Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
"I see you survived the race."
His lips twitch. "And I see you won your bet."
"A very profitable bet.”
"Then I expect you to spend it wisely."
"I was thinking about buying a yacht."
He chuckles, shaking his head.
"Not quite at my level yet, but I admire the ambition."
"Guess I need another bet, then."
His smirk deepens, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against my hip.
"You’re already addicted to me, aren’t you?”
"Oh please," I scoff. "I’m addicted to winning."
His laugh is low and indulgent, and before I can say anything else, he leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my lips.
My stomach flips, my fingers curling against his chest as warmth spreads through me.
"Okay, seriously - can you two not have eye sex in front of us?”
Frederic chuckles against my mouth at the sound of Emma’s groan before pulling back slightly, turning to acknowledge the rest of the group.
"Ladies," he says smoothly. "I hope you’ve all been enjoying the weekend."
"Oh, we have," Jas smirks. "More so now that our girl here is in the winner’s circle."
"You chose well, Pops," Emma adds, nudging me.
I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, Frederic speaks again.
"Since you’re here, you’re all welcome to join us tonight. The team is heading out to celebrate."
"Where?" Leah asks, arching a brow.
"A few places," he says easily. "The team has a private dinner planned, then we’ll move on to an afterparty. I suspect there will be plenty of champagne."
Emma grabs my hand like a child. "We’re going, right?”
I hesitate.
Not because I don’t want to go - but because I know how this will end.
I know what happens when we’re alone together, what happens when I let myself fall further into his world.
But then Frederic looks down at me, expectant, his smirk lazy, confident.
"Do I have a choice?" I mutter.
He leans in slightly, his voice a soft rasp.
"No."
My stomach knots, a thrill shooting through me. Still, I keep up the pretense and let out a long sigh, feigning exasperation.
"Fine. But only because I want more champagne."
Frederic’s smirk turns positively wicked.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself, mon ange."
Chapter Sixty-Six
Frederic
The night is a blur of flashing cameras, flowing champagne, and the kind of high that only comes from winning.
From the second I crossed that finish line, I haven’t stopped moving. The podium ceremony, the endless fucking press interviews, the PR obligations - all of it handled with ease.
It’s part of the job. I know how this works.
But now?
Now, I get to do what I want.
And what I want is Poppy Taylor pressed up against me, looking so fucking good that I almost give into the urge to carry her out of here and back to my hotel suite so that I can make sure she understands exactly what she does to me.
The rooftop bar is packed, filled with the elite of Monaco - all drinking and celebrating under the glow of chandeliers and city lights. The music pulses, the bass vibrating beneath my feet, and everywhere I turn, people are congratulating me - clapping me on the back, raising glasses and throwing my name around like it’s the only thing that matters tonight.
I barely hear them.
Because the only thing that does matter is standing beside me.
She’s wearing a different dress this evening - a sleek little black number; one of her own designs, I think - and sipping champagne like she was made for this world.
And the best part?
She’s not shying away from it.
Not from the attention, not from the cameras -
Not from me.
Let them look. Let them fucking watch.
Because I know what they see.
The Monaco Grand Prix winner, the man of the hour, with her on his arm.
Mine.
I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her in slightly as I lean down, brushing my lips against her ear.
"You do realise we’re probably making headlines right now."
"Probably?” she laughs. “More like definitely."
"Does it bother you?"
There’s the tiniest flicker of hesitation - so small, so quick, most wouldn’t even catch it.
But I do.
"It should," she muses, lips curling. "But it doesn’t."
Fuck.
I knew I liked this girl.
"You’re getting cocky, mon ange," I murmur, my fingers grazing along the inside of her wrist, feeling the way her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
She smirks, not missing a beat. "I wonder where I learned that from."
I chuckle, tilting her chin up with my knuckle.
She’s playing my game - and she’s winning it.
"You know," she says, swirling the champagne in her glass, "I did bet on you. Which means technically, this is my victory too."
I arch a brow. "Oh?"
She nods, her smirk widening.
"So, shouldn’t I get something out of it?"
"Greedy little thing, aren’t you?" I laugh.
"Only when it comes to you."
Fuck.
This woman is going to be the fucking death of me.
I grip her waist tighter, lowering my voice so only she can hear.
"I think you’ve already been well compensated, chérie."
Her cheeks flush, and I know she’s thinking about yesterday. About the way I had her moaning my name, the way she gave herself to me so completely, the way she let me own her.