Christ—what the hell was going on with her? She didn’t normally get all hot under the collar for guys like Rafe Donovan—arrogant arseholes. He might look nice, but it didn’t change the fact he was a bit of a twat. She had to bite back a smirk as a potential headline flashed into her brain—British Superbikes: No Sponsorship for Arrogant Arsehole Competitor.
Snapping back into professional mode, she gave him a saccharine smile. “I should be the one asking the questions, Rafe. Do you mind if I call you Rafe? And is there somewhere quiet we can go for a chat? Can you take the time? I know you have another practice race later on.”
Chapter Four
After being led along at what felt like a breakneck pace to her much shorter legs for a good ten minutes, they arrived at a black van with Rafe Donovan Racing Team written on the side. She’d been regretting asking if there was somewhere quiet they could go for approximately nine and a half of those ten minutes, and now she seriously wished she could take it back. All she’d wanted was to get away from the stares of his two buddies and talk privately. Honestly, stepping outside the garage would have done the job. But apparently Rafe had taken her request very seriously, and here they were.
Jingling the keys he’d retrieved from one of the other men before they’d left, he pressed a button on the fob. There was a bleep, and the lights flashed once. Rafe turned to her and indicated the van with a jerk of his thumb. “Quiet enough for you?”
For once he wasn’t smirking, and his tone wasn’t sarcastic, so she responded politely, “Yes, I’m sure this will be fine. Thank you.”
“Great. Come on, then. I do have a bit of time, but not loads as I need to get back to my brothers so we can finish the tune up on my bike before my next race.”
So she’d been right about them being related, then. His brothers were a fair bit older than him, by the looks of it—she’d internally pegged him as around her age—mid-twenties. “Okay, no problem.” He’d opened the passenger side door for her, and she climbed in, her face reddening as she realised he’d remained behind her as she got into the vehicle—no doubt affording himself quite the close-up view of her backside in her tight jeans. At least she wasn’t wearing a skirt.
She sat down as quickly as she could and turned to glare at him, but he was already making his way around the front of the van. With some difficulty, she reached out and grasped the door handle, then tugged the door shut, turning down the volume of the bikes roaring around the track.
A clunk and a creak as the driver’s door was opened, then the van dipped on its suspension as Rafe joined her in the front. He slammed the door and flashed her a smile. “Right then, where would you like to start, Gloria? That’s an… unusual name for a woman your age, by the way. Pretty, but unusual.”
Raising her eyebrows, she shot back, “I could say the same.”
“What? That my name’s a pretty but unusual one for a woman of my age?”
This time, she didn’t miss the opportunity to glare at him. Much to her annoyance, he didn’t wilt beneath its power. “You know damn well what I meant. Christ, are you always such a smart arse?”
“Yes,” he said simply, throwing her completely off-kilter. The mischievous twinkle in his eye did nothing to dispel that sensation, either. He was managing to be unnerving, irritating and attractive all at once—which just annoyed her even more. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or snog him.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. Reaching into her bag, she then pulled out her smart phone and fired up the dictation app. “You’re okay with me recording this, right? We’ll cover a lot more ground, much quicker, if I don’t have to take notes.”
Rafe gave a casual shrug, as though he really didn’t give a shit—about the recording, about the interview, or about her. “Fine by me.”
“Great.” She forced her lips to form a smile, when what she really wanted to do was grimace. Or drop her head into her hands with despair. God, he was going to be hard work, she just knew it. His story had better be bloody well worth it. She pressed the ‘record’ button and shifted her gaze to meet his. The quiet intensity in his eyes nearly caused her to stumble at the first hurdle, before she’d even spoken, but she managed to hold it together—barely. “So! Thank you, Rafe Donovan, for agreeing to speak with me. Can you tell me about yourself, please? A bio, if you like. A bit of background I can pull on for people that have never heard of you.”
“Like you, you mean?” he replied, quirking an eyebrow.
Well, fuck. He got the measure of me quickly. “We’re not here to talk about me, Rafe,” she said sweetly, desperate to turn the focus back on to him. “I’m writing a sports column, so please tell me all the things my readers will want to hear about. Start with the basics.”
He huffed out a heavy breath. “All right, all right. God, you’re no fun, Gloria.”
“I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to work.”
Rafe opened his mouth, probably to let forth another smart arse comment, but seemed to think better of it. He snapped his mouth shut for a moment, then started again. “My name is Rafe Donovan. I’m twenty-six years old, from Retford in Nottinghamshire, but I now live in Chorleywood, Hertfordshire. I’m the only racer on my team—which consists of myself and my two brothers, Flynn and Clark—and I ride a Kawasaki Ninja.” He went on to list a whole bunch of technical specifications about the bike, during which Gloria smiled, nodded and hoped she looked interested, and like she understood what the hell he was going on about.
He finally stopped talking in what, to her, was gibberish, and asked, “Is that the sort of thing you were looking for?”
Eager to keep him on side, she nodded emphatically and smiled. “Absolutely! Fantastic stuff, Rafe—really good. So, how about giving a bit of information now about how you came to be racing in the British Superbikes tournament?”
