Highlander's Desire: Winter Solestice (Against All Odds Series 2)

by Veronica Wilson

  It had been when she moved from Beverly Hills to attend Franklin University in Columbus that her life changed. The girls in her dorm had been so welcoming and supportive, totally different from the girls in high school. Particularly her roommate Angie. She was a vivacious and stunning second generation Thai girl from New York who had undergone breast enlargement surgery at eighteen. Angie was an outrageous flirt, a terrible tease, and so much fun to be around. She had shown Merry how stunning she could look if she used hair tricks and some makeup to highlight her natural beauty and, delightfully, how hot she could look in the right clothes plus how sexy she could be in some daring underwear. Angie had shown her how good it could feel to command so much attention from boys, and when Merry finally let her guard down with Eric, a senior, she had been there for her too.

  Eric, sporty and drop dead gorgeous, had always smiled at her from afar, until one night in her first year they had ended up at the same party. He was charming and attentive all night, and while she had drunk a little, Merry made a controlled decision to let him be her first. He was caring and gentlemanly, right up to the point where they were alone together. With little foreplay, he had insisted on taking her from behind and lasted less than a minute before bounding out of the room, almost as soon as he was done, to go drink with his friends. He managed to avoid her for the rest of the year, then he was gone.

  Merry had quietly dressed and stolen back to her room. When Angie found her, Merry told her the story. Angie hugged her, held her, and vowed to protect her. Which she did, viciously. No guy got near her again which, if she was honest, was not entirely what Merry had wanted, but Angie meant well and it was good to feel cared for.

  Merry spied her mom waiting for her in the terminal and dove into the bathroom to freshen up. She ran a brush through her shoulder-length auburn hair, reapplied her lip gloss and stood back to examine her work. The heels she had on jacked her up to about five-foot-seven and elongated her slender legs. She had on jeans and a T-shirt in deference to Abu Dhabi’s strict dress code for women in public, but the denim low-riders hugged her hips and butt well, while the T-shirt was sufficiently tight around her slim waist and modest but pert breasts that it was just sexy enough to keep her mom off her back. Her full lips, elegant cheekbones and large, blue eyes were tastefully enhanced by the makeup she had put on and, when she flashed a practice smile, she knew she had got the ‘sweet yet hot’ look down. She felt ready to deal with her mother.

  “Darling,” drawled her mom with arms outstretched as Merry approached. They hugged and Merry smiled to herself, breathing her mom in. Despite all her complaints, she loved her mom and it was good to be near her again.

  “You look wonderful, darling,” began her mom, “but you should show a little more. God knows, I would if I still had a body like yours!” Although it was barely noon, her mother wore a black Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress. It covered her knees enough to be just about acceptable but, while it hid her upper arms and cleavage, it was cut across the top to leave her shoulders bare. A big no-no by United Arab Emirates law. Mother’s way of rebelling, of course, thought Merry. Though she did notice a dark shawl around her arms, in case she was told to cover up. But she still looked slim and classically beautiful.

  “I have to make some concessions to the law, Mom,” replied Merry, “and so should you.” Her mom opened her mouth to protest. “But you look stunning of course,” Merry added. Her mother feigned bashfulness, then turned to a ruggedly handsome man dressed in a light linen suit with no tie. He was trim and muscular, about six foot, with only some well-defined wrinkles in his time-worn face and salt-and-pepper edging his hairline to betray his age.

  “Darling, this is Donny. Sorry, Donald,” her mom almost squealed. Donald extended a hand with a warm smile. “Only I can call him Donny,” Merry’s mom continued. “Isn’t that so, Donny?”

  “It’s true, I only allow the most beautiful women to use that term,” he said in a clipped, pristine English accent and took Merry’s hand in a firm, dry grip. “So you, Merry, should feel completely free to do so.” Merry knew he was trying to be charming while flattering both her and her mother, but it was still slightly creepy. She let him off because of the way the two love birds then began smiling at each other.

