by Nell Stark
“I will be going up to Ms. d’Angelis’s room,” she informed him in as flat a voice as she could manage.
“Yes, ma’am.” He fell in behind them as they moved toward the elevator.
The ride was interminable, but when they reached Thalia’s door, Alix prepared herself for more waiting. Claude would have to check the room before they could be alone in it.
Thalia went straight to the minibar. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” She wanted to add that Thalia ought not to drink either, but then she pulled out a bottle of Perrier and the protest died on Alix’s lips.
As Thalia poured it into a tumbler, the bubbles frothed and churned, trying to overspill their bounds before retreating below the surface. Alix didn’t believe in signs or omens—they were products of the human brain creating patterns where none existed, and nothing more—but in that moment she found herself tempted to read the water as symbolic of her own desire. Tonight, however, she could not let it overspill its bounds.
“All clear, ma’am,” Claude said. “I’ll be outside.”
“Thank you, Claude.” When the door locked automatically behind him, she released her breath slowly, feeling at once relieved and self-conscious. Not wanting to betray the latter to Thalia, she walked to the window and looked out at the Mediterranean.
“You’re very polite with your staff,” Thalia said from behind her.
“I can’t help but feel guilty when it comes to them.” Her every nerve was on high alert as she sensed Thalia moving closer. “They sacrifice so much to follow us around the globe.”
“But they get to see the globe.” Thalia halted beside her but did not touch. Perhaps it was fanciful, but Alix felt as though she could sense the restless energy crackling around her. “Their job does have some perks.”
“I suppose.” Refusing to allow her nerves to sabotage the evening’s potential, Alix turned to face her. “It isn’t the life I would have chosen, but I’m grateful they did.”
Thalia drained her glass and set it on a nearby end table. “What life would you have chosen?”
Alix had imagined a different life so often that she had no trouble answering. “I would still be a doctor,” she said, “but in a small practice, somewhere I could truly make a difference.”
“Husband? Two-point-five kids?”
The question was intrusive, bordering on insulting. A husband? Did Thalia think she was playing a game or going through a phase? She didn’t have to respond, of course. She could walk out of this room right now and put an end to this fledgling relationship, if it could even be called that.
But just as she was about to launch into a diatribe, logic prevailed. She had been necessarily candid (she still believed that) about her lack of experience. Perhaps Thalia wasn’t trying to insult her, but rather to do the opposite? Alix had yet to claim a label for herself. Had Thalia been offering her a way out of the box, at least for now?
“I didn’t think beyond my career,” she finally said. Wanting to be out of the limelight, she turned the tables. “And you? What life would you have chosen?”
“This is it for me. I’m doing exactly what I always dreamed of.” And then she grinned. “If I had to do it over again, though, I would’ve asked you out back at Sasha’s wedding.”
The declaration dissolved Alix’s tension, and she had to laugh. “I would have declined.”
“Sure about that?” Thalia held out one hand. Beneath her devil-may-care expression hid a softer and stronger emotion—something that made Alix feel truly wanted rather than preyed upon.
But she didn’t dare to take Thalia’s hand.
“Yes,” she said, softening the rejection with a smile. “And I am not letting you lead me to that bed.” She sat in the nearest chair and prayed she could keep her composure. “Take off your shirt and sit on the floor with your back me.”
She expected Thalia to have some kind of ready quip, but after a moment of what appeared to be frozen disbelief, she hurried to obey. Alix’s mouth went dry as her breasts were revealed. They suited her body perfectly, and she allowed her gaze to roam over the pale golden curves, imagining their softness.
“The way you’re looking at me right now,” Thalia said hoarsely, “makes me want to rethink our rule.”
Alix shivered. How could she not? No one had ever wanted her so fiercely. Her fingertips ached with the desire to stroke Thalia’s breasts. But she shook her head firmly.
“There will be no rule breaking. Come here.”
“Bossy, aren’t you?” Thalia said, smiling.
