The Playboy and the Single Mum (Vintage Love Book 2)

by Alexia Adams

  Shit. Am I becoming a crass advertising exec who sees people as a commodity?

  Then she spotted Daniel and his ad revenue potential didn’t even register. One night. That’s all she wanted. They could go back to being colleagues after that.

  He was with two other men and one woman, staring at a monitor covered in squiggly lines—telemetry from the car’s running that morning. They were focusing on one particular section of the data. Her father had once told her there were two types of drivers: Type one understood every nuance of the car and gave feedback as though he’d built it himself. Type two showed up when he was needed, got behind the wheel, and drove. Daniel was obviously a type one.

  Her reflection must have showed in the monitor because he turned around mid-sentence.

  “Hi,” she said. She was well read, spoke five languages, and that was the best she could do.

  Daniel stared at her for a moment then glanced at his colleagues. The smile he gave her seemed forced. “Lexy, I’m glad you came.” He must be saving the frosty reception for when they were alone. He introduced her to the few in the garage who hadn’t been at the party the night before. “The car is handling great on all but one section of the track,” he explained. “I want to walk that area to see if I can figure out what’s different about that particular piece of tarmac.”

  She glanced down at her heeled shoes. After a six-kilometer walk around the circuit in these shoes, walking barefoot across hot coals would be a welcome relief.

  “Sure. Have you got a bottle of water for me? It’s getting hot.” Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her again.

  “I don’t want to walk the whole track, just one section. I thought, seeing as how you missed your second driving lesson, you could drive me out there.”

  “You want me to drive you on an F1 track?” The man was insane. The mystery of why he fancied her was solved.

  “Not in Eva.” He stroked his hand along the side pod of his F1 car. God, now she was jealous of a hunk of carbon fiber.

  “You named your car?”

  “We spend a lot of quality time together. What I meant was we’d use a regular car to drive out to the turn in question. Then I’ll get out and walk.”

  “Um, I guess. There won’t be other drivers walking the track, will there?” She could see the headlines now: “Unlicensed woman mows down half of Formula 1’s drivers.”

  “No, most of them have left the track now.”

  “All right, then. If you think it’s safe.”

  “You’re with me. What could go wrong?” For one, he could smile at her like that and she’d drive straight into a wall.

  “Why do you insist on tempting fate by saying these things?”

  “I don’t believe in fate.”

  Until meeting Daniel, she hadn’t either. But now it felt like her whole life had been leading up to this one experience.

  He led her to a small compact car and handed her the keys. They were sitting so much closer than they had been in the Land Rover. She drew in a deep breath, filling her head with his scent. They’d be lucky to get to the end of the pit lane without crashing.

  “Are you still angry with me about last night?” she asked before turning the key in the ignition.

  “Anger is dangerous on the track. So I’ve come up with a plan. But you have to get me safely back to the garage before I’m going to tell you what it is.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I guess you’ll never know.” He winked then turned serious. “Now, first thing you need to do is find the bite point on the clutch. Keep the revs up a bit then slowly lift pressure from the clutch until you can feel the car start to rise. Then put the handbrake down and gently press the accelerator as you release the clutch.”

  She did as he instructed. The car leapt forward and then stalled. She tried it again and again until finally they moved off in a somewhat smooth motion, albeit slowly. He kept up the calm instructions, guiding her hand on the gear lever as she shifted into second and then third. Halfway around the track he had her stop and try the start again. This time she moved off on the first attempt, although her gear change would have made a mechanic cry. Finally, they arrived at the piece of track Daniel wanted to walk.

  She stopped the car and they both got out. He walked the curve twice, often kneeling down to touch the surface. Then he almost lay on the curb as he studied the camber, using a marble. “There, that’s the problem,” he announced after about half an hour.

  “What? I don’t see anything.”

  He showed her a minor inconsistency in the surface. It couldn’t be more than three millimeters’ difference, but evidently it was enough to throw off the downforce on his car. He spent another ten minutes checking out the tarmac before heading back to the car. She expected him to take the driver’s seat and get them back to the garages in record time. Instead he opened the passenger door and put on his seatbelt. She managed to pull away smoothly, and Daniel cheered as though she’d won a race.

  “One more time around,” he said as they neared the pit lane entrance. “This time, try to go a little faster and see if you can get into fourth or fifth gear.”

  They made two more laps of the track, going faster each time. By the time he called the lesson at an end and she successfully parked the car at the end of the pit lane, her heart rate was soaring and she felt she could take on the world. Daniel made her believe she could do anything. If only she’d met him five years ago.

  “Thank you, Daniel. You don’t know how much this means to me.” She forced back the tears.

  “Good. Then you’ll agree to my plan. We’re going to have dinner —just you and me. I know a place where we can talk without anyone overhearing. Best of all, no paparazzi.”

  He wanted to talk? Wasn’t that supposed to be her line? “I’d like that. I’ll let Genevieve know. You have a car?” At his nod she continued, “I’ll meet you down in the parking garage then at seven.”

