Full Throttle (The Revved Series)

by Colleen Masters

  Almost every night that we spend in Toronto, I slip away from dinner or drinks with my own team to set off in pursuit of Harrison. There’s nothing quite like the illicit thrill of meeting up away from the watchful eyes of our friends and family. I live for those moments where we come together again, after spending an excruciating day apart. We find each other in dimly lit bars, secluded corners, and hotel rooms rented just for the night...wherever we can snag a few hours of privacy.

  My need for Harrison, I soon find, is inexhaustible. Every time I get a fix of him, I only want him more the second we’re away from each other. Now that we’ve finally crossed that line, fallen into bed (or the back seat, depending on the night) together, I have trouble thinking of anything else. I’ve never known this feeling before, of feeling so whole with someone that a part of me seems to be missing while he’s away. This whole compatibility thing is totally new—and I have to say, the whole thing’s been rather eye-opening. Who knew that I could get off without the help of something battery-operated?

  And who knew that I could actually go after someone I really wanted, someone I really desired on every level? That’s certainly a first. All my life, I’ve been one to settle for whatever guy fell into my lap. I’ve never taken risks, romantically. Not until Harrison, that is. I’ve gone from zero to two hundred in the course of a couple weeks. It’s exhilarating, and incredible...and a little bit terrifying, to be sure. But what worth having isn’t a little bit scary to chase?

  My week leading up to the Toronto Grand Prix flies by in a flurry of hot sex and media events. Every reporter out there wants to quiz me about Enzo’s meteoric rise, his fiery temper, his every mood and thought. Oddly enough, I find that I’m ever better at my job now that Harrison’s come crashing into my life. My focus is sharper, my wit quicker. This whole satisfying sex thing is doing wonders for my professional life. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on it for all these years! I only wish I’d met Harrison before we’d fallen into our lines of work...but then, who would we be without F1?

  The day of the race rolls around after a stretch of preliminaries and qualifiers. Enzo sweeps almost every run, losing out a couple of times to guys like Rostov and Landers. I halfway suspect that my brother’s throwing them bones for the sake of their own tender egos. He’s a strategic racer, Enzo. And he knows full well that this sport is just as much about emotions and mental states as it is about speed and skill. A driver with a bone to pick can be a dangerous thing, indeed.

  The Toronto Grand Prix begins smoothly enough. The day is bright and crisp, not a drop of rain on the horizon. The specter of Naughton’s crash still hangs heavy over us all, so ideal conditions are no small blessing. Enzo, having secured pole position once again, sails easily into the lead and keeps it for the first half of the race. But this time, his position doesn’t go uncontested. The usual suspects of Landers and Rostov keep on him relentlessly, and the Spanish driver, Marques, is trying to establish himself as a competitor as well.

  But the real challenger for my brother’s lead is no other than Harrison.

  While Enzo jets out in front from the start, Harrison creeps up little by little. He takes the other top five drivers by surprise when he pulls into second in the final laps. Enzo speeds up to keep his distance, but Harrison stays on his tail. The two of them get way out in front of the others, and finish in the top two spots. When I cheer this time around at the race’s conclusion, I know full well that my excitement is for both of them at once.

  I watch as Enzo glides to a halt and hoists himself up out of his shining green car. He smiles out into the crowd and raises his fist in triumph, having secured his third win of the tournament. But even from where I sit in the crowd, I can see that his grin is tinged with anxiety and anger. Harrison gave him a run for his money this time around, and I can tell that my brother is none too pleased about it. He’s kept Harrison at bay so far, but there are plenty of races left in which the rookie can outstrip him.

  Harrison leaps out of his ruby red racer and lifts the helmet from his head. He shakes out his sandy blonde hair, laughing and cheering along with the rest of the McClain team. A robust rush of pride surges through me as I watch him wave to the crowd. But that gust of warmhearted joy is soon replaced by concern and guilt. I’m happy that Harrison is gaining on my brother, happy that he has a chance to come back and win this thing. I should be furious that Enzo has a real competitor, but instead I’m elated.

  I suppose love—or whatever the hell is going on between Harrison and me—can do screwy things to your head, sometimes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Budapest Beat

  The next city on the tournament circuit is Budapest, in Hungary. Team Ferrelli touches down and sets to work at once, frenzied to maintain its lead. I drop off my things in the small but elegant hotel suite and scramble to check my phone for word of Harrison’s whereabouts. Sure enough, he’s texted me the name of a hotel where we can meet up. I gather my things, all smiles, and yank open my door.

  “Oh!” I cry, finding myself face-to-face with my father.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, striding into my suite.

  “I’m...uh...meeting Bex for a...PR meeting,” I lie, and lamely at that.

  “Good,” my father says, clapping his hands together, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Yeah?” I ask nervously.

  “Yes indeed,” my dad says, ushering me to the sitting room of my suite. “You’ve been doing a great job talking your brother up so far, Siena. Really. There’s this ferocity to your approach all of a sudden, this energy. You’ve really stepped up your game this time around. I don’t know what you’re doing differently, but you should keep it up.”

