Accelerated Passion

by Lily Harlem

  Frankie’s breath caught. Dean was clearly serious about his tiger-lady even though there’d never been anything in the media about his latest squeeze. Was he purposefully keeping her secret?

  “Hi, yes, it was a good day, like I said.” His tone had changed slightly, more serious somehow. “And tomorrow will be, too. We’ll have fun. Whatever we decided to do.”

  God, that was it. He was involved with two women? A ménage a trois? That was why he was being secretive about it?

  She rolled her eyes. Dean Cudditch would hardly be embarrassed about bedding two women at the same time. Would he?

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Same time and, you know…thanks, for everything.”

  The call ended.

  Frankie quickly scooted to her door and opened it.

  “Hey, Frankie. How’d it go today?”

  She turned. Dean was right behind her.

  “Er, good thanks. All according to plan. How about you? Get scratched by your tiger?” She’d tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice but wasn’t sure how successful she’d been.

  He laughed. “Thankfully, no scratch marks. She slept the whole time we were there.”

  Slept the whole time? Wow, not the swinging from the chandeliers scenario she’d imagined then.

  “You coming for a drink?”

  “Shower first.” She held up her grubby, oil-stained palms. “I need to feel human again.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He smiled then wandered down the stairs.

  She went into her room. Dean didn’t get oily and engine dirty. Not these days. Perhaps when he’d started out, but not anymore. He had minions to do that for him.

  Not that she’d change what she did for anything. She adored her job. She’d sacrificed a lot for it. Romance, family, and getting on the property ladder. But she had what so few others had. She was a top Formula One mechanic. She got to share the highs and lows of the drivers. Celebrate. Commiserate. She worked with engineering masterpieces, creatures whose blood was oil and whose heartbeat was a piston. No, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

  She stripped and stepped into a hot shower. Held her face up to the stream of water.

  She’d have to put thoughts of Dean from her mind. He was clearly into someone else, in love with someone else, or possibly two other people. Not that she wanted him for herself, well, her mind didn’t, but her body had other ideas.

  Her shower gel was vanilla-scented, and as she rubbed it over her breasts, she found herself imagining it was Dean touching her. Almost immediately, her nipples hardened. She tweaked them, tugged and pulled. Her soapy skin was smooth, and a current of awareness went from her breasts down to her clit.

  “Damn it.” She wished she had a vibrator, but it had given up several months ago. She’d yet to buy another one. Perhaps that’s why she was fixating on Dean. Maybe if she got another Rampant Rabbit, she’d be able to self-pleasure with better results, and she’d stop these crazy fantasies.

  And a crazy fantasy was attacking her now. Imagine if Dean stepped naked into the shower with her this very moment. His cock hard and needy, his expression one of grim determination. Fucking the only thing on his mind.

  She slipped one hand to her pussy and rubbed over her clit. “Mmm…” He’d back her up, the way he had in the office. But this time his mouth would claim hers as he slid his hands to her ass and hoisted her into the air.

  The first tugs of pressure grew in her clit, and she upped the pressure and speed.

  She’d cling to him. Wrap her legs around his waist and watch as he fed his cock into her pussy.

  Her moan vibrated around the shower cubicle. “Oh, yeah.”

  And it would be a tight fit. He’d stretch her wide, fill her completely, seat her right to his root.

  Then it would start. The pounding. The desperate urgent climb to release. They’d cling to each other. The water would continue to rain down, perhaps grow cold, but they wouldn’t notice. They’d be so lost in each other, so consumed by the moment.

  Her knees weakened, and she released her nipple and pressed her palm flat on the cool tiles for support. An orgasm was growing. Her wrist ached, but she ignored it. Satisfaction was the only goal.

  She thought of his lips on hers. The sharp scratch of stubble as he slid his jaw over her cheek and panted against her ear.

  “Oh, yes, come, come.”

  She imagined she was speaking into his ear. Her words toppling him into ecstasy.

  She came. A pussy-clenching orgasm that had her gasping for breath in the steamy cubicle. Her toes curled, and she clenched her fist against the wall.

  “Damn it,” she muttered breathlessly. “I have to stop masturbating and thinking of him. Intentionally or in my sleep. It’s got to stop.”

  She’d find a sex shop as soon as she could. Get another vibrator so she could get control of this ridiculous obsession with her playboy driver.

  Chapter Six

  Dean and his car were gone when Frankie came down for breakfast the next morning.

  Another day with his tiger, or should that be tigers, and making them purr for more.

