The second Max speeds past the checkered flag, everyone in the control room erupts in cheers. Jack high fives me — someone must've told him about my aversion to hugs — and I do a little dance. Apparently, word got around that I don't like physical displays of affection, because when it comes to me, the guys give me little pats on the back or shoulder squeezes.

Even that would normally make my skin crawl, but for some reason, the win makes everything around me positively sparkle. I'd forgotten this feeling, of being part of a team that wins. Of the sheer rush of anticipation and exhilaration when a driver crosses that finish line.

I don't, however, go into the pit to greet Max when he brings the car to the garage. Even though I'm elated, I don't want to risk any public displays of affection with him. Not after sleeping next to him for two nights and especially not after our scorching kiss this morning.

I don't think either one of us can be trusted at this moment to not lock lips, and that's exactly the kind of thing I don't want the world to see during my first race. So I stay in the garage, congratulating every member of the team who wanders through.

"Fucking amazing job, Lily," Jack says to me, his hands on his hips.

"It was all your doing. I had nothing to do with any of this. You're incredible. The team's incredible. Your tire strategy was brilliant."

He grins. "It was, wasn't it? Well, anyway, perhaps you're our good luck charm."

"I'll gladly take that role."

Tanya sweeps in and folds Jack into a big hug. I'm certain there's still sparks between them, but it's none of my business — unless it affects team operations, and then I'll step in. Certainly Dad must know about their past. I'll have to ask him.

Dad.

"I need to call him," I blurt.

Tanya and Jack stare at me.

"Dad. I'm sure he's watching from the hospital."

I find my phone and FaceTime Dad's number. He answers on the first ring, his eyes positively glittering.

"Kamari mou, I knew you could do it!" The top of Mom's head pops into the frame.

"Hi you two! Can you believe it? We won! First and second place! Look at all the celebration." I tilt the phone around the garage and call out, "Hey, it's Dad, he watched from the hospital."

A roar of cheers goes up, and I peek at the phone. Dad's holding his fist up in a victory gesture, and I even spot tears in his eyes.

"Dad, I'll call you later. I wanted you to know we're all thinking of you. Love you."

"Love you too," he says.

Mom grabs the phone. "Lily, I saw you on TV earlier. Get your hair out of that ponytail before you do any interviews. You look so much prettier with it down. Trust me on this."

"Mom, I'm running a team here. Gotta go. Bye!"

I laugh out loud at Mom's silliness. She knows I don't give a flying fig about my hair right now.

Tanya approaches. "Okay, so Max and Esteban are doing their post-race weigh in, then they're going to the podium. I kind of figured you'd want to stay off the podium? Or do you want to be there?" She tilts her head, waiting for my response.

"No podium for me." As thrilled as I am with the race result, the last thing I want is to stand on a stage in front of tens of thousands of race fans and have Max, Esteban, or the third-place winner blast me with a magnum of champagne. It's fun to watch but participating in something like that is a nightmare for an introvert like me.

"No worries. After the podium is the press conference for the drivers. But ESPN would like a word with you in the meantime. I was thinking about setting that up in our lounge area so it's quiet and you can focus. I'll be in the room with you in case you need any help."

"I appreciate that. It all sounds perfect." I pause and squint. "Hey, do you think my hair should be up or down for the interview?"

"Oh, totally up. You look badass in a ponytail. Highlights your cheekbones."

Hunh. Maybe Mom doesn't know everything. "Cool."

The next hour is a whirlwind of details, post-race certification paperwork, more congratulations from other team owners, and multiple opportunities to dodge hugs. At no point do I see either man who made today's celebration possible, because they've got their own routine down. I'm so busy getting ready for the ESPN interview that I don't even catch any of the podium celebration, but from what I hear, Max and Esteban doused each other with champagne then turned the spray on the adoring crowd.

It's exactly the kind of scene Max loves, and I'm thrilled that he's happy. Hell, I'm happier than I've been in a long time, which is a new and unfamiliar feeling. It's like adrenaline is coursing through my veins at 200 MPH and I can't stop grinning.

Even my interview with ESPN goes well. Tanya freshens me up with blush, lipstick and a spritz of perfume. The reporter is a tall, former WNBA player who loves racing, and she asks softball questions about my first race as interim team owner. Tanya stands by, watching in the corner, in case I fumble or become overwhelmed.

Obviously I give all the credit to the team, especially the pit crew. "They're the rock stars," I say. "Two-point-four second stops are the best any team has had all season. I couldn't be happier, and I know my father is also so proud of everyone."

"And what about Max Becker? How do you explain his dismal performance during qualifying, and then this stunning, career-record performance today on the track? What's his secret sauce?"

Snuggling next to me all night? Sleeping a full eight hours? A scorching hot pre-race make out session? Even I find it difficult to believe those are the reasons, but all signs are pointing toward those contributing to his mental state and win.

I still inspire him.

It's nearly impossible not to gush openly about this, I'm so giddy.

Of course, I know exactly the ingredients of the secret sauce, but it would be a scandal like no other if I said anything. "Max can do amazing things when he's in the right frame of mind. With a driver like him, performance is all in the mind. When he harnesses that combination of drive, focus, and passion, there's no limit to how well he can perform."

