“Need another one of those?”
I snap my eyes toward the rich voice beside me and find myself face-to-face with a gorgeous set of light brown eyes, ringed with gold. The rest of my bar mate’s face comes slowly into focus in the erratic light of the club: high cheekbones, a strong square jaw, and a big, toothy, movie star smile under a smooth wave of brown curls. All at once, I realize where I’ve seen those features before—during countless hours of research.
“Rafael Marques,” he says, offering me his hand.
“Oh, I know who you are,” I tell him. Marques was a rookie driver last season, but has been making quite a showing this year. He was the driver neck-and-neck with Enzo just before Harrison took the Budapest Grand Prix.
“And I know who you are too, Miss Lazio,” he says.
“Siena’s fine,” I tell him, “It’s nice to meet you, Rafael.”
“And you. But about that empty glass of yours...”
“Oh. Right,” I say, “Sure, I’d love another if you don’t mind.”
Marques waves the bartender over and gets me another drink, requesting a whiskey neat for himself. He raises his lowball glass to me, smiling warmly.
“To new friends,” he says.
“Sure,” I reply.
“I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds, talking to you like this,” Marques goes on, “I’ve just been dying to meet you.”
“Is that right?” I ask, sipping my drink, “And why is that?”
“Well, there aren’t many women holding their own as players in this sport,” Marques says, “You’re a very impressive lady, Siena Lazio.”
“Thank you,” I say, flattered despite myself. I’m sure that Marques noticed my runner’s ass before he noticed my deft PR strategy, but I’ll give him points for trying.
“Are you having a good time so far this season?” he asks politely, looking out over the dance floor.
“It’s been a little stressful,” I admit, “But I love what I do. So.”
“I understand that,” the driver sighs, “If only we could be content doing something normal. Safe.”
“You don’t really wish that,” I say, matter-of-fact.
“Well, no...” he smiles, “But some days, doesn’t it seem like that would be easier?”
I let myself imagine Harrison and I leading a normal, nine-to-five life in some small English town; couple of kids, backyard, golden retriever...
“Yeah,” I admit, “It does.”
“But here we are,” Marques laughs, “Crazy as hell, gunning for the rush. Living in the moment—”
“Amen,” I laugh.
“Well, in the name of living in the moment, Siena, would you favor me with a dance?”
I stare at Marques in the semi-darkness. He’s a fine specimen of a man; tanned, composed, charming as hell. But I’m held back from accepting his invitation. What about Harrison? How would I feel if I knew he was off, flirting and dancing with other women? Of course we can’t be a normal, happy-go-lucky couple, but there’s a brand new love building up between us. I don’t want to jeopardize that for a handsome Spanish playboy looking for a few extra notches in his bedpost.
“I think I’m good here,” I tell the man, planting myself onto a barstool.
“Come on,” he urges, laying a hand on my knee, “Just one dance, what could it hurt?”
“I’m just not really in the mood.”
“I know how to fix that,” he grins.
“Oh, really?” I scoff, “And how’s that?”
“By showing you a good time, of course. It would be my pleasure.”
“I don’t think that would go over well, my fraternizing with another driver,” I say, conveniently ignoring the fact that I’ve gone far past fraternizing with Harrison.
“Everyone else seems to be getting along just fine with that setup,” he says, nodding toward the dance floor.
Sure enough, Bex has her arms thrown around Rostov, while Enzo and Landers talk up a couple of girls wearing the colors of the German F1 team. Damn.
“Look, Rafael, I’m just not up to it this second,” I tell Marques, shaking his hand off my leg. “I’d rather sit this one out.”
“You should learn to let go, Siena,” the driver says, not the least bit rattled by my reluctance, “Enjoy yourself a little bit.”
“I’m really not fond of it when men tell me what I should do,” I say pointedly, pushing away my barely-touched martini.
“I can tell,” Marques says, “I like that. You’ve got a mind of your own.”
“And it’s made up to stay right here,” I tell him.
“For now,” he smiles, “But I have a feeling that I’ll grow on you, Siena.”
“What are you, a fungus?” I ask archly.
He cracks up in response, only making me more irritated. I’ve met a lot of drivers who defy the stereotypical cocky asshole mold, but this Marques character is another story. I’m not a fan of his presumptuous tone, his insistence that I don’t know what’s best for myself. This guy’s never even met me. Who does he think he is?
I feel my body stiffen as he sits down beside me at the bar. I’m not about to tell the guy off—my job’s in PR, not causing PR problems for our team. But his presence is somehow unsettling. He’s definitely not the company I was looking forward to this evening.
“It’s criminal, a beautiful woman like you sitting by yourself,” he says, eyes scanning the dance floor.
“I’m perfectly comfortable alone,” I tell him.
“You can’t mean that,” he says, “Don’t tell me that there’s no man in your life? That the world is so cruel as to deprive at least one lucky man of your love?”
“Would you cut it out with the smooth talk, or whatever the hell that is?” I snap, “This whole Don Juan act is getting old, quick.”
“I’m only speaking my truth,” he says leaning toward me. “And the truth is that, if you were my woman, you’d never be left to sip your drinks alone.”