  Daniel didn’t look thrilled at the meet location but agreed. “Bring a change of clothes.”

  Did she want to be taken to a dinner that required two outfits?

  ***

  Lexy took his breath away when she arrived in the parking garage. How did the woman become more beautiful each time he saw her? Must be her blossoming confidence. He sensed that she’d faked it before, pretending a bravado that she didn’t really feel. But now? Now it was genuine. She walked with purpose, her shoulders back, no longer holding her hands over her stomach and hunched forward as if trying to hide her figure. The black dress hugged her curves like an oil slick. Dieu, he’d better not crash and burn tonight. He couldn’t take many more sleepless nights, tossing and turning, wishing she were there with him. With the race two days away, he needed to concentrate. Instead, his mind was full of Lexy as she’d been in the library before Max had called.

  It wasn’t the imminence of sex putting a huge smile on her face now, though. She doubled over in laughter and he caught a glimpse of a red lace bra. His body hardened.

  “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re driving a Lada.” Lexy jumped into the passenger seat, not waiting for him to come around and open the door. Any other woman he’d taken for dinner would have refused to get in such an ugly car. Lexy clearly didn’t give a shit about money, or prestige, or appearances. What else did he have to offer her? Tonight wasn’t for dark thoughts, though. Tonight was for finding a way forward that they could both live with. At least for the next seven weeks.

  Pretending it was the greatest sports car ever, Daniel revved the engine. It stalled. “You wanted anonymity. This is the last car on earth anyone would expect me to drive.”

  “Reliability trumps anonymity. Do you think it will get us to our destination? Is it far?”

  “It just has to get us six blocks to where the real car is parked.” There, they transitioned into a dark blue Ferrari 488 GTB. “Now this is more like it,” he said as he drove away from Sochi towards the mountains. He forced his eyes to remain on
the tight, twisty road and off the extra ten centimeters of Lexy’s leg exposed when she’d slid into the low-slung car. The Ferrari did handle great on the curves, but he’d rather be handling Lexy’s.

  The lights of the city were far beneath them when he pressed a button on the instrument panel and a set of iron gates swung open. He followed a long driveway steadily upwards until he parked in front of a huge villa. It looked like it had been picked up in Tuscany and dropped here by mistake.

  “Where are we?” No trepidation, just curiosity.

  “At my friend Sasha’s place. This is his car. He’s traveling at the moment but said we could have dinner here. He has a fantastic chef.”

  As he helped her from the car, the front door opened and a uniformed butler ushered them inside. Dinner was set up on the back terrace. The lights of Sochi twinkled below against the darkness of the Black Sea. But the best surprise he was saving for after dinner.

  Lexy was still admiring the view when the butler returned with a silver platter and two glasses of sparkling wine. Daniel handed one to her but waved the other away. “I never drink from Thursday night until after the race on Sunday,” he explained. He liked to keep his head clear. At the moment it was fogged with the scent of Lexy’s perfume.

  He couldn’t remember anything he ate; his attention was absorbed by the woman across from him. But from the rapturous expression on Lexy’s face, she enjoyed it. When the butler brought the dessert, however, she took one bite then pushed her plate away. She also waved away a second glass of champagne and thanked the man in Russian. At least that’s what he figured she said; his Russian had never progressed beyond thank you.

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked as Sasha’s beaming staff member retreated to the kitchen.

  “Too much. I’ve already put on a kilogram this week with all the delicious food.”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “But I can.” She turned her head and stared at the view.

  “Do you worry about your weight?”

  “I think I always will. It was really hard to break all the bad eating habits my mother forced upon me. When I’m stressed or sad, my first reaction is to eat. But I don’t want to go back to what I was. Ever. However, I also have to make sure I don’t go to the opposite extreme. For a while, every forkful of food I put in my mouth I asked myself, ‘Do I need this or just want it?’”

  “How did you handle your pregnancy? Was the weight gain difficult?”

  “You know, you’re the first person to ask me that. But yes, it was in a way. I forced myself to eat for Max’s sake, but at every weigh-in I panicked that I was getting fat again. Food is always going to be an issue for me. But as long as I keep the rest of my life in balance, hopefully my weight will stay relatively constant. I’m working hard to maintain where I am now. I know I’ll never be skinny, but I’m healthy.”

  “You’re more than healthy. If you think it would help, you could work out with me in the morning. I hate exercising, but I might not mind so much if you were there.”

  She smiled, and for some stupid reason his chest swelled and his fingers tingled. What the hell?

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  He pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Speaking of exercise, want to go for a walk?”

  “Here? It’s pitch-black.”

  “The path is lit to what I want to show you.”

  “Oh, I love surprises.”

  He took her hand and led her to the end of the terrace and then along a narrow pathway until they arrived at a special room nestled against the hillside. Daniel unlocked the door with the key Sasha had told him about, and let Lexy precede him.

