LILY

That night, after we're both in my hotel suite following our respective parties, we climb into bed.

"This feels like one of your routines," I remark.

He smooths the pillowcase and lies on his side. "What do you mean?"

I lie down, facing him. "I feel like you're treating this like another one of your race week routines. You know, work out, do fifty sit-ups, get a massage, eat a perfect two thousand calorie breakfast..." I almost say, "sleep next to a woman you used to have sex with," but don't.

"I wish it was a routine."

His simple declaration disarms my jumbled thoughts. "What do you mean by that?"

Our faces are inches apart, and if this were seven years ago, I'd snuggle into his body and plant a kiss on his face.

"I mean," he licks his lips, "that I like sleeping next to you."

"Oh. Because it helps you on the track?"

"Well, sure."

"Ah, there's the truth." I flip over so I'm not looking at him. Of course this is all about racing.

He scoots closer to me, and I feel the heat of his body pressing into mine. He wraps an arm around me. "The truth is a lot more complicated, Lilly."

"Don't you think we should talk about it, eventually?" I thread my fingers into his.

"Weren't you the one who said you didn't want to rehash our past?" His lips are dangerously close to my neck, and wave after wave of need is washing over me.

"Yeah." That was stupid, in retrospect.

"Maybe we should talk about it after the race tomorrow. Before this goes any further." His voice is heavy with sleep. It's already late, later than he likes to go to bed the night before a race.

"Okay," I say softly, as I melt into his body.

# # #

I'm wide awake at six-thirty, but don't dare stir because I know that on race days, Max doesn't get up until seven. This extra half hour allows me to snuggle into his arms and exist in my cocoon of happiness.

Of course, my overactive mind takes over, wondering what will happen after today. Will we be "sleeping" together before every practice, qualifying, and race from now on? Am I merely another of his support staff? He has masseuses, trainers, nutritionists, and now a personal cuddler.

This thought makes my mind wander as I recall a TV show I once watched on professional cuddlers, who hug and sleep next to people for therapeutic reasons. My nose wrinkles at the idea. Gah. I can't imagine spooning with strangers. I snuggle deeper into Max's embrace.

I was even hesitant to sleep next to most of the men I've had sex with, and usually got out of it by saying I had early meetings. Well, most men other than Max, which should be a good indication that I'm potentially in deep emotional quicksand here.

But he feels so good next to me. Warm and strong. Protective and sexy. Familiar, yet exciting. I let out a long, satisfied breath through my nose.

Max nuzzles my neck with his lips, sending a shower of desire through me. "Mmm, good morning, Mausebär."

It's hard not to grin when he says that word. Mausebär. So silly! It means mouse bear in German, and when I first heard him call me this I was so confused and asked a million questions.

"Did the Germans run out of cute baby animals to use as nicknames?" I ask. It's something I used to say seven years ago to make him laugh.

Why he's treating me like he used to when we were together is a mystery, but I don't want to question it, or anything really, hours before a race. It all feels too familiar, too perfect.

He laughs and tickles my belly.

"Good morning," I whisper.

He skims his fingers over my arm and takes my hand in his, twining his fingers into mine and hugging my mid-section.

"How did you sleep?" I ask.

"Like a drunk baby." His breath is warm on my neck, and goosebumps flare on my skin.

We both laugh, and I roll over to stare at him. He brushes hair back from my face.

"You're going to have an amazing race today," I tell him.

He seems to be paying attention to my words, but with his eyes fixed on my lips, I don't think he hears anything coming out of my mouth. A highlight from the sun beaming through a crack in the curtain cast brilliant blaze to his blue eyes, and I can't help wonder if he can see the need and desire coursing through me, if he can feel my heart hammering against my chest.

"I want to kiss you." It's uttered as a statement, but knowing Max, it's a question. He wants to know if it's okay. It is most definitely okay, but my hyperactive, anxious mind has questions. My heart and other parts ignore the brain, though, and send up a resounding cheer.

