Faster Harder (4 page)

He’s so close to me now, his powerful body pressed up
against mine. I can feel that unmistakable bulge in the front of his jeans, and
know that it’s all for me. He’s teasing me, drawing me out until I beg him to
kiss me.

“You’re terrible,” I tell him.

“We’ll see about that.”

Finally, our mouths meet. I savor the touch of his lips like
the first sip of water after forty days in the desert. Kissing him, I feel like
I’ve finally found something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until now. But
now that I’ve felt it...I don’t know how I’ll ever do without again.

Harrison slides his tongue lightly against mine, his fingers
running through my fallen curls. I push myself up to meet him, wrapping my
strong arms around his waists. He pins me back against the wall, his hands
working their way down my body. I gasp as his thumbs brush lightly over my hard
nipples, amazed at the sensation he sends searing through me with every
glancing touch. I hook my ankles behind him, knowing full well how little
fabric separates his pulsing desire from mine.

I let my lips travel down to his scruffy neck, planting
kisses as they go. Harrison moans, the sound low in his throat. It sends
vibrations through my whole body and his strong hands cup my breasts. I have
the wild thought to slip out of my dress, have him right then and there—

“Hello?” someone shouts through the door. A pounding knock
startles me down from my perch. “Is somebody in there?”

I choke back a giggle, feeling like a high schooler caught
making out under the bleachers. Harrison grins down at me and straightens his
clothes as best he can. Of course, nothing’s going to hide the impressive rise
in his pants anytime soon...

He pushes open the door, and a harried-looking club employee
nearly tumbles into us. With a sigh, the young man asks us to make way for
other patrons. We skirt around him, stumbling over each other as we make our
way back to the dance floor.

A persistent vibration catches me off guard. Is that the
music pulsing through me? Or my stifled desire for Harrison?

“I think you’re ringing,” he informs me, gesturing to the
clutch I’m amazed to find myself still in possession of.

I dig out my cell phone and squint and the screen. Crap.
It’s Charlie calling. I roll my eyes at Harrison and take the call.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I demand.

“I’m outside,” Charlie answers coolly, “Come on. The car’s
waiting.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” I tell him.

“Siena, it’s nearly two in the morning,” he informs me.

“What?!” I exclaim. How the hell did that much time go by? I
need to be awake and ready to go in four hours time.

“Yeah. Exactly. So could you please get your ass out here?”
Charlie says, and hangs up the phone.

“Shit. Harrison—”

“Is your coach about to turn into a pumpkin?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Go on then,” he tells me, “Get home safe.”

I can’t help but feel a little let down. “You’re not going
to try and convince me to stay?”

“Oh, don’t worry. This won’t be the last you see of me,” he
says.

Before I can reply, he’s pressed his lips against mine once
again. I run my fingers through his dirty blonde locks, wishing I could stay
for just a moment longer. But duty calls, and I have to be on my way. I untangle
myself from Harrison’s embrace and hurry toward the exit. Stepping out into the
warm night, I can finally feel just how drunk I’ve become. Charlie’s not going
to be thrilled to see me like this, I’m sure.

I spot one of our team cars idling at the curb and make my
way over, fighting to keep any hint of a stumble from my gait. I pull open the
door and slide in—sure enough, Charlie is waiting for me with arms crossed. He
tells the driver that we’re all set, and we start along in chilly silence.

“I’m not going to sit here and lecture you—” he begins.

“Good,” I say.

“But you might want to remember why exactly you’re in
Barcelona in the first place. We’re all here to make sure that Enzo kills in
the Grand Prix. That’s it. So if you think that making him worry about his baby
sister getting roofied is helpful—”

“Don’t play that card, Charlie. It’s getting old.”

“It’s your responsibility to keep your shit together during
Grand Prix weekends. You know that. The whole Ferrelli image is based on
composure, and professionalism—”

“I’m pretty sure no one’s keeping as close an eye on me as
you are, Charlie,” I sigh, “Everyone’s got their eyes locked on Enzo.”

“Not me,” Charlie says quietly, “I’m just trying to look out
for you.”

“I know, Charlie,” I say, “But please, for once, just give
it a rest.”

We ride along for a spell, not saying a word. But Charlie’s
curiosity gets the better of him in no time. “So, who was your new friend?” he
asks.

“Just some British guy,” I say lightly, “There were a bunch
of people from McClain at the bar.”

“McClain?” Charlie cries, “As in, the best F1 team out of
Britain in a decade?”

“The very same.”

“You were fraternizing with McClain?”

“I was talking with some of the team’s staff, yes,” I say
hotly, “Just a couple of pit guys and marketing girls. It’s not like I threw my
panties at their star driver or anything.”

