Driven by Passion, page 4
“My trainer gets me to help Xenia move feed sacks for strength training.”
“I’m a bit bigger than a feed sack.” His guess might be wrong. Victor knew nothing about horses. Socrates’ niece Xenia ran a racing stable on the other side of the estate, and the most Victor understood was that the horses looked pretty in the paddocks.
“Yes you are.” Lucien wasn’t even puffing as he marched across the engineering workshop floor carrying Victor.
“Fuck, I hope no one sees this.” He twisted his head to try and check the room. Awkward.
“Hush. Just relax.”
“What are you going ... doing ... where?” Victor couldn’t make his mouth make sense. His face was far too close to Lucien’s torso, and he could see muscles moving through the fine cotton of Lucien’s t-shirt. The dark lines of Lucien’s tattoo were a shadow underneath the fabric. His own stomach was pressed against Lucien’s sharp shoulder and strong neck.
“Victor. You are so tired that you can’t talk. I’m going to put you in bed.”
“I can walk myself.” He needed to stop touching Lucien or stop Lucien from holding him. Bed. No, he couldn’t be this close to Lucien—pressed right against his body—and be thinking about bed. He really needed some distance from Lucien and his offer of a bed. Lucien didn’t mean anything by this; he was just being a friend by ensuring Victor got some much-needed sleep. God, he was so tired. He could just shut his eyes and let Lucien carry him to ... anywhere, really. It was probably good that this wasn’t very comfortable. It took all his remaining strength to keep his head held away from Lucien’s body, as far from Lucien’s waist—and groin—as possible. His whole spine and neck ached with tension.
When they’d first met, Victor had had a massive crush on Lucien. Everyone had. Lucien was so vibrant, so full of life—and angry energy—and yes, he was utterly handsome. The ultimate young driver with a stunning face; perfect for marketing. Curly brown hair, flopping around his face, and his golden brown eyes, sharp nose and jaw. Each element combined into a face that was more handsome than anyone ought to sport, and when he left his face unshaven with just the right amount of stubble, well, it was more than Victor could deal with.
From those days back in S3, the tiny snippets when Lucien was kind to him were seared into Victor’s memory, tiny moments when Lucien had let himself be free from the ugly focus of what Victor now understood was Lucien’s father’s push to win at all costs. Whenever Lucien was temporarily free from his father’s bullshit, he surprised Victor by listening to him attentively. Victor had suppressed his crush once it was obvious that Lucien had a type, and it wasn’t the workaholic engineer with dreams of S1. Victor would never be the happy-go-lucky party boy that Lucien favoured. Only in his dreams could something different happen, so he’d given up on hope and focused on being the friend that Lucien obviously needed. He closed his eyes and let the world go dark.
There was only a thin t-shirt—Lucien’s—and his own work shirt between his skin and Lucien’s skin. Heat flickered around him and he swallowed.
“Okay. Walk.” Lucien hefted Victor off his shoulder and placed him gently on his feet. Victor swayed a little as he opened his eyes. He wanted to stay leaning against Lucien’s lean, strong frame. His wish almost came true as Lucien helped him into a cosy jacket, then pushed open the door.
“It’s dark.” And cold. The December chill slammed into his cheeks, waking him up with a sudden blast. He’d lost track of time in the workshop. If it was night, what day was it? He rubbed his arms.
“Yes. Socrates is concerned that you aren’t looking after yourself. He sent me to get you.”
Every warm happy feeling fled as the chilly reality slapped Victor in the face. Lucien wasn’t interested in him; of course not, he was just being kind because their boss said he should be. Damn, Victor was so tired that he hadn’t been able to control the old flare of attraction from his ancient crush. He shivered.
“Come on. Let’s get you into the big house and tucked up warm in bed.”
“Fuck. Are you going to feed me soup too?” Victor had to push Lucien away. This kind version of Lucien was too much. He’d always known—from the day he’d first met Lucien—that if Lucien ever dealt with his anger and showed people how kind he was under the sudden bursts of rage, well ... Victor had always known he’d fall so hard for him, and it would be messy. For him. Lucien could never know.
