Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel)

by Colleen Masters

  “Enzo here is going be mentoring Ace as we prepare for next season,” Siena says, “And Ace will, in the meantime, be helping us develop strategies and technologies to make our team even stronger. “So, let’s hear if for our new dynamic duo!”

  As if on cue, Enzo and I turn to face each other across the stage. His eyes are gleaming and we step forward as a unit, our smiles wide. It’s like we’re locked in a face-off, each challenging the other to step up and do this thing. Each fully aware of how insane the situation really is behind the scenes. Two can play at this game, Lazio, I think to myself, as we turn out to face the roaring crowd.

  As if reading my mind, Enzo raises a mighty arm and claps me hard on the shoulder, knocking me off balance just a hair. I glance up at him sharply and watch his smile stretch wider.

  “Smile kid,” he murmurs so that only I can hear. “The world is watching.”

  Chapter Eight

  “A little fucking warning would have been nice,” Enzo growls, hours later. It’s early morning by now, and all the party guests have departed. My furious teammate paces back and forth across the great room, laying into the unflappable Siena as I look on.

  “What are you talking about, Enzo?” Siena asks, exasperated. “We’ve been talking about bringing on an F3 driver for you to personally mentor since last season!”

  “That’s not what I mean!” Enzo spits back in return. “I mean that you could have given me some kind of warning about her.”

  Enzo and Siena, as well as Harrison and Camilla, who’ve been drafted as the referees in this sibling squabble, look over at me sharply.

  “Siena,” I say, trying like hell to keep my voice even. “Did you, uh, forget to mention to Enzo that I was a woman?”

  “Of course not!” she exclaims, but her expression betrays her. “I’m sure that I told him everything about you. Your times, your racing record—”

  “Leaving out one very important detail,” Enzo pounces. “You told me that a hot shot American kid named Ainsley ‘Ace’ Vaughn was going to be joining the team. You didn’t say shit about the fact that Ace was a girl. For fuck’s sake, Ainsley is a dude’s name!”

  “It’s unisex,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

  “Whatever!” Enzo cries, “The point is, I was blindsided up there. I need to be in the know about team decisions, Siena.”

  “Maybe if you got your head out of your ass for three seconds and paid attention to anything I say, I’d bother letting you in on team business,” Siena replies heatedly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Enzo snaps back, whirling around to face his sister.

  I can’t help but notice how alive and poised his entire body is right now. His fists are clenched at his sides, his jaw pulses with tension, and every muscle is coiled with pent-up energy. He looks ready for a fight, or a good fuck, maybe.

  Focus Ace, I chide myself. The only reason he’s worked up is because he’s pissed about me being a girl, after all.

  “It’s no secret that you haven’t really been all there lately, Enzo,” Siena says, taking a fearless step toward her seething brother. “Ever since Dad passed away, you’ve only been out for yourself. And I get it. I do. You’ve needed to do some soul searching, get yourself back on track. But enough is enough, already. You want to be a part of this team, make important decisions, the whole thing? Fine. But you’ve got to back that up with action. I have to know I can count on you to be here for the team, not off gallivanting across the Himalayas.”

  “I was hiking the Alps. Not the Himalayas,” Enzo says through gritted teeth. Though he still looks mad as hell, I can tell that Siena’s gotten through to him.

  “All the same,” Siena says coolly, “We’re heading into a brand new season. It’s the perfect opportunity for a clean slate. What do you say, Enzo?”

  “I say, this team is my entire life,” Enzo says, forcing deep breaths into his lungs. “And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to have a hand in shaping its future.”

  “Now, that sounds much better to me,” Camilla says in her airy voice, laying a hand on each of her children’s shoulders. “I know you felt taken off guard by Siena’s announcement this evening Enzo, but let’s call it water under the bridge. I’m sure that’s what Ainsley would prefer, too. Isn’t it, Ainsley?”

