Page 59 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Rare Treasures

William

S team clouds the bathroom as we stand under the hot spray of water together, her body pressed against mine.

I like this routine. Soul-touching, delicious sex, and a warm shower afterwards.

It feels domestic. Natural. Intimate beyond just a physical act.

I trace soap suds down her back, memorizing each curve, each dip of her spine.

The water washes away the evidence of our reunion, but the feeling of her lingers on my skin, in my blood.

Violet turns, water streaming down her face, long eyelashes spiky and dark.

Something in my chest tightens at the sight of her like this—stripped of makeup, of pretense, her guard momentarily lowered.

It’s not that she’s a different person without makeup.

No. The makeup barely does anything to her face; she looks the same, beautiful, powerful, yet all so delicate.

She smiles, and it hits me like a physical blow.

“You’re staring,” she says, reaching past me for the shampoo .

“Can you blame me?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

When we finally emerge from the shower, skin pink and fingertips wrinkled, she wraps herself in one of the plush hotel robes, while I secure a towel around my waist. I watch as she moves to her suitcase, the familiar movements of her body creating an ache of longing, even though she’s right here with me.

She pulls out something I recognize—the Formula 1 pajamas she wore in Melbourne, the night that started this between us. But instead of putting them on first, she turns to me, holding a small, wrapped package in her hands.

“I got you something,” she says, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “When I was in Egypt for a prospective sponsor meeting.”

My heart kickstarts. A gift? From her? I take the package from her, our fingers brushing in the exchange, and I’m suddenly self-conscious standing here in just a towel, while she’s watching me with those intense eyes.

"You're blushing, William?"

"No…" I use the gift as an excuse to divert my gaze from her to the floor. I unwrap it carefully, not wanting to tear the paper. Inside is a set of Formula 1 shorts and a T-shirt—pajamas that almost match hers.

“I saw them and thought of you,” she says, a slight flush creeping up her neck. “Ridiculous, I know—”

“I love them.” The words burst out before she can finish.

I hold the set against my chest, something warm and soft spreading through me.

It’s not the gift itself, though that’s nice—it’s that she thought of me when she was halfway across the world.

That she saw something and wanted to share it with me.

And there I was, wondering if she was regretting what we have.

Without hesitation, I drop my towel and pull on the shorts, then the T-shirt. The material is soft against my skin, comfortable. I turn in a circle, arms outstretched.

“Well? How do I look?”

Her gaze travels from my face down to my toes, then back up, lingering in certain places that make heat pool in my stomach.

“You look…” She pauses, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “Adorable.”

I grin, stupidly pleased by the compliment. “Adorable enough that you’re blushing right now?”

Her flush deepens. “I’m not blushing. It’s hot in here.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I step closer, touching her cheek with my fingertips. “So, it has nothing to do with how good I look in these pajamas?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t move away from my touch. “Your ego needs no stroking, Foster.”

“There are other parts of me that wouldn’t mind your stroking,” I tease, delighted when she laughs and pushes me away.

“Insatiable,” she mutters, but there’s a fondness in her voice that makes my chest ache.

“Just like you, and we both know it. ”

She drops her robe and slips into her matching pajamas. The sight of her in something so casual, so unlike the polished suits she wears in the paddock, is a privilege.

“I have a couple of things to give you, too,” I say, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Back in the UK, though. I didn’t know I’d be seeing you like this in Monaco.”

“Things, plural?” She raises an eyebrow. “Setting a dangerous precedent, William.”

“Maybe.” I reach for her hand, pulling her to stand between my knees. “Or maybe, I just like seeing your face when you’re surprised.”

Her expression softens, and I take my chance.

“Come to my place in the countryside after we get back. For a weekend during the summer break.” I squeeze her fingers gently.

“You can bring a novel you want to read, but no computers. And smartphones are confiscated at the entrance.” I try to keep my tone light, though my heart is hammering. “I want some time. Just us.”

She opens her mouth, and I expect a deflection, an excuse about work. Instead, she nods. “Okay, deal.”

Those words send a wave of joy through me so intense, it almost hurts.

I stand, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into a hug that tries to say all the things I’m not ready to voice, because I'm afraid I'll scare her away.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the clean scent of her skin.

“You know I’ll hold you to that, right? Also, you have a couple of hugs to cash in. ”

“Now, who’s bossy and demanding?” Her chuckle is so soft, warm and… I want to hear it all the time.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, I don’t know. I do know that you rub—” Her finger stops on my lips.

“No, nope, let’s not make this a dirty talk session, okay? That’s awkward as hell.” And yet, during sex, she has the dirtiest mouth out of both of us, even if we're quite vanilla.

I chuckle and hug her. “Thank you,” I murmur against her neck, pressing a kiss to the spot where her pulse jumps. “For the gift. It’s perfect.”

She hugs me back, her arms tight around my shoulders. It’s not our first hug, but there’s something different about this one—a desperation, a need that goes beyond physical desire. I’ve missed her; not just her body or her kiss, but her presence.

The way she cuts through bullshit with a single glance.

The rare yet charming sound of her genuine laugh.

The fierce focus when she’s working on a problem no one else can solve.

When I pull back, her eyes are suspiciously bright. I cup her face in my hands, just looking at her for a long moment.

“You know, you look pretty adorable yourself,” I say finally. “The overly professional ‘power suit’ Violet, and then these cutesy F1 pajamas. Quite the contrast.”