My mouth opens, then closes. "If we kiss, I don't know if we'll stop. You never had sex on race days before."

"And I still don't. You don't think I have the willpower to stop kissing you?"

His thumb tenderly brushes my cheek. It's all I can do not to fling myself on top of him and rub against him like a cat in heat.

"I don't know if I have the willpower."

He chuckles softly and leans in, brushing his lips over mine. For a second I freeze, because it dawns on me that this is really happening. That my first love is kissing me. That it feels just as amazing, no, better, than before. Then I come to my senses and close my eyes, kissing him back, softly at first, mostly with a closed mouth and definitely no tongue.

For a moment, I forget that we'd ever broken up, that I let him go despite all my instincts, and I'm kissing him back. That I'm letting him sink his lips on mine feels so right and so wrong at the same time, but I don't give a damn about the wrong.

He presses his hand against the small of my back, and I arch up against it, basking in the sensation of his body against mine. This is a dangerous line to cross, but I'm losing myself in this kiss.

The world around me melts away into a blissful haze where there is no team, no media, no race in a few hours.

But deep down, I know this is risky for so many reasons.

I shiver pleasurably when his hand cups my jaw and draws me closer. It's the kind of kiss that would make me so weak in the knees that I wouldn't be able to stand, so it's good that I'm horizontal. Or maybe it's bad, because I can feel his erection poking into my leg, and that makes me want him even more.

"Max, we shouldn't—"

"I know. I'll stop. Just one more kiss," he whispers against my lips, planting another gentle kiss on my lips. The kiss is so delicious, so intoxicating that I can't help but let out a soft moan, like a purr. It's a solid minute time before I realize I'm the one making that noise.

Right then, there's a loud knock at the door and we both freeze, our lips fused together. My eyes open, and so do his. We ease apart a few inches and I turn my head.

"Yes?" I call out.

"It's Tanya!"

OH SHIT, I mouth to Max, who squints at me.

"What are we going to do?" I hiss.

"See what she wants." He flops onto his back just as the alarm on his phone comes alive with an annoying ringtone. It's an air horn set to electronic dance music. I glance over, horrified, and he twists to shut it off.

"Okay, hang on," I holler, crawling over Max to get out of the bed and nearly fall on the floor.

I shut the door of the bedroom on my way out into the living area of the suite and fling the door open. Tanya's standing there with a knowing grin.

"It's time for Max's breakfast. His nutritionist has been," she points with her pen, "trying to deliver his breakfast but he's not answering the door, probably because he's not in his room. Should I have it brought here?"

"Why would you assume he's here?"

"Cut the shit, Lily." She looks like she's on the verge of laughing.

I run my tongue over my teeth, suddenly self-conscious that I kissed him without brushing. "Yes, bring it here," I say firmly.

She nods decisively and begins to march away. "Will do, I'll wheel it up myself."

"Wait, you're not going to tell the nutritionist that he's in my room, are you? He can go back to his suite to eat."

"I'm not going to say a thing. This isn't a scandal I'm eager to discuss with anyone. But I suggest that after breakfast he return to his room for his scheduled 7:45 a.m. massage."

"Of course."

She turns, then whirls back around. "Do you want coffee or anything to eat? It'll be easier to play this off if anyone does find out, if you two are having breakfast on your terrace. It'll be race strategy, discussing the day."

"Strategy. Yes, we're discussing strategy. Actually, that would be smart." I give her my preferred morning food — toast with butter, fruit, black coffee — and shut the door.

I return to the bedroom and update Max with what Tanya said. "Are you okay with this plan? It seems a little risky."

"I'm not worried at all. The only thing I'm thinking of is the race. And I'm starving." He bounds out of bed, looking refreshed and robust, and goes to the window to fully yank open the curtains.

Max's ability to ignore everything but what's in front of him has always amazed me. When we were together before, he had an uncanny ability to separate our relationship from the frenzy of the press. I couldn't.

Wincing from the bright sunshine, I retreat to the bathroom, staying in there until I hear the voices in the main suite fade and the door slam.