Full Throttle (The Revved Series)

by Colleen Masters

  “I...I don’t know,” he says, “I guess I’m still trying to impress you.”

  “That’s adorable,” I smile.

  “Don’t play with my delicate heart,” he smirks.

  “I have an idea,” I tell him, “Why don’t you pay up, take me out of here, and show me what a night with Harrison Davies is really made of?”

  “You wicked woman,” he breathes, “I’m not the only one who’s full of surprises around here, am I?”

  We hightail it out of the restaurant, our arms thrown around each other. After all, I didn’t sneak out of my hotel for some expensive appetizers alone. There’s only one thing that will sate the hunger that gnaws at me day in and day out since meeting Harrison. Luckily, he’s more than happy to dish out as much as I can take.

  Harrison helps me into his car and takes off through Budapest. The city is almost surreal in its ancient beauty. We find ourselves a noisy, crowded bar full of young people. I’m way too overdressed, but it feels so nice, slipping into a sea of people my own age for once. Harrison and I spent our every waking hour with team members and reporters twice our age. But tonight, we’re just two twenty-somethings in what could possibly be love, one day. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

  We grab ourselves a couple of vodka martinis from the bar and make our way to a secluded corner of the bar. I settle down onto Harrison’s lap, feeling my inhibitions melt in this anonymous place.

  “This is more like it,” I tell him, letting my lips brush lightly against his neck.

  “Keep that up, and we’re going to have to relocate again,” he warns, “I’m thinking somewhere with a bed and soundproof walls.”

  “Maybe later,” I laugh, “But right now, I just want you to dance with me.”

  Harrison takes a long swig of his drink and follows me out onto the dance floor. I feel like we’ve stepped back into time to the first nice we spent together in Barcelona. God, it feels like so long ago already. I turn to Harrison and place my hands on his hips, closing the space between us. Skipping dinner like we did, my drinks are going straight to my head. The room goes in and out of focus around me as I swing my hips to the pumping house music. Harrison spins me around, wrapping his powerful arms around me from behind. My eyes close blissfully—I’ve never felt so safe is anyone’s arms as I do in his.

  Time rushes past us as we dance to song after song. I can almost forget, in this dim, enticingly gritty place, that tomorrow will be all about press conferences and coiffed hair. Part of me wishes that I could cast off all my responsibilities there on the spot—quit my job, get a punk hair cut, and backpack around Europe until I go totally broke. Isn’t that what plenty of twenty-somethings get up to before they settle down? Damn professional ambition...ruining all my fun, as ever. But who am I kidding—I’ve always loved working hard.

  “We’d better get you back to the hotel before long,” Harrison tells me, tugging me off the dance floor.

  “I don’t wanna,” I moan, “Can’t we just keep dancing?”

  “I’ve got a race to win in the morning, sweetheart,” he smiles, “When you’re singlehandedly running the entire F1 universe and I’m your spoiled, kept man, we can dance each and every night away. But for the moment, we’ve both got work to do once the sun comes up.”

  I begrudgingly let myself be towed off the dance floor and out into the fresh air. Though Harrison and I are staying in the same hotel once again, it’s not as though he can give me a lift home without arousing suspicion. He hails me a cab and opens the back door. I throw my arms around him and kiss him deeply, passionately.

  “I’m not going off to war in the morning,” he asks, “Go home and get some sleep, you.”

  “Goodnight then,” I smile, slipping into the cab, “I love you.”

  The car pulls away from the curb before I can register what I’ve just said. I whip around the stare out the back windshield. Harrison is frozen on the curb, staring after me with his mouth hanging open. Shit! Did I really just drop the “L” word on him? Smooth as ever, Siena. Smooth as ever. I sink back against the seat and cover my face with my hands. Just when our situation couldn’t possibly get more complicated...

  I pour myself back bed, thankful that no one was awake to intercept me upon my return. As I drift off, my mind is full of Harrison: the man I’ve come to love. Whatever’s going on between us is tricky, and terrifying, and temperamental as hell. But hey, I’ve always loved a good challenge.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Raw Victory

  The Budapest Grand Prix roars into life the next morning. I sit in the stands with Bex and Charlie, clasping my hands tightly together to keep them from shaking. I’m unaccountably nervous, so much so that I barely even notice the flirtatious looks Bex and Charlie keep throwing one another behind my back.

