Caleb stares at me. He already knows how this interview is going to go down from my opening question, and I see a mixture of frustration and respect in those piercing blue eyes of his.
“My hair,” he repeats.
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes. So what is your hair-care routine?”
I can tell he’s working to repress a smile, but he fails. “What is yours? You have nice hair,” he counters.
“I use shampoo and conditioner, of course. I do a deep-conditioning hair mask twice a week and use a heat-styling product to protect my hair. “
Caleb runs his hand over his jaw. “Fascinating. I’ve never tried a hair mask.”
“You should. It’s amazing. But what is your hair-care routine?”
“I use shampoo, too, of course, but not just any shampoo. I get one from this boutique in Knightsbridge—Bea’s Blends. They do custom scents, and I always get the same one. Pink grapefruit.”
“Really? Why pink grapefruit?”
I can see the smile has reached his eyes. He’s relaxing now, and he’s about to—dare I think it—allow himself to have fun.
“It’s one of my favorite scents. I have that in a diffuser I travel with, too. Wakes me up. Sets the mood for the day.”
“Do you like eating grapefruit?”
He screws up his face. “No. I hate it.”
I laugh. “So you want your hair to smell like it, your hotel room to smell like it, but you hate to eat it?”
“You act like that’s weird, Isla,” Caleb says, a playful smile on his face.
For a moment, my heart flutters when I hear my name roll off his sensual lips, but I quickly force my brain away from that idea and move on to the next question. “You play paddleball with Xavier Williams at home in Monaco and when traveling. Who is the better player?”
Caleb laughs. “Me, of course.”
“There’s a lot written about your friendship with Xavier. How did you become so close to someone who is one of your biggest rivals in Formula 1?”
He leans back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him. I smile. Caleb is one hundred percent relaxed now.
“We’ve been competing against each other since he moved to Europe to do karting when we were kids,” he explains. “We grew up together. But we didn’t become mates until we were both competing in Formula 2.”
“Why does he strip in the cooldown room?” I ask, referring to the room where the top three finishers go to cool down before the podium ceremony. It’s also where they can watch highlights of the race and comment on them for TV.
And whenever Xavier is in it, he unzips his race suit, lets it fall to his hips, and tugs his fireproof undershirt over his head.
To my surprise, Caleb bursts out laughing. “This is the weirdest interview,” he says, his eyes crinkling up in the corners in amusement.
“I heard you often get bored with media questions. I made it my mission not to be boring. So why does Xavier strip off his shirt on TV?”
Caleb takes a moment and rubs his fingertips over his lower lip as if he’s trying to hide a smile, and the move is undoing me, it’s so hot. “I think you’d have to ask him that.”
“Okay. Then let me ask a follow-up question. Why don’t you strip in the cooldown room?”
I swear he’s smirking, and it makes him hotter than he already is.
Which is freaking hot.
“Incredible discipline, of course.”
I grin. “Of course.”