Kara damn near floated through the entire next week. How could she expect to stay grounded with so many sweet, thrilling orgasms being handed to her like candy? That first time on the couch in Milan was the crashing wave that destroyed the dam. Now, everything gushed through, all the pent-up passion and attraction and lusting they’d been trying to keep under wraps since day one. It was all out in the open, laid bare and throbbing.

And hell if she could remember the last time she’d ever been fucked so good.

She gave a contented sigh, one of thousands from that week. Gregor had arranged a special day for her in Milan while he made last minute preparations for the upcoming race. A tour of local theaters, including visiting with the house directors via interpreter. A whole day of education, exploration, and research. It warmed her that Gregor cared enough to do it; he could have just bought the theater in Seattle and left it at that.

But he was seriously interested in her venture. He wanted her to succeed, and it seemed like he wanted to actually be part of it. She couldn’t tell if it was the Beaumont entrepreneurial drive or something more…intimate. Maybe even something more romantic. The whimsical side of her desperately wanted to take it as a sign of his growing affection for her, much like the mind-blowing sex and all the other countless gestures that flitted around like lightning bugs in the night. If he was still performing, then he was a better actor than he’d ever let on. And if he wasn’t, then…

Then maybe he feels the same about you as you do about him.

This possibility stalked through her so frequently that she was often unaware of its presence. It was the one thing she wanted, and the only thing she was scared to hope for. Because what if this was still just a totally convenient arrangement for Gregor? What if all the lingering glances and heartfelt touches after sex were contrived, or worse yet, blown up in her mind from wanting it too much?

The emotional pendulum inside her swung too wide, too recklessly, for her to control it. Thankfully, the theater school planning left plenty to focus on. Lexie back home was a constant source of updates and excitement as well; she was eager to be on board for this next chapter of theatrical development.

It was a bittersweet victory. Externally, she had all of the markers of success: a career, her lifelong dream under construction, a sexy, famous man at her side, a supportive team. But he was constantly facing danger every time he stepped onto the race track. And only she knew that that man at her side wasn’t there because he wanted to be.

She tried to flush these thoughts as she toured the extravagant theaters dappling Milan, footsteps echoing through empty auditoriums as guides explained in hushed voices how the patrons and directors worked together. Directors came out for brief, enthusiastic conversations, often a combination of rapid interpretation and stilted English. She took notes on her cellphone when she could, but mostly she just took it all in, gawking at the heavy red curtains and ornate artwork that had seen more generations of audiences than her little theater in Seattle might ever hope for.

The day of touring passed quickly, and by the time she returned to the penthouse in central Milan, she realized Gregor would be gone for a few more hours still. She flipped open her laptop, mind swirling with notes and ideas, but before she opened up her word processor, she tapped out a quick search: “Formula One crashes.”

She gnawed on her lip at the results loaded, aware of the morbid manner of capping off her invigorating day out on the town. Truth was, she’d been itching to learn more about the dangers actually posed by Gregor’s profession. He’d come clean about the problems last week, but what was he really up against? Maybe he’d downplayed the crash aspect. She’d fought off searching for information, trying instead to just trust him and let it go…but she couldn’t.

Because now, the truth was clear: she’d be devastated if something happened to him.

Blame it on the sex. She blew away some hairs that had fallen over her forehead as she scrolled through the results. Multiple headlines dotted the screen: Worst Formula One Wrecks Ever!!! All Time Worst Crashes F1.

She clicked hesitantly, scared to know just how bad it could get. But after the first video, which featured snippets of the trademark engine whine followed by spectacular and often crunchy wrecks from the driver cam, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. She couldn’t stop gobbling them up. Each video led to ten more. And by the time Gregor walked in the door, she was near tears.

“Why, hello there!” Gregor sent a smooth grin her way, sauntering toward her in grease stained overalls. His smile fell a moment later, probably when he noticed her face. “Why are you white as a ghost?”

Kara’s stomach somersaulted. She shouldn’t have turned to the internet for more information; that was always the worst idea. Like searching for causes to itchiness could lead to a confident self-diagnosis of cancer, this had been a rapid downward spiral.

She shut her laptop, unsure if she wanted to admit what she’d been doing. “Am I?”

“You look like you’ve stepped into a supermarket full of ghosts.”

She snorted a laugh. “A supermarket of ghosts?” Her heart raced as she tried to put her thoughts in order. What did she even want to say to him about it? “Please. Unless you’re talking a WalMart Supercenter of ghosts, I wouldn’t be fazed.”

He offered a tentative smile, heading her way. “How was your day?”

“Good. The tour was awesome.” Her palms spiked sweaty as she captured the thought jostling around inside her, begging to be heard. I want you to stop racing. Oh God, why did that have to be the thing fighting to get let out?

“I hoped it might be.” He eased onto the stool next to her, squeezing her knee. “Anything else from today?”

His soft voice made her chest tighten. Gregor cared about her. He really did. Moments like these confirmed it. This wasn’t an act anymore. And if that was the case, then she had to be true to herself.