I stare at Marques, baffled by his forwardness. What is he driving at, here? And why am I having so much trouble telling him to back off? Those handsome features of his make it easy to ignore the noxious content of his flowery speech. I avert my eyes from his, looking out onto the dance floor for my brother and Bex.
But my eyes alight on someone else entirely.
Across the crowded club, Harrison Davies stands, surrounded by his McClain posse. And the look in his eyes could kill. Our gazes lock, and I understand what he must be seeing. Marques is practically on top of me, our drinks set down between our rubbing elbows. I got so caught up in his whirlwind of charm and insistence that I nearly lost my head.
“Let me show you how a real man takes care of his woman...” Marques croons, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Even from where I’m sitting, I can see Harrison’s gorgeous features twist into a mask of outrage. The color rises to his face, and he seems to grow ten inches taller. I’ve scarcely opened my mouth to tell Marques where to shove it when Harrison charges across the packed room.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Harrison’s upon us in a matter of seconds, furious eyes locked on Rafael Marques’ sneering face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marques?” Harrison demands.
“I’m sorry,” Marques says, standing to face Harrison, “Were you under the impression that this is any of your business?”
“She’s clearly not interested in you,” Harrison goes on, “So why don’t you act like the gentleman you’re clearly not and back the fuck off, yeah?”
Andy, Cora, Sara, and Shelby appear behind Harrison, peering around his staggering form. I watch confusion cloud each of their faces as Harrison places himself between me and Marques. This can’t become a spectacle. It just can’t.
“Harrison,” I hiss, “Leave it, would you?”
“He’s the one who needs to leave,” Harrison spits, “It’s men like him who give this sport a bad name.”
“That’s rich coming
from you, Davies,” Marques laughs, “You’re not exactly a boy scout, are you? Glass of whiskey for breakfast, as many racing groupies as you can fit into an evening’s time, unsightly tattoos and never a proper shave to be seen—”
“You don’t know me, Marques.”
“And you don’t know me,” he returns, “So why don’t you back the fuck off and leave me to my conquest? I was just about to get her nice and liquored up.”
Without even thinking, I wrench my fist back and swing at Marques’ smug face. Harrison’s arms wrap me up, holding me back from the chauvinist pig. I swing wildly, aching to crack my fist against those pretty cheekbones of Rafael’s but Harrison pulls me back just as my fist narrowly misses. How dare he speak about me like that, and right in front of my face?
“Easy, Siena,” Harrison says, “Come on, he’s not worth it.”
“What the hell is going on here?” I hear Enzo’s voice call out.
I look up and see that my brother, Bex, Rostov, and Landers have returned for their drinks. It occurs to me what a strange scene this has become. Five of F1’s top racers, a handful of puzzled teammates, and me at the center. Boy, do I know how to make a scene or what?
“This asshole was terrorizing Siena,” Harrison growls, nodding toward Marques.
“You were what?” Enzo says, rounding on the Spanish driver.
“Terrorizing is not the correct word,” he says coolly.
“No, harassing would be more apt,” I say, wrenching my arms from Harrison’s grasp.
“You’d better get out of here,” Enzo warns Marques.
“Or what?” the other driver challenges, “You’ll sick Davies on me?”
“I don’t know what the hell Davies has to do with this,” Enzo says, “But trust me. I can cause quite enough trouble for you all on my own.”
“Doubt it,” Marques sniffs, “But that’s adorable coming from daddy's boy.”
“You really wanna fuck with me? You fuckin' Spic grease ball?” Enzo says, stepping up to Marques.
Rostov and Landers each lay a hand on Enzo’s shoulders, holding him back, as Marques jumps up and spouts off a verbal assault in incomprehensible Spanish.
“Easy boys,” I say, “The five of you need to cool your goddamn shit. You want a dozen gossip bloggers to get a hold of this little powwow? You’ll be fielding schoolyard bullshit questions for the rest of the championship.”
“The lady is right,” Marques drawls, “I, for one, am bored stiff of you all. Until we meet again, my friends.”
The Spanish driver saunters away, leaving the rest of us alone to stare at each other, perplexed. Rostov and Landers make sure Enzo’s not about to fly after Marques, Bex looks on anxiously, Enzo eyes Harrison and me, and the McClain team is completely bemused. Well, except for Shelby, that is. She, for one, looks downright tickled.
“Well,” Harrison says, breaking the supremely awkward silence, “Glad that’s taken care of, at least.”
“What were you doing, swooping in like that?” Enzo asks Harrison.
“It looked like Marques was giving Siena a hard time,” Harrison answers.
“I’m sorry. Do you two...know each other?” Enzo asks icily.
I decide that a dash of truth might be in order, here. Might as well cover our asses as best we can.
“We met in Barcelona,” I say quickly, “I hung out with the McClain guys at a club there.”
“You never mentioned that,” Enzo says, his brows furrowing.
“You never asked,” I remind him.
“We PR types tend to run into each other a lot,” the red headed Sara speaks up, taking a tentative step toward Enzo, batting her eyelashes and smiling coyly. “I’ve actually been dying to meet you since we ran into Siena. I’m a big fan.”
