Full Throttle (The Revved Series) (19 page)

“Harrison, I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

“For what?” he asks, pulling me toward the table.

“For making you miss your preliminary,” I say, “For all the
shit Enzo was spouting after the qualifier, and...why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “It’s just...Things are going just the
way we wanted.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I ask.

“McClain,” he says, “We’ve been gearing up for a coup since
my first race. Siena, missing the preliminary was a brilliant accident. I look
like an incompetent amateur playboy! And your brother’s pathetic smack talk is
only helping.”

“I don’t understand...”

“We’ve been luring everyone into a false sense of security,”
Harrison grins, “Now everyone will be blindsided when I start to win.”

“How can you know that you’ll start to win at all?” I ask.

“Trust me,” he says, “Come tomorrow, I’ll have secured my
first win of the tournament. You can count on that.”

“Does knowing you ever get less surprising?” I ask.

“Nope,” Harrison smiles, “I’m afraid not.”

Our waitress returns to fill our glasses with wine. Harrison
raises his glass to me and says, “To my impending victory.”

“Someone’s awfully confident,” I say, clinking my glass
against his.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, “I’m in my prime! I’ve been
waiting for your brother’s defenses to fall since this season started.”

A twinge of annoyance takes me by surprise. Something about
Harrison’s brazen manner is rubbing me the wrong way, all of a sudden.

“You do realize what a tough spot I’m in, don’t you?” I ask
him. “You haven’t forgotten, in the light of your ‘impending victory’, that I’m
totally going behind my family’s back to be here with you right now?”

“Of course not,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “You can’t
blame me for being excited about the race, though.”

“I don’t blame you,” I tell him, “It’s just...I’m starting
to wonder whether you know just how hard this is for me. Do you have anything
on the line by being with me? Anything at all?”

“How can you ask me that?” he says, his blue eyes blazing.

“It just seems like you’re in the clear, all of a sudden, and
I’m going to get screwed however this turns out,” I tell him.

“In the clear...? Siena, you do realize what your family
means to this sport, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I shrug, annoyed by his tone, “We’re F1 royalty and
all that. Blah, blah—”

“You’re beloved,” he says, his jaw clenching, “Your dad and
brother are the golden boys of F1. They’re everything that drivers should be.
They’re good looking, smart, well bred, ferocious, and loyal. And as for me?
I’m the degenerate bad boy whose father drank himself to death before he could
see me race even once. I’m the underdog, Siena. Do you have any idea how
powerful Ferrelli can really be? They could never go after me for winning a
race fair and square, but if they decide that my being with you is
unacceptable, I’m gone.”

“How can that be true?” I ask quietly.

“Simple,” he says, leaning his elbows onto the table, “This
sport is as ruthlessly capitalistic as any. Ferrelli’s investors have got more
cash in the game than anyone else. All your team would have to do is threaten
to withdraw some of its advertising cash flow, and they can get whatever they
want. Including my resignation.”

“That would never happen,” I insist.

“Like it or not, you’re a princess in the fans’ eyes,”
Harrison says, “And no one really wants to see their princess carried off into
the sunset by some tattooed ruffian from a bad family. I’ve got just as much to
lose as you do, Siena, but I’m trying to find some way for us to come through
this together. Because as terrible as getting knocked out of the sport would
be, losing you before we even got a chance to try and be something would be
much worse.”

“You mean that?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” he says, reaching across the table and taking
my hands in his.

“Well. We could disappear into the Hungarian countryside and
never be heard from again,” I point out.

“It’s a thought,” Harrison says.

We smile across the table as plates of delicious food are
set down in front of us. The tension has been diffused for the moment, but I
know that this is far from the last time the two of us will have to have it
out. I’ve always know that relationships take work, but damn have we got our
work cut out for us.

“I liked waking up next to you the other morning,” Harrison
tells me, “I wish we could make a habit out of it.”

“I do too,” I tell him, “It made this whole thing feel...”

“Real?” he suggests.

“Well, yeah,” I say, “For a while, I thought you were going
to lose interest once we’d slept together. Move on to the next F1 groupie.”

“Before you, that’s probably exactly what would have
happened,” he says, “To be perfectly honest, I never could have imagined
something like this before meeting you. I mean...look at us!” he gestures
around the terrace, “We’re having a goddamn date night, of all things!”