"Well, it was an impressive day for Team Onassis. Thank you for taking the time for an interview," the reporter says.

"Anytime." Normally I wouldn't say that, but today feels different.

The reporter and her camera crew pack up, and Tanya checks her clipboard. "You have a bit of free time now, and then there's a celebratory party at the hotel. So I'll see you back there in an hour or two. You know where to get the car to the Plaza, right?"

"I do. I think I'm going to grab something to drink first. I'm parched."

"Good deal. I need to meet a paper from Australia in the garage. Jack has his interview. See you around."

For the first time, I'm alone, and I let out a pleasurable sigh. I did it, made it through my first race and won. Did my first solo interview and survived.

Go me.

Now it's time to congratulate the man who made this all possible. I wonder if he's upstairs in his room?

My heart is fluttering as the woman at the front desk buzzes me into the private area, and I practically run up the steps to Max's space. Before I knock, I hesitate, my hand in the air.

Maybe he doesn't want to see you.

Maybe he's got a woman in there.

Maybe he's not even here.

Those little wicked thoughts fly through my brain. No. Stop being insecure. You're here to congratulate him, and nothing more.

I softly knock on the door. When it doesn't open immediately — it's not that big of a space, surely he'd open immediately if he was inside — I start to turn to leave.

The door flings open to reveal Max nothing but wet hair and a towel around his waist. His eyes light up when the see me.

"Oh," I whisper, suddenly shy. Everything I was going to say, all the congratulations, dissolve in my mind.

He reaches for my arm and pulls me in, then shuts the door firmly behind me.

"I wanted to con—" I can't even finish the sentence because he's pressing me against the door, cupping my face in his hands, putting his lips to mine. That's when I fall apart.

I allow him to pin my wrists against the door, high above my head. His kiss isn't just intoxicating, it's debilitating, leaving my insides like jelly and my brain filled with fireworks and a lack of linguistic knowledge.

"Congratulate. You." I murmur this against his lips between kisses. "You drove. Incredible race. Celebrate. Us. Together. Alone."

"Lily, shhh." His voice is a feral, desperate whisper. "This is the only celebration I want, right here, right now."

He dips his head to mine and kisses me harder, then releases my arms. His mouth is hungry, and so is mine. We're standing here devouring each other like horny teenagers and I am here for it.

I fan my hands across his bare chest. can feel the need and desperation vibrating just under his skin, which is pleasantly warm and slightly damp from the shower he obviously just took. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. His wet hair is slicked back, making his bright blue eyes pop. His face is clean shaven and his skin tanned and smooth. There's a flush on his cheeks. Perhaps it's from the adrenaline rush of winning, or maybe, just maybe, he's excited to see me.

"I promised myself that if I won, I'd kiss you until you told me to stop."

"Thank god you won, then. Because I'm definitely not going to tell you to stop."

While he chuckles, his hand gently skims and caresses my breast over the fabric of my dress. A button pops open and he slides his hand underneath, under my bra. A low groan forms in his throat, a sound so satisfying.

The combination of his strong lips and his soft touch is simply too much. I'm throbbing between my legs, and I don't think I've ever wanted sex as much as I do right at this moment.

My hands trail down his chest, over his taut, muscular stomach, and to the towel. I claw at the fabric and don't waste any time in undoing the tuck at the side of his hip, and now he's one hundred percent, gloriously, amazingly, naked. He also smells like some kind of delicious citrusy soap that makes me wants to lick every inch of his body.

I break away from his kiss to look down at his cock, and I actually let out a little gasp.

"It's larger than I remember," I blurt.

"Get the hell over here and kiss me again," he growls. I do, but I can't help my grabby hands and reach for his dick. He stops kissing me and hisses an exhale against my mouth as I slowly stroke him.

"Lily, do you see what you do to me? Look how fucking hard I am."

"I can feel. I want you inside me. Now." There's no point in trying to hide it, or deny it. What we're doing is probably a terrible idea, but since he's naked and I'm impossibly wet and ready, I'm willing to throw all logic and good judgement out the window.

He puts his forehead to mine and moans. "Sweetheart, I don't have any condoms here."

"Oh no," I whisper, still stroking him, my skin tingling at his old-fashioned pet name, one he used to use for me during our dirtiest moments. The juxtaposition of the sweet and filthy never fails to turn me on.

And now, I need to feast. I need to taste. I need to surrender. To him.

"Max?"

"Yes?" He looks down at my hand on his shaft, then whispers, "Fuck. I want you, Lily. Right now. Here."

"I want you to sit on that sofa over there."

He looks up, into my eyes. "Can I ask why?"

I shake my head and grin. He dips his head for another kiss, then groans. "Okay, I love a surprise."

He starts to pick up the towel, and I clasp the end. "No towel."

"I like this even more." He walks the few paces, giving me a view of his perfect, muscular ass, and sits.

I follow and lean over to kiss him softly.

"What do you have planned?"

I sink to my knees, between his legs. I'm momentarily distracted by a large, intricate tattoo on his right thigh, and run my fingers over it. The image barely registers, though, because I'm mesmerized by his erection. I stroke it for a bit and he's staring down at me, then I look up and meet his gaze.