  If only he knew what was different about this tournament for me, he might rethink that suggestion. But I swallow my words and smile, grateful for the rare compliment. “Thanks Dad,” I say, “Enzo’s been doing an amazing job. It makes my work a lot easier when all I have to do is remind people what a great driver he is.”

  “True,” Dad says, “But the way you’ve been handling yourself, lately. You seem so much more confident and at ease. It’s nice to see.”

  “Wow,” I laugh, unsure of how to handle my father’s praise, “Thanks, pa. So, what is it you need from me, if you already like the way I’ve been handling Enzo’s PR this go around?”

  “Well,” Dad says, “I have some concerns about that Davies character.”

  “Ah...” I say, wary of Dad’s tone.

  “We’ve managed to keep him in check so far, but it’s no secret that he’s becoming more of a problem,” Dad says, “I think we need to cut him off at the pass a little. Start turning public opinion about him. He’s a charismatic guy, I’ll give him that. And let’s be honest, Enzo can be a little prickly with the press.”

  “So, what are you suggesting?” I ask.

  “I think we should draw the public’s awareness to the less...savory elements of this Harrison person’s character,” my dad says, leaning in conspiratorially.

  “What elements would those be?” I ask sharply.

  “Well, are you aware of who this guy’s father was?” Dad asks.

  “Sure. He’s Walther Davies kid. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with...Do you know anything about Walther Davies, Siena?”

  “He was a driver. A good one, at that,” I say, “Died a few years ago. Had some...personal problems.”

  “You can say that again,” Dad says, “And he didn’t just die a few years ago, he drank himself to death. I knew Walther back when he was still at the top of his game. He was a cocky hothead, a womanizer, and an all around son of a bitch.”

  “Fine,” I say, “But I still don’t understand how that has anything to do with Harrison.”

  “I’m just saying. It might make sense to suggest that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree...” my dad says.

  “You want me to sland
er Harrison Davies in front of the press?” I say, my voice hollow.

  “Don’t be dramatic about it,” Dad says, “I don’t think you should call for his head. Just...drag him through the mud a little. Harrison’s a bad boy and a loose cannon, just like this old man.”

  “You don’t know that,” I snap, “You’ve never even met him.”

  “I’ve seen enough of his attitude on the track,” Dad says resolutely.

  “The only time he’s snapped during a race was when Enzo attacked him,” I say, “It was your son who started that fight.”

  “And Davies was more than happy to engage,” Dad says, “What’re you getting so worked up about?”

  “I’m just shocked that you would ask me to do this,” I cover, “That’s never been how we do things, Dad.”

  “Well, we’ve never had a competitor like Harrison Davies,” he says, his jaw set. “Desperate times, this is Enzo's year.”

  “Dad, I’m sorry, but I can’t do what you’re asking me,” I say, “If what you want is rumor and speculation...Well, maybe you should hire another PR manager.”

  “Maybe I’ll have to,” my dad mutters, standing up from the couch.

  “Wh-what?” I splutter.

  “If you’re not willing to go that extra mile for your family—”

  “It’s playing dirty,” I protest, “We’ve never sunk down to that level before! Think about what you’re asking me, Dad. Is ruining Harrison’s reputation really the way you want to keep our lead in this tournament? That’s beneath you, it's beneath our family.”

  “Don’t presume to lecture me about my family's honor, Siena,” Dad spits, “I won’t have back talk from you.”

  “Stop it,” I say, rising from the couch, “Don’t talk down to me like I’m an angst-ridden teenager, Dad.”

  “Then grow up and do your job,” he shoots back, “Or I’ll find someone else who can.”

  He storms out of the room before I can say another word, slamming the door behind him. My entire body is shaking with suppressed outrage. How dare he ask me to do something like this! What is going on with my family, all of a sudden? Between Enzo acting like an inconsiderate jerk on the track, putting the other drivers’ lives in danger, and my father suggesting that I spread shit about Harrison’s father...it’s all too much. This tournament is changing them, and not for the better.

  A soft knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I storm across the suite. I yank open the door, expecting my father to have come back for another round. But standing there in the hallway is Bex, looking rather alarmed by my stormy demeanor.

  “What the hell is up?” she asks, “You look like you’re ready to bite my head off.”

  “Just my insane freaking father,” I vent, turning to grab my purse up and make my exit.

  “Where are you off to?” she asks, “You might want to take a minute.”

  “I’m meeting Harrison,” I tell her in a whisper.

  “Seriously?” she asks, “You’ve been doing this almost every night, Siena. Aren’t you worried that someone’s going to catch onto you?”

  “What?” I say, “You’re the one who’s been encouraging me to see him.”

  “Yeah, once in a while for a good roll in the hay,” she says, “But this is on a whole new level, Siena. What’s going on between you guys?”

  “I’m not sure...” I say, “But whatever it is, I intend to see it through.”

  “I wish you’d be more careful,” Bex says softly.

  “I wish you’d support me in this,” I retort.

  “I do support you. Always,” she says, “I’m just worried about you, is all. If this thing is dragged out into the open...Siena, it could be disastrous for you.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of that,” I say, pushing past my friend.