“Is that so out of character for you?” I tease.

“You're damned right it is!” he exclaims.

“Then why did you insist on coming here?” I ask.

“I...I don’t know,” he says, “I guess I’m still trying to
impress you.”

“That’s adorable,” I smile.

“Don’t play with my delicate heart,” he smirks.

“I have an idea,” I tell him, “Why don’t you pay up, take me
out of here, and show me what a night with Harrison Davies is really made of?”

“You wicked woman,” he breathes, “I’m not the only one who’s
full of surprises around here, am I?”

We hightail it out of the restaurant, our arms thrown around
each other. After all, I didn’t sneak out of my hotel for some expensive
appetizers alone. There’s only one thing that will sate the hunger that gnaws
at me day in and day out since meeting Harrison. Luckily, he’s more than happy
to dish out as much as I can take.

Harrison helps me into his car and takes off through
Budapest. The city is almost surreal in its ancient beauty. We find ourselves a
noisy, crowded bar full of young people. I’m way too overdressed, but it feels
so nice, slipping into a sea of people my own age for once. Harrison and I
spent our every waking hour with team members and reporters twice our age. But
tonight, we’re just two twenty-somethings in what could possibly be love, one
day. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

We grab ourselves a couple of vodka martinis from the bar
and make our way to a secluded corner of the bar. I settle down onto Harrison’s
lap, feeling my inhibitions melt in this anonymous place.

“This is more like it,” I tell him, letting my lips brush
lightly against his neck.

“Keep that up, and we’re going to have to relocate again,”
he warns, “I’m thinking somewhere with a bed and soundproof walls.”

“Maybe later,” I laugh, “But right now, I just want you to
dance with me.”

Harrison takes a long swig of his drink and follows me out
onto the dance floor. I feel like we’ve stepped back into time to the first
nice we spent together in Barcelona. God, it feels like so long ago already. I
turn to Harrison and place my hands on his hips, closing the space between us.
Skipping dinner like we did, my drinks are going straight to my head. The room
goes in and out of focus around me as I swing my hips to the pumping house
music. Harrison spins me around, wrapping his powerful arms around me from
behind. My eyes close blissfully—I’ve never felt so safe is anyone’s arms as I
do in his.

Time rushes past us as we dance to song after song. I can
almost forget, in this dim, enticingly gritty place, that tomorrow will be all
about press conferences and coiffed hair. Part of me wishes that I could cast
off all my responsibilities there on the spot—quit my job, get a punk hair cut,
and backpack around Europe until I go totally broke. Isn’t that what plenty of
twenty-somethings get up to before they settle down? Damn professional
ambition...ruining all my fun, as ever. But who am I kidding—I’ve always loved
working hard.

“We’d better get you back to the hotel before long,”
Harrison tells me, tugging me off the dance floor.

“I don’t wanna,” I moan, “Can’t we just keep dancing?”

“I’ve got a race to win in the morning, sweetheart,” he
smiles, “When you’re singlehandedly running the entire F1 universe and I’m your
spoiled, kept man, we can dance each and every night away. But for the moment,
we’ve both got work to do once the sun comes up.”

I begrudgingly let myself be towed off the dance floor and
out into the fresh air. Though Harrison and I are staying in the same hotel
once again, it’s not as though he can give me a lift home without arousing
suspicion. He hails me a cab and opens the back door. I throw my arms around
him and kiss him deeply, passionately.

“I’m not going off to war in the morning,” he asks, “Go home
and get some sleep, you.”

“Goodnight then,” I smile, slipping into the cab, “I love you.”

The car pulls away from the curb before I can register what
I’ve just said. I whip around the stare out the back windshield. Harrison is
frozen on the curb, staring after me with his mouth hanging open. Shit! Did I
really just drop the “L” word on him? Smooth as ever, Siena. Smooth as ever. I
sink back against the seat and cover my face with my hands. Just when our
situation couldn’t possibly get more complicated...

I pour myself back bed, thankful that no one was awake to
intercept me upon my return. As I drift off, my mind is full of Harrison: the
man I’ve come to love. Whatever’s going on between us is tricky, and
terrifying, and temperamental as hell. But hey, I’ve always loved a good
challenge.