“Bikes are my life,” he said simply. “I’ve been interested in them ever since I was a little kid. For me, cars—and vans” he waved his hand around at their surroundings, “are just a means to get from A to B. Useful and practical, but not very much fun. Bikes, on the other hand,” his eyes glinted again, and his lips curved up at the corners, “are exciting. They look good, sound good, feel good between your thighs…” He stopped then, meeting her gaze.
Gloria gulped, heat creeping up her neck and face. She’d gone from bored of hearing about the technical specifications and top speed of his Kawasaki, his best lap times and so on, to wondering just how good his sleek, powerful motorbike would feel between her thighs. How good he would feel between her thighs. Holy shit. Work, Gloria! You’re here to work—not fantasise about things vibrating in your crotch, and sexy, leather-clad men. But it was too late—the area in question had already grown damp, and ached with need.
The shit-eating grin on Rafe’s face indicated that he knew exactly what effect his words had had on her. He cleared his throat loudly, making her jump. “Anyway! Like I said, bikes have been a passion of mine for years. A family passion, really. My parents were both bikers, and they’d take me and my brothers to tournaments like this one, as well as smaller ones, and bike meets, and… well, you name it, we did it. We’d eat, sleep and breathe motorbikes and racing. Neither of my parents had any interest in racing themselves, but when my brothers expressed an interest in giving it a go, they were supportive.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “Guess they figured they’d rather my brothers did it in front of them, safely, rather than sneaking off somewhere to do it behind their backs, and ending up getting hurt.”
“Makes sense,” Gloria replied, making a mental note that he was discussing his parents in the past tense. “And what about you?”
“Well,” he gave a closed-mouth smile, “you’ve seen my brothers—they’re a bit older than me. So while they were playing around on cool bikes and having the time of their lives, I was a hanger-on, a snot-nosed little kid desperately wishing away my life until I was old enough to join them. They were pretty good racers, but w
hen it was finally my turn to give it a go, I was miles better than them. ‘Like a pro,’ my dad said. From that moment, my path in life was laid out before me. I never wanted to do anything else.”
Gloria nodded slowly as the words sunk in. For once, he didn’t sound arrogant when he spoke about being better than his brothers. He was stating a fact, not bragging. “Wow, that’s quite a story, Rafe.” It was interesting, admittedly, but she could tell there was a hell of a lot more to it than he was letting on. But how to get down to the nitty-gritty without him shutting her out? “You’ve obviously worked very hard to get where you are now.”
She paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. “But tell me, exactly how did it happen? How did you go from a kid with epic skills on a motorbike to being here, now?” She cast a pointed look at his logo-less leathers. “I can’t help but notice that you seem to have an independent team, and no sponsors. So where does the cash come from? A lucrative day job? A lottery win?” She kept her tone light, playful.
“Christ, you’re nosey, aren’t you?” he asked, but he was smiling.
“Goes with the territory. Bikers are speed freaks, reporters are nosey. We wouldn’t be very good at our jobs without those traits now, would we?”
“Touché.” He turned and looked out of the side window for a moment. The portion of his face that she could still see was pensive, thoughtful, and the muscles in his jaw were twitching—was he clenching it, or grinding his teeth? Either way, it was clear he was having trouble with what he was about to say.
Gloria tensed, her heart fluttering and her grip on her phone tightening. This could be it—the information that would turn her article from a simple biography into an actual story. A human interest article that people would probably read even if they didn’t give a shit about motorbike racing.
Rafe turned to face her again, his expression inscrutable, but with a hardness in his eyes that told her he was really having to steel himself to speak. “I was incredibly lucky in that my parents were just as supportive of me racing bikes as they were my brothers. But when I showed a real skill for it, things got more serious. I come from a well-off family—my dad inherited his father’s chartered accountancy firm, and my mum worked in the music business—so money was never an issue. There was plenty of it, and because they knew how serious I was, my parents were happy to spend it on paving the way for my career. For my brothers, it was just a hobby, but for me, it was everything. They all understood that and were behind me one hundred percent. And as you can see, my brothers still are.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the garage.
Gloria’s gut twisted. Here was her opening—Rafe had practically crouched down and laid it at her feet like some kind of sacrificial offering. But could she take it, given she had strong suspicions on where that line of questioning would lead? It was definitely nowhere good.
Reminding herself that she would never have to see Rafe again after this weekend, she decided to go for it. What’s the worst that can happen?
Nodding carefully, she said, “Yes, you seem like a tight-knit team. So, what about your parents?”
His eyes clouded over and he folded his arms. “What about them?”
Rafe’s body language screamed ‘don’t go there, I don’t want to talk about this!’, but she’d already overstepped the line—there was no going back now. Curling her toes inside her boots, she forced herself to continue, her tone gentle, coaxing. “Where are they, Rafe? You said your brothers and your parents were incredibly supportive of your career…”
Narrowing his eyes, he clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it on the steering wheel. “Fucking hell, you just don’t know when to back off, do you? I’ve given you enough fucking hints, but you’re still picking and poking away like some kind of scavenging bird, looking for the juicy bits. Well, I’ll give you your juicy bit—my parents are dead, all right? Gone. Deceased. Six feet fucking under. Are you happy now?”
