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After showering, she met Kyle back in the hall, agreeing to let him drag her to the after party. They were in Bermuda, after all. No reason to sit in her hotel room and forgo the perfect weather. It was better than stewing over the loss.

On the way to the lobby, the lift dinged on the third floor. As the door opened, Dillon immediately regretted skipping the stairs. There was Elyna Laurent’s expressionless face. And behind her, of course, was Henrik.

It had been nine years since she’d come that close to him. They’d seen each other—at races, at the Olympics, at various events. Most often with Dillon on the podium and Henrik in the crowd. But not once since she’d left Hamburg had she allowed him to come within arm’s reach.

“What a pleasant surprise.” His lips twisted into a smirk, his lean cheeks camouflaged by his five o’clock shadow. At forty-five, he was still handsome—more so, even, than when she had met him. There was no doubt an endless line of women who’d find his roguishness appealing, willing to throw themselves into his bed. But by the way Elyna’s entire body tensed as he placed a hand at the small of her back, it was clear he’d still not developed a taste for women his own age.

“Hallo,Schätzchen.” They stepped inside.

Dillon said nothing.

“You ran like a weakling today,” he continued in German as the doors took an eternity to close. “It was embarrassing to watch.”

Dillon forced a long inhalation through her nose, unwilling to look at him. Elyna stared at the floor. There was nothing of the indomitable power and presence the Parisienne girl had displayed on the race course. She looked cowed next to Henrik, like she wanted to disappear. Dillon knew the feeling well.

“She is a force, is she not?” His eyes swept Elyna, speaking of her as if she weren’t even there. “Built for speed. The lungsof a thoroughbred and ethics of a plow horse. She is going to demolish you in Japan, you won’t even make top ten. She hasn’t even hit her prime and is already challenging your records.”

Dillon knew she should just get off the lift and walk away. He was only trying to slip under her skin, to find a way to provoke her. But her pride wouldn’t allow it.

“She’s a little old for your taste, isn’t she?”

Henrik smiled. “Jealous,Schätzchen?” He leaned against the mirrored wall. “You needn’t be. You may be in the twilight of your career, but I’d still take you for a ride—”

“Fuck you!”

“What a lady. I’m sure your papa would be so proud—”

She lunged toward him, intent on wiping the smug smile off the bastard’s face, but Kyle was quick to restrain her.

“Don’t, Sinc!” He may not have understood a word of German, but it took little imagination to know what had transpired between them. “The wanker’s not bloody worth it!”

The lift settled on the ground floor as the doors slid open to reveal the main lobby. Half a dozen competitors milled about in boardshorts and flip-flops, their attention casually shifting toward the commotion. Elyna quickly slipped into the crowd.

Watching her go, Henrik leaned over, his breath warm against Dillon’s cheek. “See you in Yokohama,Drückeberger.” And then he was gone, disappearing behind Elyna.

“Sinc…” Kyle released her. “Just let it go.”

“I don’t need you to manage me,” she snapped, knowing her anger was aimed in the wrong direction.“I can handle myself!”

“And allow you to earn a suspension over a cunt like him? He wasn’t worth it. Now let’s go.”

Dillon slapped the button for the fifth floor. “You go. I’m going to call it a night.”

“C’mon, Sinc—”

A couple in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses approached the lift, waiting for Kyle to clear the door. He hesitated, shooting her a disapproving shake of his head. “Fine. Let him get your goat. It’s exactly what he was after. Go hide upstairs and hand him his second win of the night.”

“Sod off,” Dillon muttered, but he’d already walked away.

Back in her room, she yanked the blinds shut, closing out the panoramic view of Hamilton Harbour. She wasn’t in the mood for the turquoise waters or the beauty stretching across the bay.

She stood in the low light of the living room, staring at the silver medal she’d flung onto the coffee table.

Bermuda was her race. Unlike Yokohama, or Málaga, or even Montreal, where it was always a scrap to the podium, Bermuda washers. She’d won it more times than any other athlete in the history of the sport. She owned the course record. She was the unquestionable favorite to win. It had never even crossed her mind that she’d fall short.

Henrik had played her perfectly.

But—and it was thebutshe had to force herself to focus on—Kyle was right. They’d shown their cards too soon. Elyna was a sprint finisher. Dillon knew now she couldn’t match her closing speed, so she would simply have to adjust her strategy. Surge early and vary her pace. Make her chase her. Make it hurt.