Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) (7 page)

None of us register the news that Enzo, Harrison, Rostov,
and Landers are being marked down as having not run the London Grand Prix at
all. We’re told later that Marques’s first place win has put him neck and neck
points-wise with Enzo and Harrison, but none of us can bother to care much. In
times of crisis and sorrow, no decent driver is going to give a shit where he
stands in the rankings. All we can do is band together in honor of our friends.

When I finally find my way into Harrison’s arms later that
night, I’m pretty sure I clutch onto him for hours. Why do we all have to be
enamored with such a dangerous world? Why can’t we be content with the safe,
the ordinary?

Would we even be ourselves if we could?

“It is truly a heartbreaking day for the Formula One
community,” the somber newscaster says, “After yesterday’s bizarre and tragic
wreck at the London Grand Prix, two drivers have been hospitalized.”

Harrison and I sit side-by-side in the living room of his
London home. We’ve been sitting motionless on his sofa for hours, each
clutching a glass of scotch and waiting for more news as it comes in.

“Alexi Rostov and Sven Landers each sustained very serious
injuries in yesterday’s crash,” the newsman goes on, “They are both in critical
condition at this moment, but both teams report that doctors are doing
everything they can to save the lives of these two brave men.”

My hand trembles as I lift the glass to my lips once again.
There’s no use in trying to think of anything else but the horrible wreck I
witnessed yesterday. Every time I close my eyes, visions of that oily smoke,
those red hot flames, the chaos and noise crowd back into my mind. I don’t
think I’ll ever be able to forget the devastating finale of the London Grand Prix.

The hours after the race passed by in a blur. Enzo and
Harrison finally found their way out of their stalled vehicles and back to my
side. I think that yesterday was the first time I saw the two of them stand
side-by-side without exchanging nasty barbs and scathing looks. It was all any
of us could do to look out across the track as Rostov and Landers were taken
away in their ambulances. Howling sirens filled the air as the flaming wreckage
of their cars was extinguished, and the screaming crowd wailed on for hours. It
was the worst crash I’ve ever seen in all my years as an F1 kid. I can’t even
begin to imagine what a more catastrophic crash would look like.

“Race officials are still unsure as to what caused this
terrible wreck,” the newscaster says on Harrison’s flat screen, “Technical
issues are most likely at fault, but authorities have not ruled out the
possibility of foul play. We’ll keep you posted as we receive more information
on this developing story.”

Harrison snatches up the remote and mutes the droning TV.
The silence of his townhouse is overwhelming after the screeching din of
yesterday. The ice cubes in our glasses clink delicately in the quiet space.
Neither of us can think of anything to say, for a spell.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the hotel with your
family?” Harrison finally asks, his voice rasping harshly.

“And leave you alone? Not a chance,” I tell him.

“Thank you, Siena,” Harrison says, grabbing my hand and
squeezing tight.

“Of course,” I whisper, moving in closer to him on the couch.
“Enzo and I got a minute alone after...the race. He has plenty of people
looking out for him. You, on the other hand, are all mine, Mister.”

“Enzo must be pretty torn up,” Harrison says, pulling me
tightly against his side, “I barely knew those guys, but they were his buddies,
weren’t they?”

I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Rostov
and Landers have always been my brother’s best friends in the F1 universe.
They’ve known each other since their box car days. So many of my F1 memories
star Alexi and Sven as younger, carefree men. Just a few weeks ago in Moscow,
we were all out on the town having a grand old time. They have to pull through.
They just have to. Because if they don’t...it means that such a tragedy could
befall anyone brave enough to race in this sport. Including two of the people I
care most about in this entire world.

“Don’t you worry about my brother right now,” I say to
Harrison, “He’s a tough one. And besides, there’s every chance in the world
that Sven and Alexi are going to be just fine.”

“Siena,” Harrison sighs, “I wouldn’t...get your hopes up.
About their chances.”