  She munched on a bowl of cereal and enjoyed two cups of tea while Jake, Paul, and Enrique got themselves organized.

  By nine-fifteen, they were at the track.

  The car and support systems had arrived overnight, still tucked safely in the transportation vehicle. As always, Frankie’s heart gave a little flip of excitement that it was here. She also sent a quick thank you up to the heavens that it had arrived safely.

  It was maneuvered off the ramp and before long jacked up. The mechanics moved with smooth efficiency. The atmosphere was light, the men knew the score, understood their jobs, and were looking forward to getting ready for the big race.

  She worked with Enrique for a while, going through some electrics. Then she caught up with Paul about a problem with the air intake. Nothing major, just the usual gremlins.

  The other teams were also arriving, and several mechanics, friends, friends of friends, called by the workshop. The banter was steady and came in a stream of different languages.

  There were several phone calls for her to make, including one to Eric. He spoke for so long she missed going to lunch with her colleagues. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to contain the rumble.

  “I really should be getting on, Eric,” she said, knowing if she didn’t bring the conversation to an end, she’d be there until nightfall.

  “Yes, of course. I should never have kept you all this time. You go and get cracking, and I’ll see you next week. Don’t forget about—”

  “I won’t forget about anything. I’ve got it all written down.” She looked at the list of things they’d discussed, all of which would need attention.

  “Great. Give my best to Paul. Tell him I’ll catch up with him when I’m trackside.”

  “I will. Enjoy the rest of your day.” She put the phone down.

  A knock at the door caught her attention. It was Enrique holding up a wrapped package.

  “Hola,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “You missed lunch.”

  “I know.” She groaned. “And I’m starving.”

  “I thought you would be so I brought you a chicken salad sandwich.”

  “You did.” She stood. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  He handed it over.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. My treat.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. “This, too.”

  She laughed. “You want me to get fat?”

  “No. Yes. I mean no.” A slight tinge of color bloomed on his cheeks.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “One bar will not make you fat. One chocolate bar will not stop you being perfect.” He turned and quickly left the room.

  Frankie stared after him. Whoa. What was that all about? Was he saying he liked her? She hadn’t seen that brewing. Enrique was cute, handsome even, but he was y
oung, boy-like, not her type at all.

  She sighed and unwrapped the sandwich. She’d have to make sure she didn’t make him think there could ever be anything between them. Not least because she was his boss.

  As she ate her lunch, she admonished herself. She was reading too much into it. Enrique was just being nice. Nothing more. Hell, she was hardly crush material. She didn’t wear make-up unless it was a very special occasion. Her hair, though long, was a no-nonsense style. The majority of the time, she was in the same masculine T-shirt and jeans as the team wore. Heck, she’d never even worn nail varnish.

  The afternoon sped by. A rush of jobs to be done, and all the time, she was getting to know the team better. They were a jovial lot, but equally had an air of seriousness about them. Frankie had a good feeling about the race, even though it was the one she dreaded the most when Hockenheim was on the schedule because of the evil hairpin bends.

  On the way home, she sat in the front of the car with Paul. Enrique and Jake were in the back. Paul put on some funky German music, and they laughed and teased each other. This part of the scene was always fun, before the tension started to mount as race day came nearer. Soon nerves would begin to fray, tempers would be shorter, and the pressure of being spot-on with every move would build.

  Once again, Dean’s car was at the house when they arrived back. Though this time it was in the garage with the door still open. Frankie was surprised. She’d thought he’d be out for the day, doing all the things rich, famous super-star drivers did.

  Her throat was dry. The car had been hot, and she’d been laughing, so she went straight into the kitchen in search of a can of cola.

  Dean was sitting at the table overlooking the pool. He had a laptop open in front of him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He looked up. “Oh, you’re back.”

  “Only a couple of us. The others headed into town for food.”

  “And you didn’t want to?”

  “No. I want a shower before I relax for the evening.” She pulled open the fridge. There was a joint of ham and plenty of salad. “I’ll eat here.”

  “Good plan.”

  She popped the can and took a slug. He was watching her. “You want to eat here, too? I’m can prepare extra.” Why had she offered that? Just because she was female didn’t mean she had to take on the role of housekeeper and cook.

  He smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “Something nice?” Caviar, Chateaubriand?

  “Well, if you call a Big Mac nice then, yeah, I guess.” He chuckled.

  “A Big Mac?”

  “Yep.” He shut his laptop and stood. “Indigestion in a bun.” He stepped away from the table. “I’m going to put this on charge.”

  She nodded. “You forgot something.” On the surface of the table was a piece of paper, it looked like it had a picture on it. Frankie picked it up.