“No. Don’t be absurd.” Lucien grabbed Victor’s hand and pulled him along, forcing him to make his exhausted body move. It wasn’t a nice romantic gesture. It was a brutal non-negotiable force. Victor was essentially being dragged into bed and forced to rest. If he had anything left in the tank, he would’ve asked Lucien ... something. He couldn’t even form a question.
“One foot after another. Keep going, or I’ll have to pick you up again.” If only Lucien knew that wasn’t really a threat.
“Gah.” Victor needed coffee or a kick up the ass. He didn’t need to be lead like a bloody horse to a bed and be tucked in like a baby that couldn’t look after himself. Hell. He trudged along, unable to summon the energy to get mad at Lucien for upsetting his work. They entered one of the back doors of Socrates’ mansion, and Victor let himself be led all the way up some narrow stairs, then through a tiny door that opened out into a grand hallway.
“What was that?”
“The old servant’s staircases. This house is riddled with them, and it’s much faster than going up the main stairs.”
“How?”
“How do I know about them?” Lucien pushed open a random door in the hallway and pulled Victor into a room. A bedroom. With a giant bed in it. Victor kicked off his shoes and bolted towards the bed, half-stumbling over his heavy feet. He needed sleep so badly. Seeing the bed took all the fight out of him. The bed was like a bloody oasis, sitting there in the room, welcoming his shattered body and offering respite. He fell onto the bed and crawled towards the pillows, hugging one of them tight.
“Hell, Victor. At least take off your grubby clothes.”
Victor probably should do that. Yeah. His head was so heavy and the pillow so soft.
“Fine.” Lucien’s annoyed tone was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.
Lucien jumped off the podium, champagne bottle in hand, and popped the top. Champagne sprayed everywhere, landing on Victor’s neat team uniform, soaking him. Holy shit. Lucien had won the race and Victor stood nearby on the winning constructor’s podium. Both cars on the podium and himself standing up there to take the constructors trophy for the race on behalf of Gamble Racing. He’d done this a few times in his career now, but never with Lucien. His Lucien. It was the stuff of dreams and his whole body felt alight with the thrill of it. He stood under the shower of champagne and stuck his tongue out. Champagne dripped into his mouth, a heady taste. Winning always felt good. This one, this win was one for the ages, the best win among many wins. The one he’d remember forever.
“Congratulations.” Lucien’s giant grin made him even more handsome than usual. Victor laughed and Lucien poured champagne all over his face. The dry alcoholic taste overwhelmed him. This whole situation was breath-taking, like he’d never be this alive or awake ever again. Adrenalin pumped, emotions spilled into fat tears hidden by the spray of alcohol, he wanted to scream and shout. Nothing came out except excited woots. He grabbed Lucien around the waist and pulled him towards him. Lucien stepped closer, bending his head for a kiss, and Victor slid one hand up to cup the back of Lucien’s head. They kissed. A kiss to celebrate Lucien’s win. A full-mouthed, I love you and I don’t care who sees, kind of kiss. Victor’s head spun and his body was on fire in the very best, burning for more. He held Lucien as tight as he could, wanting to revel in the way he tasted. A winner, who tasted like champagne and glory and Lucien. Always Lucien.
“Wake up.” The real Lucien’s voice broke the dream kiss and Victor growled under his breath, not wanting to let go of the dream. “I think you were having a dream or something. You were making weird noises.”
Hopefully not sex noises. How embarrassing. He jerked away, with his face and ears burning hot, and not the good sort of hot.
“Why are you in my bedroom?”
“Technically you are in my bedroom.”
Victor wasn’t awake enough for this. First Lucien interrupted a perfectly wonderful dream, and now he was being his usual pain in the ass.