When she was settled, Alix tentatively rested her hands on Thalia’s shoulders. Her skin was hot and silky, and as she smoothed her palms along Thalia’s upper back, Alix felt the play of powerful muscles beneath. Experimentally, she increased the pressure and was pleased to feel Thalia relax into her touch.
“That feels so good,” Thalia murmured.
“Shhh,” Alix said. “You don’t need to praise me. I’m enjoying this too. Just relax.”
She increased the pressure, focusing on the tight, knotted muscles where her neck met her shoulders. This was where she bore the brunt of the g-forces on each turn, as she struggled to keep her heavy head still. When Thalia moaned at her touch, the sensuality of the sound only increased Alix’s desire. Daring to intersperse her kneading movements with the occasional caress, she concentrated for several minutes on the muscles around Thalia’s shoulder blades. Once they had loosened up, she slowly began to work her way down Thalia’s spine.
She watched her hands move nearer and nearer to the gentle swell of Thalia’s breasts, their curves just barely visible from this angle. Tentatively, breathlessly, she dared to extend one fingertip to lightly stroke the tantalizing skin. Thalia shuddered and groaned her name. But when she would have turned her head, Alix rested her free hand on the nape of Thalia’s neck to hold her in place.
“Stay just like that,” Alix whispered. If their eyes met, she might lose her confidence. A thought occurred to her. “Unless…you don’t like this?”
“Like it?” Thalia’s voice hitched. “Please. More.”
Alix had never felt so powerful. She leaned in to plant a gentle kiss behind Thalia’s ear before repeating the motion. Her skin was even softer than she had imagined. For one perilous instant, Alix nearly gave in to the impulse to cradle Thalia’s breasts in her palms. She wanted to map their contours and test their weight and feel the pleasure her touch would bring.
But she couldn’t. Indulging this wish might not violate their rules of engagement, but she would be crossing a different kind of line. And as much as she wanted to push her own boundaries, tonight was not the right time.
She leaned forward to kiss the nape of Thalia’s neck, hoping the simple gesture would convey everything she couldn’t find the words to say.
Chapter Sixteen
Thalia slid into position five, fixed her gaze on the lights, and preset her left clutch paddle while fully engaging the right. She took a quick sip of her energy drink and tried to picture the same sequence of events she’d been visualizing since yesterday: a quick start that culminated in her passing Hugo to take fourth position. When her fingertips trembled against the paddles, she tried to downplay the clear sign of nerves. Of course she was nervous. This was the Monaco Grand Prix. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix might be worth double points, but nothing could compare to this race.
The roar of her engine drowned out whatever noise the crowd was making, but she could still feel their energy. Hundreds of thousands of spectators lined the streets and the harbors and the yacht decks, swelling the population of Monaco to nearly four times its usual size. Her mind flashed to the yacht deck where she and Alix had shared their first kiss, and then to the too-brief interlude they had shared yesterday. She would be nearby, in the grandstand overlooking the start / finish line. As close as that was, Thalia wished she had asked for a token, a talisman—something to remind her of Alix during the grueling odyssey s
he was about to commence.
The first LED flared red, and Thalia’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Every muscle in her body drew taut as a bowstring, ready to release. Her fingers flexed on the paddles and her toes twitched inside her flameproof boots. Another light illuminated, and then another. They were her conductor, counting down to the start of the symphony. When the fifth LED came on, Thalia sucked in a deep breath and prepared to battle gravity. They winked out, and she pressed down hard on the throttle while releasing the left clutch paddle.
Her car surged forward as though it were alive. Terrence had made a good start, but Hugo was slow off the grid, and she managed to quickly swerve around him without losing much of her acceleration. But there was no time to celebrate having jumped up to P4 already. The St. Devote turn on the first lap was the prime overtaking opportunity, and she had to play defense long enough to establish her position.