“Don’t even joke,” Charlie mutters, “You know who their guy
is, right? Maxwell Naughton. Best senior driver on their roster.”

“And?” I prompt.

“And, he’s one of the only guys racing this weekend that’s
favored to beat your brother.”

“Well, good for him,” I say, “We’ll see how tomorrow goes.
I’m sure Enzo will kick his tea-drinking ass right off the track.”

“Atta girl,” Charlie smiles, “There’s the Siena I love.”

I ignore his use of the “l” word and look out over the city
as it races by my window. If Charlie had any idea what I’d actually gotten up
to tonight, I’m sure he’d have already thrown me out into traffic. All the men
on the Ferrelli team are super exclusive. They don’t speak with other teams,
let alone drink with them. They’re all very cordial to the competition, but
that’s as far as they go. Not that I figure I’ve made some huge faux-pas
tonight. After all, it’s not like Harrison’s a well known member of Team
McClain. No, this will be my dirty little secret with Mr. Davies, that’s for
sure.

At long last, we reach our hotel. I mutter goodnight to
Charlie and head up to my room. Once safely inside, I pour myself into bed, a
huge smile plastered across my face. Tonight was the most fun I’ve had...ever,
I think. I fall asleep in no time, not bothering to take off my sapphire dress
first. And as I slip beyond the waking world, my mind’s eye is full of nothing
but Harrison. I only hope that I see him again, the sooner the better.

Chapter Three

Qualifying

“Siena...Siena?” says an inquisitive voice from somewhere
far, far away.

I’m pulled out of a deep, blissful sleep. As I drift up from
my delicious dreaming, my body begins to protest. A dull throbbing begins
between my ears, and I can already feel a heavy fog settling in around my
brain.

“Siena, you have to wake up,” the voice pleads.

I feel small hands shaking my shoulders, and finally wrench
my eyes open. In the dim morning light, I make out the shape of a tiny body
perched on the edge of my bed. Bright green eyes peer at me in the
semi-darkness, and I struggle to sit up.

“What is it, Bex?” I groan at my companion. Bex Bishop, my
best friend from undergrad and Team Ferrelli’s social media consultant, looks
down at me in concern.

“I just got in from the airport,” she tells me, “What the
hell happened to you?”

“Went to this club last night,” I tell her.

“Jesus Siena,” she sighs, “You should know by now never to
go clubbing without me. I’m the expert, remember?”

This is true. Bex and I met freshman year at NYU, and hit it
off from the start. She grew up in the city—her parents raised her in a
gorgeous brownstone in the West Village. Bex always knew about the cool clubs,
secret shows, and most legit dealers when we were feeling particularly
adventurous.

Charlie may be my family-appointed watch dog, but Bex is
really the one who’s always had my back. I was thrilled when Ferrelli decided
to hire her on, after my recommendation. Traveling around the world with my
family and best friend is a total dream come true. This impending hangover, on
the other hand? Not so much.

“What time is it?” I ask, swinging my legs over the edge of
the bed.

“Five thirty,” she replies.

“Shittttttt,” I moan, propelling myself toward the bathroom.

“Did you fall asleep in that?” Bex says incredulously,
“Siena...Are you still wearing makeup? Who the hell are you, and what have you
done with my best friend?”

“It was...quite an evening,” I tell her, hurrying to turn on
the shower.

“Didn’t Charlie keep an eye on you like always?”

“He did. Until someone else swooped in,” I say.

“Spill. Immediately,” Bex demands, scurrying into the
bathroom behind me.

My best friend is a slight pixie of a thing, but her will is
pure steel. Her conviction is totally unshakable, as is her loyalty. She’s the
closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. Hell, sometimes I feel closer to her
than I do to my actual family, not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

“I met someone,” I tell her, stepping out of my dress. After
living as roommates for more than five years, Bex and I are no longer at all
shy about stripping down in each others’ presence.

“Go on,” she says, gathering her blonde curls into a messy
bun. How she manages to look put together after a redeye is totally beyond me.

“His name’s Harrison,” I tell her, “He’s one of McClain’s
pit guys, I think.”

“Ooh, how star-crossed,” Bex gushes. “McClain...That means
he’s British?”

“Oh yeah. Accent and all.”

“Oh my god. I’m dying,” Bex squeals, “What happened? Did you
guys...you know.”

“No!” I exclaim, stepping into the shower. “No, of course
not.”

“Well, why of course not?” she presses, “You’re allowed to
have a fling or two in your life, my dear Siena. You’re a grown woman, after
all.”

“I know, I know,” I say, shivering with delight as the hot
water cascades down my body.

“What was he like?” Bex asks, “Your usual type?”