“Ergh, whatever.” He buried his head under the pillow, willing himself back to sleep, and back into that kiss. Damn it, he could almost taste it. It’d seemed so real. He sighed. He’d better wake up properly and face reality; a reality where Lucien wasn’t going to kiss him in front of millions of adoring fans. A reality where Lucien would never kiss him, and he’d have to learn to be content with just being his friend. It was enough to make him want to sigh again.
“Hell. Two sighs. I didn’t pick you for a slow waker. I thought you’d be one of those leap out of bed, ready to smash out another successful day, annoying types of people.”
“Uh huh.” Victor wanted to stay in this warm bed much longer.
“Besides, it’s nearly midday. Aren’t you hungry?”
Victor threw off the pillow and sat up. “What the hell? Midday.” His stomach growled. Shit, he was hungry.
Lucien sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, just out of reach. “You’ve slept for nearly fourteen hours. I guess that Socrates was right when he told me to get you into bed.”
“I’m sure that’s what he meant.” Their boss was notorious for teasing people.
“No. He was genuinely worried about your health. The fact that he also got a euphemism out of it would have been a perfect bonus. You know what he’s like.”
Victor’s brain slowly started to function. “What did you mean about it technically being your bedroom? Don’t you live in Monaco?”
Lucien shook his head. “Yes. Technically for tax reasons, I live in Monaco. I also have a room here.”
“Are you saying that you don’t live anywhere?”
“It’s a bit early to be asking me about this, isn’t it?”
Victor pulled the blanket up to cover his chest, but it didn’t budge because Lucien was sitting on it. He shivered, not sure if he wanted Lucien to see his naked body. “Early? You just told me it was midday. I don’t understand. None of the other drivers have a permanent room here.” Victor needed to talk about something else, something that wasn’t the question he actually wanted to ask—had Lucien undressed him last night when he’d put him in bed? How much had he seen? And most importantly, did he like what he saw? Fuck. He needed coffee.
“It doesn’t mean anything. Socrates offered.”
“Why?”
Lucien frowned. “I’d rather talk about your tattoo. How long have you had that?”
Victor pressed his hand over his left chest muscle, over the tattoo of his car. “I got it in Australia.”
“Before or after the first race of the season.”
“After. To commemorate my first design in its first race.” He shouldn’t be embarrassed about being proud of his achievements. It was just the way Lucien stared at his bare skin that was ... confusing.
Lucien grinned. “That’s awesome. Let me see.”
“Only if you tell me why you live here with Socrates, while pretending to live in Monaco.”
“Fine.” Lucien rubbed his temples. “Socrates offered because I don’t have any family and he wanted me to have a base, a found family I suppose, if and when I ever needed one. Everyone else has a family of their own.”
“And since your father died, you have no one?” Victor couldn’t imagine it. His parents and sisters were so proud of him, and while he lived alone, travelling with the team for most of the year, he could still call them or visit whenever he needed. “Like, no one?”
“It’s not that big a deal. Socrates and Mike, well they offered and it’s ...” Lucien shrugged. "Nice, I guess, to have a place to stay when I want to hang out with people. I’m sure Socrates would do the same for anyone in his team if they needed.”
Victor had his own house in the village down the road, just like many people in the Gamble Racing team. Syresthorpe used to be part of the Pewett Downs estate—with some of the buildings owned by the estate, although Victor owned his house—originally part of the huge property Socrates’ grandfather had purchased from a bankrupt Duke around fifty years ago. It was a good setup as everyone’s families were all in the same community, supporting each other when the team was on the road for the season. The mechanics were evenly split between those who were young and wanted to work every race because they wanted to travel, and those with families who worked every second race to split their time between work and family. S1’s global racing schedule meant a lot of time away from home. He loved it, the travel, the intensity, the continual push for improvement and success.
“And there were no other beds available?” Victor didn’t understand how or why he’d slept in Lucien’s room. “What about you? Where did you sleep?”
“There are plenty of guest rooms.”
“So why put me in your bed? Why not a guest room?”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “Victor, you were so exhausted that you could hardly walk. I wasn’t going to make you wait while the staff made up a bedroom for you. My bed was the easiest option and the fastest way to get you to sleep.”