  Four pairs of eyes swing my way yet again. “Oh, is it my turn to speak now?” I ask, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice. “I thought I’d just stand here like a good little girl and let you all decide what to do with me.”

  “I’m sorry Ace,” Siena says, hurrying over to me. “I totally dropped the ball on this. I was so wrapped up with trying to get you up to speed that I didn’t even think about Enzo.”

  “No shit,” he mutters, shoving a hand through his black hair.

  “You didn’t think to ask him whether or not he’d have a problem with the fact that I’m a chick?” I ask her incredulously.

  “I don’t give a shit that you’re a chick,” Enzo snaps.

  “No?” I scoff, “Would you be this upset if it turned out you were mentoring some twenty-year-old dude?”

  “If I wasn’t properly informed about it, then yes,” he says, digging in his heels.

  “With all due respect, mentor of mine,” I shoot back, “I call bullshit.”

  Harrison lets out a low whistle as Enzo’s face goes beet red. Wow. This guy is not used to being spoken to frankly, is he? Well, that’s just too damn bad. I grew up with a headstrong man of my own—Alec was as stubborn and opinionated as they come. I’m not afraid to go toe-to-toe with someone twice my size. Even if that someone is Enzo Lazio.

  “Fine,” Enzo finally growls, advancing toward me across the room. “You got me. I do care that you’re a woman. I don’t want to be wrapped up with some publicity stunt of Siena’s devising. It wouldn’t be good for the team’s morale. Or my reputation.”

  “I assure you, Enzo,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even, “That my being here is not just a publicity stunt. Sure, Siena came to scout me because she’s looking to make the team more inclusive. But do you honestly think she would have brought me on board if I couldn’t drive? She cares about this team just as much as you do. She’d never jeopardize its standing just for the sake of a good photo op.”

  Enzo jaw pulses again as he considers what I’ve said. His eyes linger on my face, as if he’s trying to figure out the catch. But there’s no catch. I’m here to be a part of this team. End of story. Or at least, it should be.

  “Well then,” Enzo finally says, crossing his muscled arms across his chest. I can barely keep from staring as his fine suit glances against his cut body, accommodating and flattering his already impeccable form. “I want to see what you can do. On the track.”

  “By all means,” I reply, tossing my hair confidently over my shoulder. “Just tell me when and where.”

  “Tomorrow. First thing,” he says, matching me stroke for stroke. “I’ll take you over to the Ferrelli test track and you can try and prove to me that you really belong here.”

  “I won’t try and prove that,” I reply, “I will prove that. To you and anyone else who doubts that a girl can hold her own behind the wheel.”

  “I certainly hope you can,” Enzo says, taking a swinging step toward me. “Because if I’m not convinced by what I see tomorrow, you won’t see hide or hair of me all season. I’m not going to waste my time mentoring someone without any real potential.”

  “Well, if I run into any aspiring F1 drivers with that particular deficit, I’ll be sure to tell them not to call you,” I smile gamely. “See you in the morning, Professor Lazio.”

  I can hear Siena and Harrison laughing to themselves as I turn on my heel and make my grand exit for the night. Even though I’m trying like hell to seem cool and composed, my heart is racing faster than any car I’ve ever driven. It’ll just be me and Enzo at the track tomorrow.

  Alone.

  How I’m going to sleep a wink tonight knowing that is beyond me.
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  Before I know it, the sun has cracked over the horizon once again. Time to do this thing. I spring out of bed at the sound of my alarm and throw on my favorite jeans, a white cotton tank, a bomber jacket I bought at a thrift store in Brooklyn, and my worn-out Chuck Taylor’s. Maybe Enzo will be able to take me more seriously in street clothes than an evening gown, though it’s his damn problem either way. I shouldn’t have to dress myself down to be taken seriously by anyone. With that in mind, I swipe on some mascara and vampy lipstick, mixing masculine and feminine touches into my look.