  “And you’re still going to keep it up?” she asks.

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  “He means that much to you? I thought this was just a fling, Siena.”

  “I thought so too, at first,” I say, “But now, I’m not so sure.”

  “Just be careful, would you?” she pleads.

  “I always am,” I say, stealing away to meet Harrison once again.

  ***

  He opens the door to the hotel room before I can even knock. His haughty, charming smile falls an inch when he sees the look on my face.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks, pulling me into the spacious room and wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “Oh, you know...” I say, pulling my lips into a strained smile, “We’re sneaking around in a foreign country, my entire family hates you, my friends think I’m insane, and my job is on the line...”

  “But hey,” Harrison says, brushing an errant curl behind my cheek, “We’re here together, aren’t we?”

  “That’s no small grace, I’ll give you that much,” I say, laying my hands on Harrison’s broad shoulders, “But something’s got to give, Davies.”

  He sighs, pulling me by the hand into the cushy bedroom of the suite. That familiar fire roars to life in my belly as I find myself alone with Harrison once again. I swear, it’s like the man sends out a miles-wide force field of irresistible sexuality. And the closer I get to its epicenter, the lower my inhibitions fall. Now here I am, just a pace or two away from him. It’s all I can do to keep from tackling him onto the sprawling king bed and allow our situation to go unspoken of for another week. But with Dad and Enzo bearing down on me to wreck Harrison’s reputation, I’ve got to stay strong and get through this.

  “How does a vodka martini sound?” Harrison asks, producing a bottle of fine booze from the hotel fridge.

  “Like just the ticket,” I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  I let my eyes rake recklessly over his body as he turns away to make the cocktails. It’s a long journey for my gaze, from his dirty blonde hair, down his muscular back, shapely ass, all the way down to his feet planted so firmly on the ground. He towers over me at six feet and change, and every inch of him is absolutely turbo charged with raw power. I can’t help but replay every steamy moment we’ve shared together over the past couple of weeks as I try to work up the nerve to have the “relationship talk”. I cringe a little just thinking about it.

  “Here you are,” Harrison says, handing me my martini, “You’ve earned it.”

  “You’re the one who’s been putting your life on the line on a weekly basis,” I laugh, raising my glass to him.

  “Sure,” he shrugs, “But I live to do that. You’re the one who has to spend her weeks wrangling media sharks and badly behaved Ferrelli boys.”

  “Maybe I live for that,” I say, taking a sip of my strong, dirty drink.

  “Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” Harrison says, sitting down beside me.

  “What, you don’t think I’m suited for it?” I ask, brushing at an imaginary speck on lint on my dark skinny jeans.

  “That’s not it at all,” he says, sounding shocked. “If anything, it seems like you should have a bigger role where the team is concerned. You should shaping the sport itself, not shaping the reputations of single drivers.”

  I feel myself swelling with pride at Harrison’s suggestion. For some reason, his faith in me means more than anyone’s ever has. My dad and brother have always allowed me a place on Team Ferrelli, but no one’s ever really acknowledged my potential. Not like this.

  “How can you think so highly of me?” I ask Harrison, “We’ve hardly known each other for a month.”

  “And for a month, you’ve been an unstoppable, scrappy, determined force,” Harrison laughs, “I have a feeling there’s nothing you can’t get if you put your mind to it.”

  “There may be...one thing,” I say, dropping my gaze from his.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I sigh, “You.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, resting a strong hand on the small of my back, “You’ve got me. Right here.”


  “For a couple of hours, sure,” I say, “But once we’ve had a little fun, we’ll go back to Ferrelli and McClain, peering at each other over the line drawn in the sand.”

  “I’ll still be thinking about you,” Harrison offers, closing the space between us. His breath on my neck almost knocks the words from my mind, but I have to keep going.

  “I’ll be thinking about you too,” I tell him, letting my eyes flutter closed as he brushes his lips against my throat, “But I’d rather...I’d rather not...”

  “What?” he asks, pulling away, “You’d rather not...be seeing me?”

  “No!” I exclaim, sending a slosh of vodka over the rim of my glass, “Exactly the opposite! Harrison, I’d rather see nobody but you. In a perfect world, that is.”

  “In a world far away from F1, you mean,” he says.

  “Pretty much,” I say.

  “Did something...happen, Siena?” Harrison asks, “Did someone, you know. Find out about us or—?”

  “No, of course not,” I say quickly, “I mean...Bex knows, to be perfectly honest.”

  “To be perfectly honest...Andy does, too,” Harrison smiles sheepishly.

  “Best friends. What’re you gonna do?” I ask, laughing nervously.

  “So then, why the sudden qualms about what we’ve been up to?” Harrison asks, “I’ve been having a wonderful time with you, Siena.”

  “So have I,” I tell him, “But Harrison...how much longer can be really go without acknowledging the fact that I’m literally sleeping with the enemy right now?”

  “I’m not your enemy,” he points out.

  “But you’re my brother’s,” I say, “For all intents and purposes, that’s the same thing.”