With that, he flung open the door of the van and jumped out, slamming it behind him.
She watched, open-mouthed, as he stomped away. She had no idea where he was going, but it wasn’t in the direction they’d come from. Panicking, she stabbed at her phone, stopped the recording and saved it, then returned the device to her handbag. As she opened her door, she had a thought—how could she chase after him and leave the vehicle unlocked? She didn’t know what was in the back of it, but it was likely tools, maybe spare parts for the bike, extra leathers, helmets… either way, the contents were valuable, and she couldn’t just leave them there for the taking. It’d probably be okay, but people could be shitty and she didn’t want to take the chance.
Slamming her own hand on the door handle, she let out a yell. For fuck’s sake, what had she done? Yes, she’d unearthed her story, and with some further research she could probably find out more details, but it wouldn’t be the same as hearing it from the horse’s mouth. Except, she’d pissed off and upset the horse, and the best she could hope for now was that it wouldn’t kick her in the arse. Or the head.
As she lifted her handbag onto her lap, something that had been behind it on the seat caught her eye. She sucked in a breath—the van keys! Of course—Rafe’s racing leathers probably didn’t have any pockets, so he’d had to put the keys down somewhere and had now stomped off in a temper—and understandably so—leaving them behind.
Which, for her, was a stroke of luck. She could lock the van, saving her conscience from any further battering, and go after him.
The hardest part now—after finding him—was going to be figuring out what the hell she’d say when she did.
Chapter Five
After almost half an hour of searching, Gloria was on the verge of giving up. She’d peeked into garages and workshops—startling quite a few people in the process—looked behind vehicles, even traipsed into a nearby patch of woodland to see if he was glowering amongst the trees.
As she headed back in the direction of the track, she saw a small building which housed some amenities, including toilets. She needed to go, so figured she could kill two birds with one stone—relieve herself, then see if Rafe was hiding out in the Gents’—which didn’t seem like a very bloke-ish thing to do, but it was worth a try.
Having used the loo and washed her hands, she exited the building and walked around to the other side of it. She knocked on the door of the Gents’. “Hello? Rafe, are you in there? It’s Gloria.”
There was no response. She knocked again, louder, and repeated her words—also louder.
Still nothing. Fucking hell! Either he genuinely wasn’t in there, or he was ignoring her in the hope she would go away. Both of those options were equally crappy. She sighed heavily, then gave it one last attempt. “Fine! But just so you know, I have your van keys. I’ve locked it up, but if you don’t come out right now I’m going to go back and unlock it, and hope someone steals all your stuff! I’ll even leave the keys in the ignition—make it really easy for a potential thief.”
It was petty, and childish, but she was desperate. She was also lying through her teeth, but Rafe wouldn’t be able to ignore her threats if he was behind that door.
When the silence continued, she sighed again, then turned and carried on towards the track. She’d go back to the garage where his brothers—Flynn and Clark, if she recalled correctly—were probably still working on the Kawasaki. She hoped they were, anyway. God, if she couldn’t find any of the three brothers, and she was wandering about with their van keys, unable to return them, who knew what would happen? They might call the police to report a theft!
Her route back to the garage took her right by the van. As she approached, relief seeped into her veins. All three brothers were standing beside the vehicle. Unfortunately, though, they were right in the middle of a blazing row. She tucked herself out of sight behind another van, and peered around it, her heart pounding.
“You just… left her here?” one of Rafe’s brothers—the eldest, she thought—yelled. “A practical
stranger, and you just buggered off and left her not only in the van, but with the bloody keys? Are you out of your tiny mind?”
The anger Rafe had directed at her not so long ago now seemed to be turned towards himself. He held up his hands, resigned, then raked them through his hair, making it stick up in places. “I know, I know. It was stupid. I’m sorry. We just… she was interviewing me, and she started getting too personal, probing, asking about Mum and Dad, and I lost it. I couldn’t handle it, so I took off. I was out of my mind, Clark, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking straight and I just walked off. I had to get away from her and her fucking questions—that was all that mattered. By the time my common sense started to kick in and I realised what I’d done, it was too late. And now… well, she’s gone, isn’t she?”
Clark ran his hands through his own hair and sighed, before looking at their other brother, who’d up until now remained silent, but looked equally distressed. “Come on, Flynn,” Clark said, “you’re the sensible one. What the hell do we do now? The next practice race is in an hour, we need stuff from the van, and some reporter chick has pissed off with the keys. I don’t mean to overreact, but do we call the police? Track security?”
Immediately, Flynn shook his head. “No, we don’t need to do that. Not just yet, anyway. Let’s think sensibly about this. Yes, it’s a major fuck-up on Rafe’s part, but I don’t think this Gloria woman is a criminal. If she was, she’d either have emptied the van of its valuables, or driven it away. The last thing she would have done was lock the bloody thing. That doesn’t make any sense. So I think she panicked when Rafe took off, then found the keys and locked the van before going to look for him. She’d have no idea he’d double back here after his little tantrum. In a way, she did us a favour—if she’d just run off after Rafe and not locked the van, who knows what would have happened?”
British Bad Boys: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set Page 10