She had to come clean.

“I think you should stop racing.”

Kara’s words made him blink, they were so preposterous. All he could do was stare at her, let the foreign vowels and consonants settle into him in something resembling speech.

“I’m sorry?” The only words he could think of.

“I’ve—I’ve been doing some research.” She gestured vaguely at her computer. “I just wanted to know more about what you’re up against, what sort of danger there really is.”

Suddenly, the torpidity of his thoughts clarified into a hot rush of emotion. “I’m not ever going to stop racing,” Gregor blurted, retracting his hand from her knee. His neck flared hot, and he stood, looking down at her, daring her to speak.

“You could be seriously injured,” she said quietly. “Not to mention die.”

“Well, so could you, crossing the street,” he shot back, stalking across the living room. He headed for the far wall where an enormous bay window overlooked their neighborhood in Milan. He crossed his arms, staring out at the pedestrians on the street. “Look at them down there. Any one of them could be hit by a taxi. See?”

“Gregor, that’s—”

“Our plane could go down over the ocean,” he went on, each word fueling the next. “A robber could come in here and slit our throats in our sleep. I could be standing on the wrong street corner just as a parade float runs over me and turns me into a creepy little corpse during the Christmas festival.” He turned to her, nostrils flaring. “Shall I go on?”

Concern shone on her face, but she didn’t respond. Her silence rankled him further. What right did she have to impose her values and wishes on his life? Especially after how hard he tried to support her goals and passions. She can’t even do the same for me. This is ridiculous.

“I’m my own person. I live my life on my terms, Kara. To hell with anyone who thinks otherwise.” He dragged a hand through his hair, staring out at the pedestrians below.

“Yeah, but it’s not just you in your life anymore. You know?” Her voice was edged with something, which made him turn to face her.

“Who else is there?” he demanded.

“Me.” Her eyebrows were drawn together, like the word itself had injured her.

He scoffed. “Our relationship is an act. What do you care if I die?”

As soon as he said the words, he realized it had been a mistake. Hurt seared her features, tugged her mouth down at the corners, made those big brown eyes fill with doubt.

“That’s not fair,” she said, her voice wavering.

“But it’s true. Isn’t it?” His words hammered inside his head. Maybe it was true, but only on a technicality. It had started as an act, he should have said. Because now… But he plunged ahead. “You can’t argue that.”

“It isn’t…” She gave a pained sigh. “That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.”

Silence filled the room, coiling long and tense between them. She was quiet for so long that the air began to ring between his ears. What could he say? There was nothing more to add.

“Is that it then?” His words sounded brash and strange after their tense pause.

“No.” She sniffed, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Here’s the real reason I don’t want you to race.” She hesitated, glancing up to meet his gaze. “I want to be with someone special. I had started to think that maybe that was you.”

Gregor studied the carpet, letting her words coat him before he decided on a reaction.

“And more than that, I want honesty in a relationship. Real or fake. I don’t want you to die. I care about you, so much. Way more than I probably should.” Her laughter came out sharp and short. “I don’t want to lose you, if you can believe that.”

Gregor clenched and unclenched his jaw, not trusting himself to look her in the eye. His chest hurt but he fought to keep a level head. To keep this about business, just as it should be. Like it had started out.

“Well—” he began, but he couldn’t go on. The words he’d instructed himself to use—Of course we’d grow close after so much time in tight quarters, we’re like good friends—seemed somehow crass. Good friends wasn’t even the start of it. They were something much more than that.

“I just want to know,” she said, “what you feel for me.” Her words rang more like pleading than a request. “Please, just be honest with me. I’ll stay no matter what you say. This doesn’t affect our arrangement. I just…need to know.”

Gregor sighed, pressing the ridge of his palm between his eyes. When had this gotten complicated? And yet, she wasn’t wrong to want to know this. Deep inside, his heart ached at the request. There was a confession brewing inside him; he just couldn’t find the words to express it.

“I think about you all the time,” he said finally, his voice sounding meek in the bustling quiet of her attention. “Constantly, actually. I care about you. Too much, as well. All I know is that I’m glad you’re in my life. I don’t want to change this. I don’t…want anyone else.”

Saying the words alleviated something inside him, though the how or why of it still eluded him. When he looked up at her, her eyes were brimming with tears.

She nodded. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Good.”

They watched each other for a few moments, smiles growing wider. And then Kara laughed.

“God, you’re a sap,” she said.

“Me? You’re the sappiest tree in the bunch,” he said, sidling over to her, snagging her at the waist. “You’re so sappy they tap you for that delectable syrup you crazy Americans use on your pancakes.”

“Maple syrup,” she clarified, swatting at his hands. “And don’t you compare me to a maple tree. If anything, I’m an elegant rose bush.”

“Thorny as hell,” Gregor agreed, smoothing his lips against her neck.

“Refined and fragrant,” she added, giggling as he moved his kisses to the underside of her jaw.

“I’d like to see this rose open up,” he murmured, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth. “Can I?”