After a very close call with whoever had fallen in behind her, Thalia was finally able to gain good ground on the brief straightaway. Terrence was only a second ahead, and she settled down to working out how to pass him. Patience was crucial here, as she tried to drive as efficiently as possible in order to maximize the longevity of her tires. That meant not going on the offensive, but staying consistently on his tail.
He pitted just under halfway through the race, and for a while, Alix enjoyed her view of the track from third place. Peter was still in first, and she worked hard to gain ground on Lucas. But a few laps later, it was her turn to pit. Her team did an extraordinary job of matching their best ever time, but even so, she slid back into the race just behind Terrence. Now she had to begin attacking him with more purpose, harrying him in hopes that he would make a mistake. But she also had to be cautious not to eat up too much of her tires through aggressive maneuvering.
For lap after lap, she remained in his wake, hoping to lull him into a false sense of security. Every time he deviated—even slightly—from the ideal racing line, she wanted to make her move. And every time, she forced herself to be patient. The moment had to be perfect. This course was unforgiving.
It finally came at the beginning of the sixty-eighth lap, when Terrence swung slightly too wide on St. Devote. If it had been any other turn, Thalia wouldn’t have tried to slip through. But this might be her last good chance.
The world telescoped until all she could see was the narrow strip of daylight between Terrence’s front tire and the barricade. She would push through and take the place she deserved. Slamming down on the throttle, she sucked in a deep breath just before gravity closed down on her chest like a vise. Her car responded beautifully, leaping forward as though it were alive. For one agonizing moment, the shadow to her right threatened to knock her out of the race…and then she was in the clear.
“Brilliant!” Carl exclaimed in her ear. “Now, fend him off. Tight as you possibly can on every corner.”
For one lap, she held Terrence back. Then another. And another. The temperature in the cockpit continued to rise, and her shoulders screamed in protest on every turn but she couldn’t afford even the most minor lapse in concentration. She had to stay sharp.
On the penultimate lap, she began to pull away. By the time the last lap began, she was five seconds ahead.
“Just keep it clean.” Carl was almost begging. “Just keep it clean and you’ll be standing on that podium.”
It took roughly one minute and twenty seconds to complete a lap of the course at Monaco, but one minute and twenty seconds had never felt so long. The anticipation was so strong that she had to force herself to take the slow, deliberate breaths that would keep oxygen flowing to her brain.
When she was finally shown the checkered flag, her earpiece erupted with the sounds of celebration.
“Thalia!” Carl shouted. “You did it! Well fucking done!” Several other engineers were hollering in the background, but Thalia couldn’t make them out. And then Alistair’s cool monotone pierced through the chaos.
“Brilliant work, Thalia. Well deserved.” For him, that was tantamount to screaming in delight like a teenager.
Belatedly, she swerved back and forth across the track, arm raised above the cockpit, fist clenched in a gesture of triumph. The victory lap was surreal, and she kept trying to freeze it in place—the sensation of having broken yet another record, and of getting to the podium on the most famous racetrack in the sport. But even at slower speeds, the course slid by too quickly.
In the tunnel, her thoughts turned to Alix. Certainly, she would be happy, but was she truly impressed at her accomplishment? By now, Thalia thought she had some appreciation for the sport. But what would really impress Alix was if she were able to convert this success into something bigger—something meaningful beyond the world of Formula One.
And then she was passing the pit lane, which had been the end of every other race. Not this time. This time, she crossed the finish line again and pulled into the spaces reserved for the top three finishers. Peter and Lucas were already there, and she hurried to shut down her car. As soon as her engine quieted, she leapt out of the cockpit and raised her arms to the crowd. It roared back in thunderous approval.
She could feel the city—and beyond it, the world—watching as she dropped to one knee and kissed the chassis to honor her car. When she rose, she saw Alix standing along the barricade with the rest of her family. If only it could be so easy to cross the space and kiss her. She raised one hand instead.
“Thalia!” Peter roared from behind her. “You beast!”
And then they were embracing, helmets colliding as they slapped one another on the back.