Chapter Seventeen

A Raw Victory

The Budapest Grand Prix roars into life the next morning. I
sit in the stands with Bex and Charlie, clasping my hands tightly together to
keep them from shaking. I’m unaccountably nervous, so much so that I barely
even notice the flirtatious looks Bex and Charlie keep throwing one another
behind my back.

I can’t even begin to process whatever the hell is going on
there, not when Harrison could very well be kicking my brother’s ass on the
race track. That is, if his big talk is to be believed. But I tend to believe
most of what Harrison says, and for good reason.

The checkered flag swooshes down, sending the drivers flying
into action. The lineup falls into place the same way it has throughout the
entire tournament. Enzo, Landers, Rostov, Marques, and Harrison roar into the
top five spots as if it were nothing. Even from afar, I can tell that something
is different about this race. Enzo’s out ahead, but Marques is right on his
tail from the start. Landers and Rostov trade off third and fourth place,
fighting for incremental leads for the first half of the race. Harrison hangs
back in fifth, but I can tell that it’s strategic. He isn’t harassing the other
drivers out of their spots, he’s simply biding his time. Is he really going to
pull off his first win, like he promised?

By the time two thirds of the race have been run, I’m on my
feet, pacing back and forth in my tiny little square of legroom.

“Chill out Siena,” Charlie tells me, “What the hell are you
so worked up about?”

“Shhh!” I hiss, “I need to concentrate.”

“Beaming out good luck to your brother?” Charlie ribs.

“Something like that...” I say, my eyes glued to Harrison’s
red car.

As the drivers move into the final laps, something shifts.
Landers and Rostov have gotten so wrapped up in their charades that they’ve
dropped way behind the others in the top five. Marques has wrested the lead
away from Enzo, and now my brother is fighting like hell to get it back.
Harrison creeps up toward them inch by inch as they vie for first, but neither
of them seems to notice. This is it. He’s going to make his move. I shove my
hands through my hair, my heart pounding in my chest.

They rocket into the final lap, and Enzo takes his chances.
He jolts ahead, nearly smashing into Marques. The Spanish driver swerves to get
out of his way, ceding the lead once more. But he’s not about to go down
without a fight. I gasp as he nudges Enzo out of the way, just as they’re
bearing down on the finish line. But the brief collision takes Marques by
surprise, and he veers out of the way, straight toward Enzo. My bother swings
out of Marques’ way, trying to avoid a side-swiping collision. The two lead
drivers gravitate toward the outer edge of the course, leaving the inside track
wide open for the smallest of moments.

It’s the opening Harrison’s been waiting for.

On a sudden, incredible surge of speed, he flies ahead of
Enzo and Marques on the inside of the track, ripping over the finish line in
first place. Before I even know it, I’m leaping up and down, cheering and
screaming over the din. Charlie grabs onto my arm and looks into my face,
accusingly. My cheeks burn with alarm and embarrassment, but no one else has
spotted me. I tear off through the wild crowd, grinning as the entire stadium
cheers for Harrison’s first victory.

I’m carried through the packed crowd by a wave of momentum.
It’s like the entire city is bearing down on Harrison, and I’m no exception. I
grab onto the barrier railing and hoist myself up as he glides to a stop and
jumps out of his car. A bottle of champagne pops open as he rips off his
helmet, and the member of Team McClain surge around him. He scans the crowd
until he catches my eye, and shoots me the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen
in my life. I lean heavily against the railing, happiness flooding every cell
of my body.

 A persistent buzzing at my hip distracts me. It’s probably
my dad, asking me to come run damage control. I whip my phone out of my pocket
and peer down to see who’s bothering me. I have a score of picture messages
from a number listed simply as “Unknown”. My brow furrows as I open the first
file and wait for it to load.

As the picture clarifies, I nearly drop my phone onto to
hard pavement. There on my screen is a crystal clear shot and me and Harrison
Davies outside of the bar last night. My arms are thrown around his neck, my
tiny dress just barely covering my ass. An entire set of pictures staring the
two of us, dating all the way back to Barcelona. Someone’s been trailing us.
All this time, we’ve thought we were in the clear. A simple message accompanies
the damning photos:

“Stay away, or the world finds out.”

The world spins around me as I look out onto the track
towards the smiling Harrison. As they proclaim him the winner, I can only think
of one heartbreaking truth. Everything we’ve built, everything we’ve dreamed,
might already be lost.

*THE*END*

BOOK 2 COMING NOVEMBER 2013