  “Well, shall we get some lunch?” asked Mom. “You must be famished, Merry, and there’s the most darling place just—”

  Donald cut her off, “Terribly sorry, my love, but we must get back to the track. We should be there for free practice. Besides, we have a fortune in caviar, seafood and champagne in hospitality.”

  “Oh, you’re right, of course. You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

  Merry knew it would do no good to argue. Besides, she was not particularly hungry and she wanted to make a good impression with the team’s owners. They had, after all, paid for her to fly out here. She shook her head with a smile and Donald ushered them out to a white Rolls Royce. The driver opened the door for them and, in a flash, they were on their way.

  Yas Marina Circuit was actually directly across the Khor Al-Raha river from the airport, but it was still a thirty-minute drive from Arrivals to the race paddock. Donald used that time to pour him and Merry’s mother gin and tonics. Merry refused, but it was clear to her that, besides making googly eyes at each other, Donald and her mom spent the majority of their time drinking, even in a country where alcohol consumption can get you in a lot of trouble. Merry’s mom used the time to expound on Donald’s son, Troy.

  Donald had owned a successful shipping company, enabling him to retire early and extremely wealthy. But although Donald had made use of his money and connections to secure his son the best teams and cars throughout his career, Troy was in fact an extremely talented driver. And now, at the last race of the season, he was only one point behind his teammate, Michael Raymond, at the head of the championship. The title would be decided here. If Troy finished ahead of Michael, the championship was his, but if Michael beat him, or if neither of them scored, Michael would be World Champion. There was to be practice this afternoon, qualifying to decide the starting grid tomorrow, and the race on Sunday. It was all jolly exciting, her mother assured her, and Merry could not help but notice how her mother’s Californian lilt had begun to make way for a more English, aristocratic sound. Among everything, her mom’s gushing about Troy’s dedication, fitness, stamina and the occasional hint about his good looks did pique Merry’s interest, despite herself.

  It was hot. And emerging from the tunnel that led from the paddock and under the track to pit lane was as though Merry and the golf cart she rode were crossing into another, freakish hell dimension. Mechanics in brightly colored overalls rushed everywhere, million-dollar race cars endlessly fired up and killed their engines in a monstrous cacophony that seemed to attack her from all sides, while the very air was thick with a poisonously sweet cocktail of high-octane gasoline, tarmac and rubber.

  They stopped by their team’s garage and Merry dove into the cool darkness, desperate to escape the heat, commotion and noise. Unfortunately she found herself standing directly behind a set of high, airplane-like wings attached to a Formula 1 race car. The car sat there, axle stands holding it off the ground, strange blue blankets wrapped around where she guessed the wheels should go, when suddenly, with no one in it, it burst into life with a high-pitched roar that shot straight through her body, shaking here to the core. Her knees actually felt weak and she began to fall before a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Max! Kill it!” The voice was barely audible above the engine’s din but, as quickly as it had started, it shut off. The strong hands helped her to a chair and sat her in it. Merry felt woozy. She opened her eyes, and as her gaze travelled around the room she noticed two things: the many men in black and red shirts that surrounded the car all had on ear defenders, and the face belonging to the hands that had caught her was probably the most beautiful one she had ever seen.

  His stubbled jaw was chiselled to a perfect point,
his lips full and soft-looking, his cheekbones high and sitting just under fierce, gray-blue eyes. His light-brown hair was long on top with a floppy fringe but shaved above his ears all around his head’s entire circumference, giving him a kind of post-apocalyptic punk look that went well with the three studs in his left ear and the two in his right. Merry saw, also, an eagle tattooed on his shaved head behind his left ear and a large rose behind his right. He could not be more than a year or two older than her.

  His face was only inches from hers. He kept his eyes on her, a faint smile playing around his lips. I have no idea who you are, Merry found herself thinking, but if you kissed me right now, I can’t see myself complaining.

