Page 38 of Full Throttle

“And I said that we’re done. You’ll burn yourself out.”

Her voice came out sarcastic. “Is that an order, sir?”

Dominic stilled. Dawn filtered through a skylight, cradling his dark hair with golden fingers. His brown eyes looked almost unnaturally bright. And his smell, she realized, her heart tightening; she knew that smell. A combination of fresh woods and spiced biscuits, grapefruit shampoo and fabric softener; even after all these years, she could have recognized that scent anywhere.

Dominic’s jaw tensed. “You might not believe me, but I don’t get off on ruining your day. I’m doing this for the team. It’s dangerous out on track. A second of hesitation can be the difference between life and death. And Ranya’s right; you’re not there yet.”

Frustrated tears pricked. “You’re saying I’m not good enough.” She turned away. “Let me guess. You think I only got here because I’m lucky? Is that it?”

Dominic set down the tennis balls. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Dominic crossed his arms. “We make our own luck, Marchmont.” He shrugged. “So yes, I think you’re lucky to be here, but you made that happen. You. Not anybody else. Is that clear enough for you?”

Tinny music drifted from the speaker. Dominic swallowed.

“Three weeks,” he said. “Give me that, and then you never have to speak to me again.”

“Three weeks,” she echoed skeptically. Could they really survive that?

“What do you think?”

He took off his baseball cap, and she caught herself staring at his fingers. She’d spent the last two years trying to forget how they felt, rough and calloused as sandpaper. Could they really do it? Be civil for the sake of the team? She doubted it.

And yet.

There was her career to think about.

“Fine,” she said. “But there’s something you should know.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you threaten me with bodily harm?”

Hilarious, she thought flatly. “This changes nothing between us. We can be civil, but I’ll never forgive you for what happened in Paris. Never.”

The air conditioning was unnaturally loud in the silent gym. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she expected. An impassioned apology? An acknowledgment of their history? But in the end, Dominic only gave a breezy shrug, looking as infuriatingly apathetic as always.

“Feeling’s mutual, Marchmont. Now grab your things. We’ve got hill sprints next.”

Chapter 14

In the Fast Lane

Over the next three weeks, Juliette hardly slept. Hill sprints, racing simulators, neck exercises, watching old race footage…Every waking hour was devoted to training. During her lunch breaks, she traced Bahrain’s track on a napkin, memorizing the layout: Hard into turns one, two, and three. Long straight. Turn four. Careful exit from the pit lane because it led directly into a braking zone.

She dreamed of the race. Sometimes she’d wake up covered in sweat, her panicked hands grasping desperately for a phantom steering wheel. Then she’d get out of bed, throw on gym clothes, and meet Dominic for a morning run.

She had to begrudgingly admit that Dominic was a consummate professional; he showed up every morning with coffee—cappuccino for him, dirty chai latte for her—and then they began the usual training routine. Sprinting. Swimming. Dynamic stretching. And ice baths.

Admittedly, the ice baths wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that they required minimal clothing. And while Dominic was, in her opinion, still an insufferable arsehole, she couldn’t deny that he was an insufferable arsehole with abs. And a chiseled jawline. Which he knew. Obviously.

Dominic squatted by the tub, leaning his arms against the cold metal. “Where’s the first chicane in Monza?”

He was dressed in loose shorts and a baseball cap. No shirt. Hard stomach muscles contracted as he breathed, and Juliette looked away. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of looking. Not even once.

“Turn one. Variante del Rettifilo.”

Dominic shifted. Allegedly to reach for the cold-water tap, but probably just to give her a better view. “And the first DRS zone? You know where that is?”