Page 56 of Full Throttle

Ah. Made sense. Some rookies did that, so they were in a good headspace when it came to racing. Dominic hesitated. “The things they’ve written about Sinclair…He’s not a good person. You don’t know the things he’s said.”

Juliette pressed a hand to her flushed cheeks. “You know that most of the stuff in tabloids is a crock of shit. I’m not saying that Anthony’s reputation as the ‘bad boy of racing’ ”—this part was said in air quotations—“isn’t deserved. I’m sure he’s done things over the years. But the press exaggerate. It’s how they sell papers.” She shook her head. “Just look at all the pieces they run on you. You’re telling me they’re true?”

Dominic grimaced. He couldn’t deny there had been some outlandish articles. Rumors that he was shagging his personal trainer, or that he had a secret cocaine addiction. There had been a particularly disastrous spring where he was certain that everyone at his PR agency was on Adderall just to work around the clock. And yet…

“That’s different.”

Juliette crossed her arms. “How?”

“It just is.”

She exhaled. “Look, I won’t pretend to know what the press have written about Anthony this time, but…I just think everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. That’s all.”

Dominic grimaced. Normally he’d agree.

But not this time.

There’d been too many allegations: racist comments, sexual assault claims, restaurants complaining that Sinclair and his friends had trashed the place…Hell, just last week there’d been an article about Anthony and Frederick Von Galen on the golf course. According to a caddy, Anthony had loudly disparaged Juliette’s driving. Women are like horses, he’d said. Made to be ridden.

“If there’s something I should know,” Juliette said, “just say it. Plainly.”

Dominic hesitated. The desire to expose Sinclair as a simpering little toerag was increasingly tempting. But looking at Juliette…No. He couldn’t do it. If she hadn’t read those articles, then he wasn’t about to enlighten her.

“I have nothing more to say.”

Juliette surveyed him. “Why didn’t you kiss me tonight?”

Dominic paused. Whatever he’d expected her to say next, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Dominic tensed. “Because we’re in the middle of a casino.”

“And?”

“Anyone could have seen.”

“Funny,” Juliette said coolly. “That’s never stopped you before.”

The casino lights washed Juliette’s face in a white glow, making her eyes look electric blue. A terrible pounding began low in his stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was the time of night. Whatever it was, Dominic heard himself say, “You really want to know why I didn’t kiss you?”

Juliette raised her chin. “Please.”

“Because when I kiss you,” Dominic said in a low voice, “it won’t be because someone told me to do it. It’ll be because I can’t help myself.”

Juliette’s mouth parted. Her lips looked soft and smelled of strawberries, and fuck if it wasn’t killing him. As if she could sense it, her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, and he suppressed a groan. God. How was anyone meant to possess this sort of self-control?

“I don’t do this sort of thing with you,” she murmured.

Dominic couldn’t help it. He was prowling forward, caging her against the wall. Exactly how she used to like it. “Really?” His mouth ghosted over her ear. “Because I can recall you begging me to kiss you.”

She shivered. “I was drunk.”

Dark amusement swirled in his chest. “Are you saying that you didn’t want me then?” She looked away, and he knew suddenly that they were both thinking of the same day, of the words she’d said to him. You’re my instructor. So teach me. “That you don’t want me now?”

“I hate you,” Juliette said, but she sounded breathless, her chest rising in quick, furious gasps. “You’re arrogant, and conceited, and I can’t stand you.”

“And yet you want me,” Dominic murmured. “Must be a real problem for you.”