  “Anyone know why this silly cow was standing right by the mufflers when we started the car?” Merry realised he was addressing the whole garage. Except her, it seemed. His accent was English but, while still clipped, it was rougher and far less posh than Donald’s. No one answered. “Who the fuck is she anyway? Do we just let anyone into our garage now?” he demanded. That was enough, Merry decided, and pulled herself away from him

  “I’m not a silly cow,” she snapped “I’m part of the PR team! Please take your filthy hands off me!” Her anger was fueled by her embarrassment at being so attracted to him, and that she was still attracted to him, despite him being a complete dick. He backed off, hands up in mock surrender. He was shirtless, of course, his overalls wrapped around his waist, displaying a sinewy, muscled torso and strong arms, covered in intricate tattoos. He was by no means huge, only as tall as Merry was in her heels, but perfectly proportioned and amazingly fit.

  “Darling,” Merry’s mother called as she ambled into the garage with Donald in tow, “there you are, thought we’d lost you. I see you’ve met Troy. I’m sure you two are going to be the best of friends.” Donald nodded along enthusiastically.

  They stared at each other for an instant. “So, you’re my potential new sister, eh?” said Troy finally in a teasing tone.

  “Stepsister,” she corrected him, but could not quite figure out why she felt so keen to point it out. He opened his mouth to say more, but a strong Valley accent interrupted him.

  “Troy, baby, look what I got for you,” called a stunning, big-haired blonde. She waltzed in, tanned skin, full butt, long legs, and impressive bust all clearly on display in a white one-piece swimsuit that opened all the way down to her pierced navel and completely disappeared between her toned buttocks. It took her a second, but Merry finally recognized her as Shannon Turner, the most beautiful and popular girl in her class at Beverly Hills High School, who just happened to have been a queen bitch to her for four years. She figured she must have missed the memo about Shannon going into porn.

  Suddenly a little less sure of himself, Troy turned to Shannon, “Erm, that’s beautiful, love, but cover yourself up, you’re embarrassing the crew.” There was a general rumbling from around the garage, including one clear call of “No, she’s not!” from somewhere near the back. “And this is Abu Dhabi, you can get in trouble for dressing like that in public.”

  “But you said it was, like, okay inside the track,” complained Shannon.

  “No, love, I said it was okay in the trailer,” replied Troy. Donald, a perfect gentleman and the only one not staring at Shannon’s full and barely covered breasts, handed Troy a blanket. Troy passed it on to Shannon. “Here, wrap this around you.”

  Shannon did, but failed to cover her shoulders. She grinned around the room, enjoying the attention, and seemed to notice Merry for the first time. “Hi,” Shannon said, and turned to Troy. “Who’s this?” she asked him, a touch possessively. Ha, thought Merry, I knew she’d never recognize me.

  “This is Blair’s daughter, Merry. Be nice,” said Troy, his previous arrogance making a return. “She’s going to be my new little sister.”

  “Wait,” Shannon held up a hand, indicating the importance of the discovery she had just made. “You’re Merry Bennett? Oh. My. God!” she squealed. “We were in high school together! Merry, how’ve you been, you look amaze! Love the new hair, oh my God!”

  “It’s good to see you too, Shannon,” smiled Merry, surprised to find she meant it. School was a lifetime ago and people grew up, plus it was validating to hear Shannon compliment her.

  Shannon, however, barely noticed Merry had spoken. The rest of the garage had lost interest and gone back to their tasks, but Shannon carried on regardless, “Oh my God, you should have seen Merry at school, Troy! She was the cutest thing, haircut like a boy, glasses, braces, we loved having her hang around…”

  Amazing, thought Merry, almost everyone is carrying on like I’m not here.

  “And look at that body, will you? Oh my God, Merry, where were you hiding those titties all those years? The things she used to wear, so frumpy! It was so funny…”

  Merry’s temper flared again, Nope, nothing’s actually changed since high school. “Well, at least I actually wear clothes!” she suddenly screamed. The garage went silent again. “And I spent my time at school studying, not slutting my way through the whole football team.” Merry was surprised at the vitriol in her voice. Her mom stood open-mouthed. Donald held a nervous smile. Troy looked shocked and Shannon was incensed.