My stomach tightens at Harrison’s words, and I try my best
to deny the truth behind them. “You don’t know those guys,” I say, “They’re
hard as nails. They’re—”

“They’re just men, like the rest of us,” Harrison says
gently, “I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re trying to keep your chin up about this,
but now is no time to start lying to yourself about the nature of this sport.
Even the best drivers aren't fire-proof.”

“Can’t you let me hold onto my defense mechanisms?” I ask,
trying to laugh. But instead, a little jagged sob rips out of my throat. I
swallow it back down as best I can, burrowing against Harrison’s side. “What
if...what if it had been you?” I ask quietly.

“It should have been,” Harrison says, his teeth gritted.

“What?” I gasp, looking up in astonishment, “What do you
mean it should’ve—?”

“Someone was out for me and Enzo,” Harrison goes on, “It was
our cars that were tampered with. We were the targets. But it was Landers and
Rostov who paid the price.”

“So you really think someone messed with your cars?” I ask.

“Absolutely. And I think you know it in your heart, too,”
Harrison says.

“You’re right,” I tell him, anger rising to supplant my
sadness, “I know you’re right. I just don’t know how to believe it. Who could
be so coldhearted as to put your lives in danger?”

“Whoever’s been trying to ruin us from the beginning of this
season, of course,” Harrison replies. “At least the police are looking into it
now. Maybe they’ll be able to figure something out.”

“Harrison,” I say, pulling myself to sitting beside him,
“You don’t...you don’t think that this, all of this madness, is because you and
I...?”

“Absolutely not,” he says quickly, “This is much bigger than
us, Siena. And I have no doubt that whoever is behind all this would've been
out for blood whether we got together or not. Hell, it probably doesn’t even
matter to whoever it is that it's me racing for the championship rather than
Naughton. These tactics are toward one goal, Siena. Knocking the leading
contenders out of the running for the world championship.”

A shudder runs through my body. To think that someone might
be so desperate to control the outcome of this championship that they’d be
willing to kill? It’s terrifying.

“You could walk away you know,” I say quietly, “You could
quit the tour right now. Maybe save your life in the process.”

“Quit the season?” Harrison repeats.

“Is it such a ridiculous suggestion?” I ask. “There’s
clearly something very messed up going on in this year. Can’t you just throw in
the towel before anything else goes wrong?”

“You can’t really be asking that of me, Siena,” Harrison
says.

“I think I am,” I tell him, “Will you at least consider
bowing out?”

“No,” Harrison says flatly, “I won’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“But why?” I ask, fighting to keep my chin from quivering,
“Harrison, you could be killed out there.”

“I could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t
see my barricading myself in my home, hiding away from the world,” Harrison
says heatedly, “Life is full of risks, Siena. We’re just not aware of most of
them. Each time you head out the door in the morning, you’re risking
everything. That’s the beautiful thing about being alive.”

“But what’s the point if you don’t stay alive?” I ask,
turning my gaze from him, “What the hell would I do if I lost you, Harrison?”

“You’d keep on living,” he says adamantly, “You’d brush
yourself off and keep on moving, because you’re strong, Siena. You don’t need
me to make your life worthwhile.”

“I don’t know about that,” I tell him softly, “Now that I’ve
met you...I don’t know how I could possibly go on if something happened to
you.”

“I can’t imagine what I’d do without you either,” he says,
wrapping an arm around my waist, “But what’s the point in imagining a thing
like that, eh? You can’t live that way, always planning for the worst case
scenario. You have to live in the moment, Siena. No matter what happens. It’s
the only way to be. Otherwise, all you’ll have to look back on at the end of
your days is a fog of worry and fear. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“God...” I mutter, “Why couldn’t our dads have been golfers,
or something? Good luck wrecking a golf cart and getting seriously injured.”

“You know as well as I do that we were made to be part of
the F1 world,” Harrison says, “We were born into it, but that’s not the only
reason. People like you and me, we’re not meant to play it safe. We’re meant to
look fear straight in the eye and tell it to fuck off. We were built to live
life at top speed. It’s why we’re so good together, Siena. I wouldn’t trade
that for the world. Or a 401K and a backyard, for that matter.”