She laughs, reaching up to trace the ink that curls around my bicep. “I was just thinking the same thing. All those tattoos on your arms and neck, then wearing cartoon car pajamas. ”

“I’ll have you know, these are officially licensed merchandise, with really soft Egyptian cotton.” I strike a pose, flexing dramatically. “Very serious business.”

“Oh, clearly.” Her smile widens. “Very intimidating.”

I catch her hand as it trails down my arm, bringing it to my lips. “I love it when you praise me,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can filter them. “Even when you’re being sarcastic.”

Her gaze intensifies, something vulnerable flashing in her eyes.

“I’m not being sarcastic now when I say you’re one of the most incredible men I’ve ever met, Will.

” The sound of her using the nickname only my family uses does things to me.

The sincerity in her voice knocks the wind out of me.

I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s meant to be gentle, but quickly deepens.

When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard.

“Careful,” I whisper against her mouth. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to take these pajamas off you.”

“And you don't take off yours? Cruel.” She steps back, tugging me toward the bed. “Come on. We should sleep.”

We slide under the covers together, our bodies finding each other in the darkness like magnets. She turns her back to me, and I curve around her, one arm draped over her waist, my nose buried in her hair. She laces her fingers through mine, holding our joined hands against her stomach.

“Goodnight, William,” she murmurs, already sounding half-asleep.

“Goodnight, Violet,” I whisper back, pressing a kiss to her shoulder .

Her breathing evens out, the tension leaving her body as she drifts off. Sleep eludes me, though. I’m too aware of her—the warmth of her skin, the weight of her in my arms. Too conscious of how right this feels, how complete.

I’ve never been a man who believed in soulmates or destiny.

Racing taught me that success comes from skill and hard work, not fate.

Either you’re good and work hard, or you won’t get anything you want in life.

There are no coincidences. But holding Violet, breathing in sync with her in the dim light of a Monaco hotel room, I’m forced to reconsider.

Because nothing has ever felt as inevitable as loving her.

I want her beyond casual sex. Beyond friendship. I want her to be mine in every way a person can belong to another—and I want to be hers in return. Irrevocably. Truly. Madly. Entirely hers. But let’s be honest, I already am. Have been almost since the start. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Eventually, I drift into a dreamless sleep, still holding her close.

Morning comes too soon, sunlight filtering through the curtains we forgot to close. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented until Violet’s warmth grounds me. She’s still sleeping, her face peaceful in a way it rarely is when she’s awake .

I carefully extricate myself from her, pausing when she stirs slightly before settling back into sleep. Leaning against the headboard, I just watch her, drinking in the sight—her hair wild against the pillow, her lips slightly parted, one hand curled near her face.

I want this view every morning, I realize.

I want to wake up beside her, to see her like this—unguarded, soft with sleep.

I want to make her coffee exactly how she likes it—maybe prepare a mint tea like the ones I’ve seen her drink—to argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes, to fall asleep watching some terrible movie on the couch.

To ask her to read me a passage of those romance books I've glimpsed in her handbag.

Dangerous thoughts. Ones that could shatter everything if voiced too soon. But they’re there, growing stronger each time I’m with her.

I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her cheek, then her bare shoulder, before carefully sliding out of bed. I grab the hotel phone and quietly order breakfast for two—coffee, fruit, pastries, eggs. Nothing too elaborate, but enough to refuel after last night’s activities.

When room service arrives, I sign the check and bring the tray back to the bedroom. Violet is still sleeping, one arm now thrown across the spot where I’d been lying. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.

Setting the tray on the nightstand, I slide back into bed and gather her in my arms, pressing kisses to her face, her neck, her shoulders—anywhere I can reach .

“Mmm,” she mumbles, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to wake up.” I nuzzle her neck, inhaling her scent. “Good morning, goddess .”

She blinks up at me, her gaze soft and unfocused in a way that makes my heart skip. For a moment, I almost say it—three words that would change everything. But I lean in to kiss her instead.

“I ordered breakfast,” I say, my voice slightly rough as I pull back. “Are you hungry?”

She sits up, pushing her hair out of her face as she leans against the headboard. “Starving, actually.”

I grab the tray and set it across our laps. The spread is simple, but appealing—scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit, a couple of pastries—because she has a sweet tooth—and strong coffee. I’ve ordered foods that would replenish her energy after our night together.

“This looks amazing,” she says, reaching for a coffee cup. “Thank you.”

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, our shoulders touching. It’s domestic in a way that’s both strange, and completely ordinary.

“I always wanted to try this,” I say eventually, gesturing at the tray. “Breakfast in bed. Turns out it’s not as exciting as movies make it seem.”

She laughs, scooping up a forkful of eggs. “No? Not living up to the fantasy?”

“The food’s good. The company is the highlight.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “But there are crumbs everywhere, and I’m pretty sure I just sat on a grape.”

She snorts coffee, quickly grabbing a napkin. “William!”

I grin, unrepentant. “Just being honest.”

We continue eating, trading bites from each other’s plates, our conversation flowing easily. When we finish, I set the tray aside and turn to face her.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, tracing a pattern on my arm with her fingertip, “the fantasy might not have impressed, but you have to admit the company was worth it, right?”

I catch her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. “Worth more than the most expensive thing on earth.” I kiss her palm, looking into her eyes. “It’s… priceless.”

Her smile—slow, genuine, a little shy—hits me right in the chest. She leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to my lips that tastes of coffee, and never-ending happiness.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she whispers against my mouth.

I hold her close, savoring the moment, committing it to memory. Because these quiet mornings are rare treasures, and I intend to cherish every one she gives me when she can.