  “Wow.” She moved to the floor-to-ceiling window and stared at the view. All of Sochi was laid out before them. The lights of the Olympic park and the F1 circuit were easy to spot. She was so entranced by the view that she hadn’t commented on the huge bed in the room. With the glass ceiling, it was the perfect place to view the stars in comfort. Or do other things. He was really hoping for other things. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, inhaling deeply of her scent—a mix of shampoo, perfume, and non-distilled Lexy.

  “Do you enjoy looking at the stars?” he asked, his lips on her ear. His tongue flicked across her lobe and she shivered.

  “Of course, who doesn’t? Although, we don’t see many of them in London. Too much light pollution.” Her last words came out with a low moan as his hands slipped up to cup her breasts, his thumbs tracing the outline of her nipples through her clothes.

  “Come see the stars.” He backed her up to the bed and waited for her to climb up. He wouldn’t force her. Not even seduce her. She had to want this.

  She sat on the bed, braced on her hands behind her, her head flung back as she checked out the glass ceiling. He bit down on his lip at the erotic image she projected. “Who the hell owns a secluded bedroom with a glass wall and ceiling? Not to mention the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”

  He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sasha Kasparov. He plays in the NHL. If you want a real playboy for your next advertising campaign, he’s your man. Doesn’t even restrict himself to one woman a night, or at a time for that matter. But he’s a huge F1 fan and lets me take advantage of his amazing house when we come to Russia.”

  “You’ve brought other women here?”

  “No, you’re the only one. I usually sleep here at least one night, alone, to get away from the mayhem down in the valley.”

  “So, you brought me here to look at the stars and sleep?” Her voice was flat.

  Merde, he should have put the lights on so he could read her expression.

  “Well, if there are other things you’d like to do, I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Come here, you daft man, and make love to me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, but he was already unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You are officially the worst playboy ever. I’m going to have to give you lessons before the next advertising campaign begins.”

  He paused then blurted out, “I’m not really a playboy. It’s all an act.”

  “What?” She flicked on the bedside lamp and stared at him, her brown eyes wanting to believe.

  “Yep. You’ll find me in bed with a book every night, not a different woman.”

  “But the photos … the press … the women…”

  “Smoke and mirrors. When I want to leave somewhere or someone, I say I’ve got a blonde or brunette or redhead waiting for me. I just never go on to say they’re the characters in the book I’m reading.”

  “But I’ve seen pictures of you leaving parties and events with women, never the same one twice.”

  He smiled. “I’m a gentleman. I see my dance partner, or plus one, back to her place, give her a kiss on the cheek, and leave. Then I let my supposed reputation do the rest. If you were a supermodel, would you want to be known as the one who couldn’t get Daniel Michaud into bed? They’re too embarrassed by my departure to ever say anything.”

  She laughed. A genuine, from the belly, laugh that bounced off the glass walls. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  “I’m finding this hard to believe. Fess up, when’s the last time you had sex? And you have to be honest.”

  So, the gloves were off. It was rather refreshing to have a frank discussion and not have to wrap everything in political correctness.

  “Eight months ago, about three months after Jacques and Grand-Papa left. It was pre-season so I didn’t have my team around and I was lonely. I met a woman in a café in Paris. She was far from home and lonely, too.” They’d both gotten what they wanted out of the hook-up—a night of not being alone. He hadn’t heard from her again, couldn’t even remember her full name. “What about you?”

  “Three years, ten months, and six days ago.”

  Mon Dieu. “That’s very precise.” Was she kidding? She was a vibrant, sexy woman. What was the reason for her abstinence?


  “That’s because three years, ten months, and four days ago, my husband walked out the door. Evidently taking my sex life with him.”

  “Merde. And since then…”

  “Nothing. I want this one night with you, Daniel. Not to get over a drought, but because you make me feel things no other man ever has. Now, are you done talking?” She turned off the lamp, bathing the room in moonlight.

  “I’m done talking.” He pulled off his shirt and reached for her. If they were only going to have this one night, it damned well was going to be spectacular.

  He kissed her. He may not be a genuine playboy, but he didn’t need advice. Just to taste her, feel her silky skin, and hear the sound of her enjoyment.

  When he released her lips she pushed away from him and moved to the middle of the room, where she slithered out of her dress. He swallowed at the sight of her red lacy lingerie against the paleness of her skin in the moonlight. Soon even those scraps of fabric fell to the floor, and he was mesmerized as she sauntered over to where he still sat on bed.

  “You’re falling behind. Need a hand?”

  “Yes,” he managed to get out seconds before she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. After that his mind went blank as she removed his clothes, her hands and lips caressing and teasing him until all he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears. If he didn’t want to have an aneurysm, he had to get back in control.

  “My turn.” He flipped her over so he was on top. He wanted the connection to last long after they left the bed. He wanted Lexy to forget everything but him and how they made each other feel.

  “Now, Daniel. Get inside me now,” she begged as her head thrashed from side to side. He was bringing her close to the edge then retreating, desperate to prolong this moment as long as possible.