"This is what I have planned," I say, and open my mouth, allowing my tongue to flutter over the tip of his cock.

He inhales sharply, and his hands find my head and undo my ponytail. I take him entirely in my mouth, and he lets out a whispered word in his native German. It could be an entire sentence, or one long word, I'm not entirely sure.

All I know is that he's extremely turned on and is getting more so with everything I'm doing.

He's so hard, inexplicably so. I lick my way up his shaft and glance up at him. He's staring down at me with his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted. Like he's swept away at what I'm doing.

"I love seeing you down there, you know. On your knees."

I hum against his flesh, taking him entirely in my mouth. He looks and tastes and feels so sexy in my mouth that my entire body is probably vibrating with pleasure right now.

"Lily." He says my name more like a plea. "How do you know exactly what do to with me? I'm not going to last long."

I let go of his thick length with a pop of my lips and tongue, and look up at him. My hair falls over one eye and I grin saucily while I stroke him. "Didn't I teach you how to relax and enjoy this?"

"Un-hunh." I'm not sure my question actually registers, and he bites his lip. I return to what I was doing, slowly teasing, licking and bobbing, knowing that I'm driving him absolutely wild. When we first started having sex, he'd often be too tense for oral, and said he didn't want to finish so fast.

While I'd like to take my time right now and savor this moment, I also have to be mindful that we're in the team headquarters and I'm not entirely sure if that door is locked. I pick up my pace, gliding up and down, sucking as if he's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Because he is.

"Lilly—" he lets out a restrained breath and one of his hands fists my hair. "I'm going to—"

A guttural groan is followed by his hot, salty essence in my mouth. I swallow it all then lick him clean while he gasps for air and releases my head.

When I'm finished, I lean back on my heels and swipe my fingers over my lips, which are tingly from all the activity. His eyes are shut, his limbs sprawled, his skin a radiant bronze with a flush from his orgasm. How a man can be so beautiful is beyond me, and like I used to, I wonder how in the world a man this perfect ever chose me.

His eyes snap open and he reaches for me. "Come here. Please. Please?"

I try to sit next to him on the miniscule sofa — it's a loveseat, really — but he pulls me into his lap, mashing his face against the hollow of my neck. One of his hands is on my ass, gripping my skin with his fingers, as if he's holding on to me for dear life.

"I loved that," he mumbles.

His hand slides between my legs.

"Max, we probably shouldn't."

He lifts his head. "You don't want to?"

"Of course I do."

"Mmm," is all he responds, his hand sliding from my ass to my hip, then to my inner thigh. His fingers make contact with the cotton fabric of my panties, and his hum turns to a low purr. I could almost orgasm from just that sound. I'm about to protest, say that no, we've already risked so much here in this little dressing room. But his hot, naked skin, the feel of his lips on my neck and his fingers grazing that needy spot, make me part my legs and give him full access to me.

"Good God, you are so wet."

I'm not just wet, I'm drenched. He strokes gently and I let out a short puff of breath.

"You know how I like balance, Lily. You did something for me, now I'll do something for you. I won't be satisfied until you're satisfied." His nose nuzzles my neck and I'm trying to hold it together, trying not to ravage him the way I want. It's just not the time or place.

I lick my lips and taste him, and this sends another rush of wetness between my legs.

His fingers locate the elastic waistband of my panties and he's about to delve into me when there's a knock at the door.

"Max?" It sounds like Tanya. Damn her. We pull apart and stare at each other, but he keeps his hand firmly on my flesh, under my panties. His fingers are so close to my entrance. So. Damn. Close.

I'M NOT HERE, I mouth, shaking my head frantically.

WHAT? He mouths back.

"Hey, I'm not dressed, can you come back," he yells out, his hand moving in slow motion toward my clit. He's teasing me, and he knows it.

For some reason this all strikes me as hilarious, mortifying, even, and I press my face into his shoulder, trying not to cackle.

"Okay, no worries. We need you in fifteen for an interview," she says in that bubbly tone of hers.

"Will do," he says, his fingers edging closer and closer to my folds. He's about to dip his middle finger into my...

"Oh, and have you seen Lily?"

Max slides a finger into me, skimming my clit and making every nerve in my body sing with glee.

"Not lately," he calls out while circling my clit. "Sorry."

"Okay, thanks. Meet you downstairs."

Max continues to stroke me, and I'm trying hard not to laugh, orgasm, or implode.

"We need to stop," I hiss.

"Why? We have a few minutes. You don't want to finish?"

I wriggle out of his arms, away from his fingers that are tormenting me. I'm desperate to finish, in fact. But now isn't the time. "I can't, not when there's time pressure."

He leans in and kisses me on the mouth. "Okay. No worries. We'll pick up where we left off tonight, after the party. In a proper bed. I'll bring the condoms."

I stand, straightening my skirt. The full force of what we just did — and what he's fully expecting later tonight, after we meet our team obligations — sinks in. It makes me a little dizzy, and I rake my fingers through my hair, knowing that this time, I'm not going to say no to anything Max wants.