Page 28

"Goodnight, honeybee."

"Goodnight, Reece," I whisper.

He steps back, and gently closes the door on his side. His soft laugh carries to me as I reach for my door. It sounds like maybe he can't quite believe this is real either.

I close it and lean my forehead against the wood, breathing him in. Then I push off and back away. The door is unlocked and… it stays that way.

The ache Reece leaves behind isn't pain.

It's longing.

And hope.

And, fuck , I don’t know if I can trust it.

I’m still awake half an hour later, waiting for my newly painted toenails to dry, when there’s another knock, this time at the hallway door.

I duck-walk over and check the peephole. Reece stands in the hallway, a small brown bag in hand and that familiar hopeful tilt to his mouth. I open the door. “Did you get lost?”

He laughs and lifts the bag. "I got you dessert."

What? Is this man for real?

I step back to let him in. "You’re not having any?"

He shakes his head. "Gotta make weight."

I wince. I'd forgotten about the brutal precision of race prep.

He chuckles as I duck-walk back to the small sofa in the sitting room. “Such grace, Maiken.”

I give him two middle fingers. “Beauty first, beastly man.”

“Always.”

City lights glitter beyond the room’s large window, almost obscured by the mass of roses.

He pulls a to-go box from the paper bag, opens it, and presents a magnificently-perfect slice of chocolate cake, a tiny pot of whipped cream, and a shiny fork. Reece sets them on the coffee table in front of me like an offering, then he sits back and considers me, his gaze steady and serious.

"You saw all of it, didn’t you?"

I know what he means. I didn’t bring it up at dinner because I didn’t know if he’d seen any of it. The interviews and Graham’s footage. The endless churn of gossip sites painting me as the gold-digging ho.

"Yeah. My friends sent me the links." I glance at him.

His jaw is tight "I’m sorry, Mai. I should’ve warned you."

"It’s not your fault your father’s an ass." I’m trying to keep it light even though remembering it makes me feel like shit.

He lets out a slow breath, some of the tension bleeding out of him at my words. "What about your friends? They’re good to you?"

I smile. "Yeah. Delilah and Yasmine would hop on a plane tonight if I needed them."

"Good."

I sit up, emboldened by the warmth between us. "I was thinking... next time I talk to my mom... maybe you could join us?"

His whole face lights up with a gorgeous, stunned kind of smile that makes something break open inside me all over again.

Damn, he’s got to stop doing that. My heart can’t take much more.

"I'd love to meet her."

He makes it sound so easy, and he really means it .

Before I lose my nerve, I add, "Maybe we should do an interview. Together. Get ahead of the story?"

He studies me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. The air between us sharpens and hums. "You’re serious?"

I nod. "If we’re in this... we should tell our story. Not Graham’s."

He holds my gaze, unflinching, then nods slowly. "I'll talk to Claudia. We'll make it happen."

The moment stretches between us, charged and unspoken, and something in his gaze gains weight.

Is he seeing me differently? Like I’m not just the girl who married him on a drunken whim, but the woman who chose him?

That charge has returned again, that snap between us that feels the way a sky does just before a summer storm.

A little unnerved by the sudden intensity, I fork a bite of cake, swirl it through the whipped cream, and hold it out to him with a teasing lift of my hand.

"C’mon. Just one bite." I expect him to laugh and say no.

Instead, Reece wraps his fingers around my wrist.

Gently.

Easily.

Like he's handling something precious.

My breath catches.

He doesn't take the fork. He takes me , and guides my hand closer to his mouth.

Never looking away from me.

Never giving me a chance to pull back.

With devastating slowness, he leans in and closes his lips over the fork, taking the bite.

His thumb brushes lightly along the inside of my wrist, where my pulse hammers wildly against my skin.

Heat surges through me, hot, immediate, and exciting.

Reece sits back, chewing like it's nothing, like he didn't just crash my entire nervous system with a single touch.

Again.

My hand stays suspended there, trembling just a little, wrist burning where he touched me.

Neither of us says a word.

The air crackles with enough electricity to power the entire goddamn Strip back in Vegas. That thing between us has grown hotter, closer, and hungrier than it's ever been.

One breath.

One blink.

One inch.

That’s all it would take to tip over into something I’m not sure I’m ready to survive.

Still...

I don't move away.

Neither does he, and I realize he’s waiting for me to decide what’s more compelling — what I want or what I fear.

The barrier feels thinner than it ever has, but if I let him in now, I’ll never want him to leave.

That reality terrifies me.

Then Reece's watch alarm triggers, a buzzing-ringing sound that slices through the stillness and makes me jump.

He groans, hits a button to turn off the alarm, then scrubs a hand over his face. "That's me done for the night, then."

I blink. "Done? Why?"

He stands and stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to flash a strip of hard stomach before settling back into place.

My lady bits definitely notice. Me-oww.

"Lights out. Asleep by eleven." He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world for a grown man to have a curfew.

I giggle. "You have a bedtime?"

He grins right back, unbothered. "Paid a hell of a lot to respect it, honeybee."

Tomorrow’s his first real day back on track since Vegas, and a knot forms in my stomach. Why? I haven’t even seen him race, aside from some footage. Which were crashes because that’s what the internet gods seem to love posting, the fuckers.

Reece smiles that lazy, devastating smile and steps closer to me. He cups my jaw gently, tilting my face up toward him.

The heat between us spikes again, but he doesn’t kiss my mouth. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to my temple. Soft and steady. A promise.

Just like that, I’m absolutely wrecked.

He pulls back slowly, his fingers resting on my skin, his gaze holding mine. "Goodnight, Mai."

Before I can grab hold, he crosses the room and goes through the shared doorway into his room, easing his door shut with a soft click.

I exhale. “Fuck me.” His touch thrums on my skin.

I blink and realize I’m still holding the fork. The one he guided to his mouth. The one that touched his lips and his tongue.

I turn it in my hand, studying that stupid fork like it holds a secret.

Then…

I lift it to my mouth and slide it past my lips to press against my tongue.

There’s a trace of rich chocolate, a hint of sweet whipped cream and, God, this is stupid and I’ve gotta be hallucinating, but I swear I taste him .

Jesus, could I thirst any more for a man?

Apparently, yes, because I close my eyes and let the fork and the tines and that… whatever it is… just sit with me.

I let the idea of him and my growing need for him linger.

Finally, I sigh and open my eyes and lower the fork, and I’m smiling like an absolute lovestruck dumbass.

Then I pick up the plate and finish the rest of the cake, savoring it like a secret, and it’s almost as incredible as this thing happening between Reece Pritchard and his wife.

When the plate is practically licked clean, I move through my nighttime routine on autopilot. Face cleaned, teeth brushed and flossed, hair brushed, skin moisturized. Before slipping into bed, I pause at the connecting door and close it, but I leave it unlocked again.

Just in case.

And, yes, I do put my hands down my pajama pants. The man’s charm is devastating, and my lady bits have been lonely for way too long.