It had the added bonus of smelling faintly of Lucien. No wonder Victor had slept so well and dreamed of kissing Lucien. Shit. So much for suppressing his old crush.
“I’m hungry.”
“Why don’t you have a shower? I’ll get something from the kitchen for you.”
Victor growled. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Do you need more sleep? You aren’t usually this surly.”
He wasn’t. Just caught off-balance in a situation that reminded him of everything he couldn’t have. Why did his body have to fixate on someone so far out of his league? Curses.
“I’m probably just hangry.” He made an excuse to try and get Lucien away from him. He wasn’t awake enough to deal with Lucien and the impact he had on him. It wasn’t usually this difficult.
“There’s a clean towel in the ensuite, and you can wear some of my clothes. We are about the same size.” Lucien pointed to a door. “Did you know that Socrates’ grandfather had the whole building remodelled? He took out every second bedroom, split them in half, and created ensuites for each room to totally modernise the whole place.”
“He must’ve been loaded.” Victor knew the stories. Socrates’ grandfather had made his money in liquid packing, apparently there was good money to be made from putting milk and juice and whatever into containers.
“And we all get to benefit.”
Victor nodded. Without Socrates, Gamble Racing wouldn’t exist. The former dual World Champion had created his own S1 team after an accident that had left him with concussion and inconsistently blurry vision, and he couldn’t drive competitively anymore. Victor’s stomach grumbled again, and Lucien laughed.
“Let me organise something for you to eat.”
“And coffee.”
Lucien nodded. “I wouldn’t dare forget.” He bounced out of the room, much more awake and alive than Victor felt, leaving Victor alone. Time for a shower, and then he’d have the pleasure and pain of wearing some of Lucien’s clothes. This was the most inconvenient time for his old crush to surface.
Chapter 5
Lucien paced down the hallway towards the servant’s staircase that would take him to the kitchen. He’d made a tactical error by heading down to dinner last night after helping Victor go to sleep. But after undressing his friend and tucking him into bed, he’d needed to lose himself in chit chat with people, so he didn’t think about the sprawl of Victor’s body on his bed. After chatting at dinner, he’d left it too late to get one of the staff to make up a guest room, so he’d planned to simply sleep on the lounge chair in his room instead, but from the moment he’d walked back into his bedroom, there’d been no other option but to join Victor in bed. Ultimately, that was his second—and biggest—mistake. His friend cuddled a pillow, snoring softly. Lucien had stripped down to his boxers and slid under the covers. He’d left space between them—close but not touching—and lain there listening to Victor’s breathing. In and out with that little flutter of sound telling Lucien that Victor was still alive, until eventually Lucien slept too.
And now he was taking this mistake even further by getting food for Victor. Like a good boyfriend. He shook his head hard. See, tactical error. The problem was that Lucien had latched onto Victor as someone who’d supported him when he couldn’t support himself, and that was problematic, wasn’t it? It was typical that he couldn’t just be friends with someone without wrecking it somehow. He couldn’t do life without falling back into toxic old habits.
He jogged down the narrow stairs and pushed open the door to the kitchen.
“Lucien. How’s Victor?” Socrates stood in the kitchen with the chef, Angie, with a bottle of wine open between them. Angie had a notepad with some scribbles on it.
“Good. He just woke and he’s having a shower. I said I’d get some food for him.”
“Angie, can you make something for Victor?”
Lucien shook his head. “Don’t bother. You guys are obviously busy. I’ll just make him a sandwich.” He opened the fridge. Angie bumped him on the shoulder.
“I’ll do it. It’s literally my job.”
“Okay.” Lucien stepped out of the way. He hovered vaguely out of the way as Angie pulled out a bunch of things and made a sandwich worthy of a fine dining restaurant.
“I take it things are going well with you two?” Socrates asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You and Victor.”
“We are just friends.” Lucien couldn’t ignore the smug expression on Socrates’ face. “Don’t play matchmaker. It doesn’t ... It’s not like that.”