“I just don’t want to lose you,” I whisper, climbing into
Harrison’s lap.

“You never will,” he tells me, laying a kiss on my cheek, “I
love you, Siena. Nothing that happens from here on out will ever change that.”

I wrap my arms around his broad, strong shoulders, clutching
onto him with all my might. How can this man make me feel safe in the midst of
such terror?

“I thought this was just going to be another season,” I
laugh shortly, “When we started in Barcelona, I figured the most exciting thing
to happen to me would be buying a new pencil skirt or something. But look at
us, would you? Look at all that’s happened.”

“I can’t believe it myself,” Harrison says, running a hand
lightly along my side, “Very few things have surprised me in life. But you are
certainly one of them.”

“Is that so?” I ask, pressing myself into him.

“I thought for sure I’d end up one of those loathsome F1
bachelor types,” Harrison goes on, fingers grazing along my ribs, “Or worse, I
figured I’d become my father, one way or another. But then you happened along.”

“And made an honest man of you?” I ask, running my fingers
through Harrison’s sandy blonde hair.

“Something like that,” he says, grabbing onto my hips.

I pivot to face him, straddling him there on the couch. The
sadness that hangs over us both after yesterday’s wreck only magnifies my need
for him. I want to enjoy every single moment that we have together; because who
knows how many more we'll have?

Harrison’s right—even if we were civilians, there would
always be the chance of fate intervening and stealing us away from each other’s
loving arms.

“No matter what happens,” I whisper, running my hands down
Harrison’s hard chest, “I’m so glad we met, Harrison.”

“That makes two of us,” he smiles, circling his arms around
the small of my back, “But why don’t we set words aside for the moment. I think
we’ve moved past them.”

And he’s right, of course. I lower my lips to Harrison’s,
kissing him as deeply as I can. My hips rock against him as I feel his tongue
glide against mine. At the first taste of him, I’m already done for. I press
myself into him, feeling my breasts balloon against the firm panes of his
chest. Living at full throttle means letting your desires move you. And right
now, all I desire in the world is Harrison Davies—all of him.

I grind my hips against him, straddling his built body on
the living room couch. Harrison slides his hands down over the rise of my ass,
pulling me tightly against him. I can feel him growing harder with every
passing second. In these dire times, there’s no room for propriety or denying
ourselves the things we want. And it seems that Harrison knows this just as
well as I do.

Keeping my mouth firmly on his, I seize the hem of my short
cotton dress and draw it up around my hips. Harrison’s desire strains at the
confines of his blue jeans as I move above him, tugging my dress ever further
up along my body. Harrison’s hands find their way to my bare torso, his fingers
practically encircling my small waist. I’ve never considered myself to be a
particularly small woman, but next to Harrison I feel like a featherweight.

I gasp for breath as Harrison tugs the dress from my hands
and rips it away from my body. Though his touch is always measured and perfect
with me, it’s thrilling to know just how much power is wrapped up in those
rippling muscles of his. I’ve watched him tear around a race track, fly into
attack mode, and make love to me with effortless grace. There are so many sides
to this incredible person, and I’m the only one who gets to see them all. And
that is the greatest gift he could ever give me, letting me be close to him. As
close to him as I like...

He holds me perched on top of his strapping body, wearing
nothing but the thinnest cotton bra and panties. But with his eyes on me, these
simple garments feel like the height of elegance. I tug at his ever-present tee
shirt, baring his powerful chest and arms before me. He hurries to free himself
of his jeans, sliding them down from his rock hard ass and powerful thighs. Now
all that’s left between my throbbing sex and his staggering member are a few
flimsy undergarments. The friction of the cotton between my tender flesh and
his pulsating manhood makes my head spin.

“I need you,” I whisper, bringing my gaze to his gorgeous
blue eyes.