Faster Harder Page 3

  “What do you all do for McClain?” I ask.

  “I’m just a pit wife,” Cora sighs, “Sara and Shelby are on the social media and marketing team. And Harrison—”

  “Good lord, these go down smooth!” Harrison says, polishing off the last of his tequila. “Nothing like Barcelona, am I right?”

  “You know what we need?” Sara says mischievously, “A round of shots.”

  A cry of agreement goes up through the party. Harrison turns toward me, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

  “You game, Miss Siena?” he asks.

  “Hell yes,” I say, “Bring it on.”

  The bartender quickly supplies us with a round of shots, and Andy raises his glass.

  “To the Grand Prix,” he says, “And the grand old shit show that is Formula One!”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Harrison shouts.

  We knock back our shots, and I’m amazed at how fine the liquor is. This is the kind of stuff that goes down like silk, so that you don’t even know until you’re stumbling into bed just how drunk you’ve gotten.

  “I love this music,” I exclaim, swaying in time on my barstool.

  “The Spanish know how to stack a playlist,” Harrison says, “Fancy another turn?”

  “Are you asking me to dance?” I say, charmed by his accent despite myself.

  “Absolutely,” he replies.

  “Then yes,” I say, hopping down from my perch.

  The colors and lights that sear through my range of vision begin to melt together as the tequila courses through my system. I see Cora and Andy make their way onto the dance floor, while Sara and Shelby are eagerly snatched up by a couple of Norse-looking guys and drawn out to bust a move. But as soon as Harrison and I are on our own again, it’s only him that I have eyes for. How can it be possible to feel so alone, so private, while dancing in a sea of people?

  I spin around and press my back against Harrison’s firm chest. His hands fall to my waist, lingering there as I grind my hips against him. I raise my hands into the hair, closing my eyes and savoring the feel of Harrison’s body against mine. The music is too loud for us to hear each other, but I feel like we’re communicating all the same. I turn to face him, draping my arms over his shoulders. His face is mere inches from mine, those full, firm lips within kissing distance at last. I move my hips deliberately, enticingly, as Harrison’s hands slide ever further down along my body. I haven’t felt this free with any other man I’ve danced with, not ever.

  “I’m in love with the way you move,” Harrison growls, close to my ear. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

  “There’s a lot about me that you couldn’t guess from looking,” I reply, locking my eyes with his, “I’m sure I could say the same about you.”

  “You may be right,” he says, “But I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

  “How might I do that?”

  “Stick around,” he smiles, “I might just surprise you. And even if I don’t, I can guarantee that you’ll have a hell of a time.”

  He presses his hips back against mine, and I gasp as I feel a sudden, throbbing urge fire up in the very core of me. As crazy as it may be to admit, I want this man. The question is...will I let myself have him?

  We dance through the next two songs, not speaking a word. Our bodies do plenty of talking on their own. I’m losing myself to the pulsing music, the intoxicating feel of Harrison’s body, the incredible energy of Barcelona after dark. I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow—all I can do is live for this single moment in time.

  “Buy me another shot?” I ask Harrison, as the music fades for the briefest of moments.

  “Why sure,” he says, and I lead the way back to the bar.

  The bartender spots us coming and produces a pair of shots. “Here you are Mr. Davies,” the man says warmly.

  “Davies...” I mutter, “Harrison Davies. Your name sounds familiar.”

  “No reason why it should,” Harrison tells me, “Unless you’ve been vacationing in Birmingham of late.”

  “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other plenty, if you’ll be around for the tournament,” he says, “You will be around for the tournament, won’t you?”

  “Sure will,” I say, raising my shot glass, “To new friends?”

  “Indeed,” he says.

  We gulp down our shots and slam them back onto the bar. I’m hovering right on the perfect line of tipsiness. The world around me is loose and full of color, but I’m still completely in control. I swing my gaze toward my handsome companion, drinking in his perfectly balanced features, those strong, sculpted muscles. What if this is the only time we’ll run into each other during the entire tournament? What if this is the only night I’ll ever get to spend in his dashing company?

  He may be a bit more red-blooded than the men I usually go for, but I’m starting to think that might not be such a terrible thing. What’s the worst that I could happen if I actually went for him tonight? I’ve never let myself chase down a guy I’ve actually been attracted to, and I’ve never felt more drawn to anyone than this Harrison Davies. Come what may, I make my decision. It’s time to throw caution to the wind, for once in my life. It’s time to have a spot of fun.

  Without saying a word, I lower myself onto the ground and take Harrison’s hand in mine. He looks at me, happily surprised.

  “Back to the dance floor?” he asks.

  “Not quite,” I reply, tugging him down off his bar stool.

  “Are you trying to kill me with suspense, Miss Siena?” he asks.

  “Something like that,” I say, and head off into the throbbing crowd. I have no idea where I’m going, or what I even have in mind. All I know is that I want to get this man alone as soon as humanly possible.

  Harrison catches my drift and draws up beside me, weaving through the crowd. His hand makes its way to the small of my back, then slides lightly over the swell of my ass. My heart slams against my ribcage at that slightest touch, my body straining with want of his hands all over me.

  We duck around a corner and all but sprint down a dimly lit hallway. The corridor is lined with heavy doors, two dozen at least. Harrison chooses one at random, and the door swings open into the hallway. A small, posh bathroom stall is revealed there, and I dart inside, pulling Harrison along behind me. He presses my shoulders up against the plush wall, and I have to fight to keep from purring with contentment.

  “I’m guessing this is a pretty regular thing for you?” I ask.

  He locks the door behind us. “You seem pretty comfortable yourself, Siena,”

  “Blame it on the tequila,” I say, every cell in my body calling out for him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Harrison?”

  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 h
is 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, sc
urrying 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?!”