  “You bitch!” she yelled and launched herself at Merry’s hair, leaving Troy holding nothing but the blanket. The two girls went down to the ground, Shannon managing to stay on top. The garage burst into cheers and applause, which intensified as the struggle forced Shannon’s breasts free of their meager confinement.

  What the hell is going on? Merry only had time to think as Shannon, with fistfuls of hair, banged her head on the garage floor. Troy quickly gathered Shannon up with the blanket, almost like you would a wild cat, while the technicians and mechanics groaned their protests. Troy shot a fierce look around the garage, and everyone quickly found something important to do.

  So I’ll just lay here then, thought Merry, her rage still very close to the surface, when a well-tanned and handsome face loomed into view. His hair was dark, thick and curly, and his smile flashed bright white teeth as he offered his hand to help her up.

  “Are you okay?” His voice had a soft, southern accent. “I’m Michael. Did you get hurt?” he asked as he helped her to her feet. The shrieking Shannon was being escorted away by Troy, who was still shooting everyone death-stares.

  “I think I’m okay, thank you,” murmured Merry, her anger melting in the face of Michael’s warm smile. He was tall, broad-shouldered and wearing similar overalls to everyone else.

  “Are you sure? She sure was banging your head off the floor pretty good.” Unlike the rest of the garage, his concern for her seemed deep and genuine.

  “I’ll live, I’m sure,” she assured him. Donald and her mother made their way over.

  “Darling, are you alright?” asked Blair. Merry was about to answer when an older man in overalls called out to Michael and Troy that it was five minutes to practice.

  “Oops! Better get out the road,” warned Donald, as the whole garage bustled into life. Mechanics stated whipping the covers off the tires and lowering the car to the ground. Someone was instructed to go get Troy, while next door a high powered engine burst into ear-splitting life.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” apologised Michael, and wandered over to a table lined with brightly colored crash helmets. He picked up a white balaclava and pulled it on.

  “That’s Michael Raymond, the number one driver,” called Donald over the racket. Merry took some offered ear defenders gratefully and put them on. Michael saw her checking him out and winked from under the balaclava before dragging a crash helmet down over his head. They were ushered out of the garage to the pit wall, mere meters from the track. Within minutes, cars were roaring out of the garages and beginning their first laps of the weekend. Michael and Troy went out almost together, their cars bellowing in angry harmony as they accelerated onto the track.

  Merry found she was totally unprepared for the visceral sensation of the racers flyi
ng past her down the straightaway. The noise of the engines spinning at 15,000 rpms as they rocketed past, the shockwaves from the cars travelling more than 200 mph and nearly knocking her off her feet was like nothing she had ever felt before. And, as the drivers circled, she began to find herself getting caught up in the excitement. She learned to watch the timing boards, feeling a small flutter of excitement as Michael’s time came out as a fastest lap, then disappointment as Troy’s time beat it, then the same sensation in reverse.

  Looking down the straightaway as far as she could to see Michael round the final turn, her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the silhouette of a car exit the turn sideways and start spinning, before another car slammed hard into it, sending them both careening across the track.

  Oh my God, oh my God! Let him be okay, she thought frantically as a third car swerved right, then left, cleared the wreckage and screamed past her. She smiled with relief to see it was Michael driving past, and was sure she saw him turn and wave discreetly at her as he flew by. Get a grip, Merry, you’ve said literally ten words to him! What’s wrong with you?

  “Well, may as well pop back,” announced Donald.

  “Why?” asked Merry. In spite of her fear of speed, she, along with the hundreds in the main grandstands opposite, had been enjoying the spectacle even though it was only a practice session.

  “See that fellow?” asked Donald, indicating the marshal on the start line vigorously waving a red flag. “He and his chums around the circuit are all waving that flag to halt the session while they clean all the bits of broken Ferrari and Mercedes up from the track. It’ll be at least twenty minutes before they restart.”

  Merry allowed herself to be led off. She never had the opportunity to return to the garage and talk to Michael. Instead, she met the team bosses and the hospitality unit and spent the afternoon learning how to wine and dine sponsors and F1 bigwigs.