  Just as I’m giving my hair a good tousle, I hear the front door of the guest house open down below. I peek around the bedroom door and spot an early morning visitor striding across the threshold. My heart nearly bulldozes through my ribcage as I catch a glimpse of Enzo in my new home. Not only is being alone with him a thrill in and of itself, but he’s looking super fine this morning.

  Our outfits of choice are not that dissimilar, as a matter of fact. Enzo’s rocking insanely well-fitted jeans in a dark blue wash, a simple white tee shirt, and a worn leather jacket. His black stubble is just a bit more pronounced this morning, and I can even see some of his tattoos peeking out from under his clothes. Usually, his ink is obscured by a racing jumpsuit or actual suit, but today I can see the piece that arches across his chest: the single word “Ferrelli”.

  Of course.

  “You could try knocking,” I say from the second story landing, planting a hand on my hip.

  His vibrant eyes swing up my way, and I have to stifle a gasp. Glowing there in his gaze is the same desire and intensity he showed me last night on the balcony, before he knew who I really was.

  “It’s my house, Ace. I don’t have to knock,” he informs me, plucking a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket.

  “Sure, but you still could, next time,” I say pointedly.

  “Is there going to be a next time?” Enzo asks, “You think I’ll see you again after today, Miss Vaughn?”

  My cheeks flame red as he toys with me. “It’s Ace. Not Miss Vaughn,” I say, refusing to take his bait.

  “I thought I was Professor Lazio to you?” he shoots back. “I was just trying to be cordial. As your esteemed teacher, and all.”

  A bark of laughter escapes my throat. “Somehow, I sense that being cordial doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Enzo replies, slipping a cigarette between his lips. Those full, soft lips that caressed mine just hours ago. “I’m afraid the only two things that come naturally to me,” he continues, “Are driving and fucking.”

  It takes every ounce of control in my body not to throw myself at him right then and there. I’ve never been turned on by the whole don’t-give-a-fuck, bad boy thing. But Enzo’s got that vibe down pat, and good lord if it isn’t working for me right now.

  “I know you’ve already seen my skills behind the wheel,” he presses on, relishing this little game of his, “And I would have demonstrated that other skill set last night, if we hadn’t been interrupted.”

  He’s trying to kill me, this one.

  “Interrupted by your realization that we’re actually teammates, you mean?” I shoot back, refusing to let him get the last word. “Don’t you think that would have put a damper on things?”

  “You tell me,” he says, raking those dark eyes along my body. “Do you have some policy against sleeping with coworkers?”

  “Not necessarily,” I reply without missing a beat. “But I do have a policy against sleeping with chest-pounding, sexist assholes.”

  To my shock and delight, he actually seems taken off guard by my comeback. I give myself a mental pat on the back for landing a good punch in this war of words we’ve got going on between us.

  “I am not a sexist,” he tells me, act dropped completely. “And I resent that.”

  “Well,” I sigh, all but skipping down the steps toward him. “Looks like we’ve both got something to prove today, now don’t we, Professor?”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asks, planting a firm hand on the doorframe just as I’m about to pass through. The sudden obstruction makes me take a step back, slamming right into his hard, sculpted body. His other arm swoops around the small of my back, and all of a sudden I’m back in Enzo Lazio’s irresistible embrace.

  “Sure is,” I manage to breathe, planting my hands on his perfect abs.

  “Then challenge accepted,” he growls, lowering his lips slowly toward mine.

  His mouth must be magnetic or something. Because despite my being pretty damn sure that getting physical with Enzo again would be a terrible idea, I can’t keep my face from tilting up to meet his. My every sense is entranced by the closeness of him, and I feel my entire body responding to his touch. His lips are just about to collide with mine when he abruptly steps away, leaving me standing on my own two feet once more—baffled and more than a little aroused.

  “Jesus Christ kid,” he grins, turning to stroll away from me, “I thought you said this was going to be a challenge.”