“I knew you could do it!” he said fiercely. “Just you wait—you’ll be stealing the top step from me before long!”
She pulled away, laughing. “I’m happy for you to have it. For now, anyway.”
One of the race marshals sidled up to them. “Congratulations, Mr. Taggart, Ms. d’Angelis,” he said. “But if you could please follow me to be weighed—”
“Of course,” Peter said. He gestured for Thalia to precede him. “The sooner we jump on the scales, the sooner we can get to our champagne!”
*
The Onyx Salon was held on a yacht of the same name owned by Formula One. Alix stood with her family on the lowest deck at the terminus of the red carpet-covered ramp, welcoming film stars and billionaire entrepreneurs and professional athletes. And, of course, her fellow royals.
Sebastian arrived with a professional tennis player on his arm and greeted her coolly. She accepted his vaguely pitying cheek-kisses while trying not to laugh. His body language suggested that she should gaze upon his girlfriend and feel insecure, but all she really felt was relief.
Thankfully, the royal house of England arrived shortly thereafter. Ashleigh was six months pregnant now and wore a flowing golden dress that by turns revealed and concealed her baby bump.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Alix told her, offering a careful embrace.
“Likewise,” Ashleigh said with a warm smile. “And the logo for Rising Sun is just perfect.” She gestured to the banner that festooned the deck railing. “I’m so glad—and impressed—that you were able to finalize everything in time to make it the featured charity.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Alix told her before they moved on into the belly of the boat.
She turned to greet Sasha and Kerry, still glowing with newlywed affection. As they embraced and chatted about the race and Rising Sun, Alix couldn’t help but wonder whether they could somehow sense the change in her. “Gaydar”—wasn’t that what it was called? But if they did pick up on any subtle shift in her identity, they gave no indication.
The constant stream of people was a drain on her energy, especially after such an extroverted weekend, but her fatigue disappeared when Thalia finally arrived. She moved like a jungle cat, striding quickly but gracefully up the ramp as though she owned the yacht, acknowledging the applause of the crowd with a broad smile and raised hand. Bea
utiful in her triumph, she radiated charisma in palpable waves. Alix experienced a sudden rush of insecurity. Thalia was devastatingly attractive to most people, regardless of gender. But no. She wasn’t going to indulge in this kind of self-deprecation. For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to flash back to last night, when Thalia had actually begged for her touch. Schooling her features into an expression of polite interest had never been so difficult.
When her father stepped forward to greet Thalia, Alix watched with some trepidation. He might not “approve” of Thalia, per se, but neither could he discount her strong performance on the racecourse. After a brief chat, Prince Raphael indicated the rest of his family with a sweeping gesture.
“And I know you have met my middle daughter, Pommelina,” he said, “in her role as our liaison to the events committee.”
“Your Serene Highness,” Thalia said, bowing her head briefly over Alix’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
Her touch set off sparks beneath Alix’s skin, and for one perilous moment, it was impossible to speak. When she glanced up, she saw the humor sparkling in Thalia’s eyes. And behind the humor, desire. Directed at her.
“Congratulations on your success,” she said, before reluctantly letting go of her hand and turning to the next driver.
The party was a whirlwind after that. Once all of the drivers were on board the yacht, her father formally initiated the event with a speech. Each of the top three finishers was able to say a few more words, and Alix watched as Thalia held the crowd in the palm of her hand, inviting them to share in her triumph.
Then it was Alix’s turn to take the stage and speak briefly about Rising Sun. Formula One had agreed to give ten percent of its earnings from the after party to the charity, and she acknowledged their generosity while also requesting donations. When she surrendered the microphone to the DJ, she retreated to the stern of the boat where a promotional table had been set up and was being minded by a member of her secretary’s staff. When she offered to spell the young woman for a while so that she could enjoy some of the party, her impassioned response was nearly comical. Alix might have offered the crown jewels—such was the level of her enthusiasm.