“What type is that?”

“Twerpy as hell.”

“Thanks a lot, Bex.”

“I only speak the truth,” she sniffs.

“No, actually, Harrison’s not anything like that,” I tell
her, “He’s all...rugged and shit.”

“Rugged?”

“Tatted-up, and muscular. The most amazing eyes you’ve ever
seen—”

“Whoa, Siena!” Bex says, “Are you gushing a little right
now?”

“I don’t gush, Bex.”

“I’ve never known you to gush, but you’re coming every close
right now, my friend. He must have really been something.”

“He was...something,” I say, letting my memory wander back
to the feel of him against me. “Maybe I’ll see him around the track.”

“You didn’t get a number?!”

“There wasn’t time—”

“Siena, you infuriating woman,” Bex groans, “How the hell
are you going to send him scantily clad pictures of your fine self if you don’t
have a damn phone number?”

“You are absolutely incorrigible, you know that?”

“I know,” Bex says, “It’s one of my best qualities.”

She skips out of the room so I can pull myself together as
best I can. Maybe if I refuse to acknowledge my hangover, it will just leave me
alone? I let my hair dry in its natural waves and throw on my preliminary race
day outfit: fitted jeans, a loose cropped tee shirt, and a well-loved bomber
jacket. With a smear of lip gloss and some mascara, I look good as new. I may
not feel one hundred percent, but it’s all about appearances in PR, anyway.

“You clean up pretty good, kid,” Bex tells me as I emerge
from the bathroom.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I mumble.

“That’s what you get for partying it up the nice before the
Grand Prix festivities begin. Not that I’m not proud of you,” she winks.

We slip out of our room and make our way down to the lobby.
Throughout the hotel, people are beginning to stir. I’m sure that most everyone
staying here this weekend is involved in the race in one way or another. When a
Grand Prix crops up in any city around the world, nearly everything shuts down
around it. The races are huge, sprawling events that take up entire weekends.
And this one, the kick off to the 2013 season, is sure to be packed.

Team Ferrelli has already assembled in the dining room when
Bex and I arrive. They’ve claimed a corner table for themselves, and sit
huddled together over cups of steaming coffee and not much else. I could
personally go for a bacon egg and cheese to demolish my lingering drunkenness,
but party girls can’t be choosers, I suppose.

“Morning girls,” my father says, “Come, sit. We’re just
going over today’s schedule.”

Dad is pretty much the man in charge of the team these days,
even though he’s one of many owners he holds the majority stake in the team.
He’s simply been around so long that he knows the ins and outs of the sport
like no one else, aside from Gus. Everyone’s more than happy to give him the
reins, Enzo included. My father and brother sit at opposite heads of the table,
presiding over their team.

Bex and I slip in among the ranks, and I feel Charlie’s eyes
on me immediately. He’s sitting across from my beside his father, Gus—a
thickset man my dad’s age. Gus is the only one involved with the team who has
been around as long as dad, and currently serves as Ferrelli’s manager. He’s
been like a second father to me, and smiles my way as I take a seat. Thank god
for little acts of kindness on boozy mornings like this one.

“Conditions aren’t great out there,” my father continues,
“There was a lot of rain last night, so the track is a little slick. Nothing we
can’t handle, but just be prepared to break out the spare tyres. We need today
to go smoothly if we’re going to get a good spot in the pack.”

“I’m fine driving on a wet track,” Enzo says, “It’s no
problem, Pa.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Dad says, “But I’m not in favor of
taking chances where you’re success is concerned.”

I note, a tad bitterly, that Dad is worried about Enzo’s
success, rather than his safety. F1 is not exactly a sport of the weak of
heart—racers die every year. I push the thought out of my head and go to fetch
a cup of coffee. Charlie trails after me, lowering his voice as I fill a cup
with glorious black elixir.

“Glad to see you up and about,” he mutters.

“Don’t be an asshole, Charlie,” I reply, “You’re concerned
about me doing my job, but here I am, ready to do my job. So get off my case.”

“It’s you I’m concerned about, not the damned job,” he says,
“But I guess you’ll never really see that, will you?”

“We can’t get into this right now,” I tell him, “We’ve got
prelims to run, and I’ve got a press conference at noon.”

I brush away from him and join the team as they make their
way outside. Between today’s events and last night’s memories, my mind is far
too occupied to deal with schoolboy longings. I content myself with daydreams
of running into Harrison on the track and all but sprint to the car.

Good lord, what’s gotten into me? At least I’ll have
something to focus on, once we get to the track. Hopefully, the pressure to be
a presentable representative of Team Ferrelli will keep me from acting too much
like a love struck girl.

Hopefully.