

“Come on,” Dominic said. “This will be faster.”