  I can’t even begin to process whatever the hell is going on there, not when Harrison could very well be kicking my brother’s ass on the race track. That is, if his big talk is to be believed. But I tend to believe most of what Harrison says, and for good reason.

  The checkered flag swooshes down, sending the drivers flying into action. The lineup falls into place the same way it has throughout the entire tournament. Enzo, Landers, Rostov, Marques, and Harrison roar into the top five spots as if it were nothing. Even from afar, I can tell that something is different about this race. Enzo’s out ahead, but Marques is right on his tail from the start. Landers and Rostov trade off third and fourth place, fighting for incremental leads for the first half of the race. Harrison hangs back in fifth, but I can tell that it’s strategic. He isn’t harassing the other drivers out of their spots, he’s simply biding his time. Is he really going to pull off his first win, like he promised?

  By the time two thirds of the race have been run, I’m on my feet, pacing back and forth in my tiny little square of legroom.

  “Chill out Siena,” Charlie tells me, “What the hell are you so worked up about?”

  “Shhh!” I hiss, “I need to concentrate.”

  “Beaming out good luck to your brother?” Charlie ribs.

  “Something like that...” I say, my eyes glued to Harrison’s red car.

  As the drivers move into the final laps, something shifts. Landers and Rostov have gotten so wrapped up in their charades that they’ve dropped way behind the others in the top five. Marques has wrested the lead away from Enzo, and now my brother is fighting like hell to get it back. Harrison creeps up toward them inch by inch as they vie for first, but neither of them seems to notice. This is it. He’s going to make his move. I shove my hands through my hair, my heart pounding in my chest.

  They rocket into the final lap, and Enzo takes his chances. He jolts ahead, nearly smashing into Marques. The Spanish driver swerves to get out of his way, ceding the lead once more. But he’s not about to go down without a fight. I gasp as he nudges Enzo out of the way, just as they’re bearing down on the finish line. But the brief collision takes Marques by surprise, and he veers out of the way, straight toward Enzo. My bother swings out of Marques’ way, trying to avoid a side-swiping collision. The two lead drivers gravitate toward the outer edge of the course, leaving the inside track wide open for the smallest of moments.

  It’s the opening Harrison’s been waiting for.

  On a sudden, incredible surge of speed, he flies ahead of Enzo and Marques on the inside of the track, ripping over the finish line in first place. Before I even know it, I’m leaping up and down, cheering and screaming over the din. Charlie grabs onto my arm and looks into my face, accusingly. My cheeks burn with alarm and embarrassment, but no one else has spotted me. I tear off through the wild crowd, grinning as the entire stadium cheers for Harrison’s first victory.

  I’m carried through the packed crowd by a wave of momentum. It’s like the entire city is bearing down on Harrison, and I’m no exception. I grab onto the barrier railing and hoist myself up as he glides to a stop and jumps out of his car. A bottle of champagne pops open as he rips off his
helmet, and the member of Team McClain surge around him. He scans the crowd until he catches my eye, and shoots me the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life. I lean heavily against the railing, happiness flooding every cell of my body.

  A persistent buzzing at my hip distracts me. It’s probably my dad, asking me to come run damage control. I whip my phone out of my pocket and peer down to see who’s bothering me. I have a score of picture messages from a number listed simply as “Unknown”. My brow furrows as I open the first file and wait for it to load.

  As the picture clarifies, I nearly drop my phone onto to hard pavement. There on my screen is a crystal clear shot and me and Harrison Davies outside of the bar last night. My arms are thrown around his neck, my tiny dress just barely covering my ass. An entire set of pictures staring the two of us, dating all the way back to Barcelona. Someone’s been trailing us. All this time, we’ve thought we were in the clear. A simple message accompanies the damning photos:

  “Stay away, or the world finds out.”

  The world spins around me as I look out onto the track towards the smiling Harrison. As they proclaim him the winner, I can only think of one heartbreaking truth. Everything we’ve built, everything we’ve dreamed, might already be lost.

  *THE*END*

  BOOK 2 COMING NOVEMBER 2013