“You...are?” my brother asks, astonished by the confident beauty.
“Oh, definitely,” the blonde haired Shelby interjects, stepping around Sara, moving toward Enzo with swinging hips, “We’re all big fans.”
“That’s...great,” Enzo says, his eyes locked on Shelby’s curvy form.
A little rush of panicked anger runs through me as Shelby locks her eyes on my brother. For all I know, she could be plotting my professional and romantic downfall. Now she’s trying to get chummy with my brother? This chick is hardcore.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Andy says loudly, throwing an arm around Cora, “But I could use a drink.”
“I second that,” Landers says.
I look around from face to face, trying to pinpoint the moment when this night became truly bizarre. I was just hoping for a chance to blow off some steam with my brother and Bex. But now Enzo and Harrison are face-to-face, Bex is being courted by Rostov, and Shelby is sidling up to my brother like nobody’s business. Not to mention that whole episode with Marques. It’s all becoming a little bit too much for me.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, “I’m just going to get some air.”
“I’ll come with you,” say Harrison and Enzo in unison. I hold my breath as their eyes lock. There’s fire smoldering behind Enzo’s eyes as he takes in his rival.
“Just because you happened to be here to intercept Marques, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly my little sister’s protector,” Enzo says coldly.
“Well, someone has to be,” Harrison says, cocking an eyebrow.
“What was that?” Enzo retorts, taking a step forward, “Are you implying something, Davies?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Harrison says, “I’m saying outright that you were too busy trying to score some tail to keep an eye on Siena.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on Siena her whole life,” Enzo spits, pulling me away from Harrison’s side, “I’ve always watched out for her, and I always will.”
“Well. Bang-up job, buddy,” Harrison laughs meanly.
“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” Enzo asks, “I’m not liking this sudden interest you seem to have in my family, Davies. What, are you trying to get in good with me so I don’t beat your ass too badly in the Grand Prix next week?”
“Oh, yes. That’s exactly it, mate,” Harrison drawls sarcastically, “I’m so desperate to beat you that I’m picking off your teammates, one by one.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Enzo says, “You don’t seem the type to play fair.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harrison says, exasperated, “Are you just making shit up now?”
“Absolutely not,” Enzo says, placing himself between me and Harrison, “You showing up for this season, without ever having shown your face before in F1, was a dirty fucking trick, Davies. Everybody thinks so.”
“He’s got a point,” Rostov says.
“It’s true,” Landers agrees.
“So this grudge is about the fact that I didn’t come bearing fruit baskets and warm wishes before jumping into the season?” Harrison laughs, “Give me a break.”
“You don’t just come out of nowhere and try and take what’s not rightfully yours,” Enzo says, “You haven't paid your dues.”
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it just seems like good strategy.”
“And on what high ground do you think you’re standing, Davies?” Enzo asks, “Because to the rest of us, you’re lower than dirt.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your opinions to heart,” Harrison replies hotly, “I’m not really one for listening to egotistic narcissists who’d rather score with groupies than look out for their own flesh and blood.”
“Mind your own damn business, Davies,” Enzo snaps, “Siena is mine to take care of, and certainly not yours to worry about.”
“Certainly not anyone’s,” I cry, fed up with this little chest-pounding fiasco once and for all. “You guys are absolutely incorrigible. Listen to yourselves, the both of you. All of you. You think because you spend your lives speeding around in your little toy cars that you have some kind of unearthly power over the rest of us? It’s deluded. It’s
pathetic. You’re just men. And neither one of you has any place looking out for me, or telling me what’s best. So why don’t you both back off, quit it with the pissing contests, and do your goddamn job—which, last time I checked, was racing, not constantly whipping it out to see whose is bigger.”
“Don’t talk to me like that in front of him,” Enzo hisses in my ear, “I’m your brother. I do know what’s best for you.”
“Bullshit!” I exclaim, “You’re all a bunch of clueless little boys, you know that? God. To think that people actually look up to you. It’s laughable.”
“Why don’t we go get some air?” Harrison suggests, crossing to me.
“I’m fine on my own,” I snap, “You all enjoy the rest of your evening.”
I turn on my heel and storm away from the huddle of drivers and teammates. I hear a murmur rise up as I make my exit. I’m sure my outburst has most of them raising their eyebrows, but I couldn’t keep silent any longer. Between Marques’ presumptuous advances, Harrison’s unthinking interference, and Enzo’s posturing, I’ve had it with the theatrics for the night. All these racers think they’re gods, masters of the universe. But I, for one, am through letting their whims dictate my life.
Looking back over my shoulder, I see that the group has fallen back into partying. Bex has gone off with Rostov once more, Landers and Sara are chatting at the end of the bar, and Andy is dancing with Cora. I stop in my tracks as I see Shelby’s crown of blonde curls bobbing right in front of Enzo. She’s practically sitting on his lap. Her tactics don’t make any sense to me. Is she actually interested in my brother, or is there something more malicious behind her actions?
I feel a hand on my arm and whip around to find Harrison standing beside me.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me toward him.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Page 4