  I hurry after him as he moves away toward his car. My tongue is tied in a tight knot in the wake of this latest surge of desire for him. I need to be more careful around my new mentor. Anything that goes down between us needs to be purposeful. Thought-through. If I were wise, I’d totally rule out getting down and dirty with Enzo. But I try not to make promises that I can’t keep, even to myself.

  Chapter Nine

  We’re all but silent as we speed on over to the Ferrelli test track. Though I’m writhing with frustrated horniness, Enzo seems to be doing just fine. He throws on a hard rock radio station and cracks the windows, letting in the cool Italian breeze. My hair is tossed back against the seat as we fly along, Enzo steering with one easy hand as he cradles his smoke with the other. I never would have pegged him for a smoker, based on his public persona. But then, there are a lot of things I wouldn’t have guessed about Enzo from his soundbites and post-race interviews.

  Before long, I spot the test track looming ahead. My hands close into tight fists as my adrenaline kicks in. I’m always amped up by the prospect of getting behind the wheel of a car, but today I’m extra pumped. Today, I’ll show Enzo Lazio what I’m really made of as a driver. I can’t afford to botch this. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s important that he have a good opinion of me. I try and convince myself that I just want him to agree to be my mentor. But if I’m honest, I know I want his approval for other reasons. I want him to appreciate me. Respect me. And, might as well admit it, want me.

  Enzo executes a less-than-necessary hairpin turn into the parking lot and swoops into a VIP space right near the track’s entrance. I roll my eyes at his antics, but am secretly a little pleased. He’s showing off for me. I can tell. I’ve spent enough time around F3 boys to know what it looks like when a driver is trying to impress you. Enzo swings his tall body out of the car and sets off for the track, with me on his heels once more. I can’t say I like the feeling of being a tag-along, but I’m sure I’ll feel much better when I’m strapped into my new ride.

  “Ready to put your money where that dirty little mouth is?” Enzo asks, unlocking the front gate with a special key card and leading me into the Ferrelli garage. I can’t help but notice that we’re the only two people on the premises. Anything could happen between us, and no one would be the wiser.

  “You know it,” I reply, dragging my mind back up from the gutter.

  “Good,” Enzo says, approaching a vehicle that’s been covered with an emerald green tarp. “Because it’s go time, kid.”

  He whips off the protective cover like a magician executing his grand finale. And that follows, too, because this must be some kind of trick. The vehicle standing before me isn’t any old racecar. It’s Enzo’s very own ride. His pride and joy.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say, gaping at the car.

  “What’s the matter?” Enzo grins, running an affectionate hand along the side of his ride. “Haven’t you ever
driven an F1 car before?”

  “You know full well that I haven’t,” I tell him. “I’ve been racing in F3. Our cars are totally different. What’s the idea, here?”

  “Just figured I’d throw you into the deep end,” Enzo shrugs, “See if you don’t sink like a very pretty stone.”

  “If you want to see how well I can drive, give me a car I can actually work with,” I seethe, “This is a nasty trick, Enzo.”

  “It’s not a trick at all, kid,” he returns. “You wanna be an F1 driver? Well guess what—you’re gonna have to learn how to drive an F1 car. So are you gonna get in there and let me see what you’re made of, or are you gonna head back to the junior leagues with your tail between your legs?”

  I stare at Enzo, my fists clenched. It would be absolutely insane to get into that car. I’m totally unprepared. Not to mention terrified. But for all that, I know there’s only one thing I can say.

  “Gimme a damn helmet, then,” I demand, storming off to get suited up.

  Enzo takes his sweet time getting me strapped into his car, explaining the mechanics of the machine as he goes along. I try and listen as best I can, but between the fear and the arousal at his hands being so close to my body once more, I have a hard time hearing a word he says over the beating of my own heart. At last, the moment comes. We’re out on the expansive Ferrelli test track, a cloudless blue sky arching overhead. It’s just me and the car, now. And of course, my sexy one-man pit crew. I slip a vibrant green helmet on over my ponytail and take a deep breath.