  It appeared to be a child’s drawing. A tiger, a racing car, and four stick people—three adults and a child—all holding hands.

  “Is this yours?” She handed it over.

  “Yeah. It is.” He looked at it, a slight smile curving his lips.

  “A little fan draw it for you?”

  He paused. “Henri is my biggest little fan.”

  “Henri?”

  “Yes. My son.”

  His son?

  Dean appeared to pull in a deep breath. As though saying the word had taken a bolt of courage.

  “I didn’t know you—”

  “We went to the zoo yesterday. Hence the tiger.” He turned and strode across the kitchen, his footsteps loud on the hard floor.

  Frankie stayed rooted to the spot and watched him disappear from the room. Dean Cudditch had a son? A son called Henri. Was he in Germany? Who was his mother? And why was it a secret? He took him to the zoo?

  She took a step. Wondering about going after him and asking more questions, but stopped herself. Dean would have stayed to talk if he’d wanted to tell her more.

  Instead, she sat and finished her drink. The tiger…on the picture. So a trip to the zoo had started that reference, nothing to do with gorgeous girls with long claws. He’d genuinely had an outing to see a tiger…with his son.

  And a Big Mac for his dinner. Presumably, Henri had insisted on McDonald’s for his meal today.

  So what age was he? Not very old judging by his drawing abilities. Frankie wasn’t particularly experienced with children and definitely not an expert on their artwork, but she’d guess about five or six.

  And was Henri the reason Dean was in Hockenheim so early? He could be anywhere this week—sunning himself in the Maldives, partying in Vegas—yet he was here, hanging out with his mechanics…and spending time with Henri.

  Frankie finished her drink, then dropped the can in the recycling bin. She’d head for a shower and perhaps get the chance to talk to Dean about it more later.

  As she went up the stairs, she couldn’t help a pang of guilt. She’d presumed her driver was fucking his days away in fancy hotels with a group of stunning young women. In reality it seemed he’d been playing Daddy.

  Dean’s door was open.

  She stepped past it.

  “Frankie,” he called.

  Her heart did an annoying flip at hearing him call her name. She liked the way he said it in his deep, slightly scratchy voice.

  “Yes.”

  He appeared in the doorway. “Come in.”

  He turned, and she stared at the way his T-shirt stretched across his back, tight over his shoulder blades and fitted around his waist. It was untucked, and his casual jeans hung low on his hips. His feet were bare.

  She followed him in then stopped in the middle of the room.

  He was staring out of the window, arms folded.

  “Did you want something?” she asked, studying the way his hair was cut short and neat at his nape.

  “I don’t tell many people about Henri.”

  “Okay.” Did he think she’d go to the press? Jesus. As if!

  “It’s…delicate.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  He faced her. “It’s not a massive secret. I just don’t advertise it. It’s best for Henri and his mother and his stepfather that way.”

  “Whatever you think. It’s not my business.” She pushed her hands into the front pockets of her loose work trousers.

  He tipped his head and studied her. “You’re on my team. Hell, you’re one of the most senior members of the team. I have no problem with you knowing more about my personal life.”

  “You mean other than what’s splashed around the papers and the gossip mags?”

  “Don’t believe everything you read.” He kind of smirked.

  “I don’t. But some of it’s true.”

  “Sure. But they sensationalize everything to sell papers.” He shrugged and unfolded his arms. “I get that, and…well, I’ve had my fun in the past.”

  “But not anymore.”

  “Not so much and definitely not here. Hockenheim is all about spending time with my boy, well, as much as work and Bridget will allow.”

  “Bridget. Is that his mother?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “We had a one-night-stand, six years ago. Henri is the result. Stupid to be so careless, but now…” He paused. “One of the best things I ever did.”

  Frankie said nothing, waited for him to continue.

  “There’s no question he’s mine. Been a feisty little character from the beginning and even has my nose.” He ran his index finger over the bridge of his nose. “And my eyes.”

  Frankie smiled. “A mini-me.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “You got a picture?”

  “Sure.” He quickly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He stepped up to her and flipped it open.

  A small photograph of a young boy with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes smiled at the camera. He wore what looked like a gree
n school uniform complete with a little tie.

  “Yes, he does look like you.” She breathed deep, enjoying the scent of Dean’s aftershave. “He’ll be a heartbreaker when he’s older.”

  Fuck. Why had she said that?

  Dean laughed and shut the wallet. He stayed close. “He has dreams of becoming a vet. He’s animal-crazy. I guess he gets that from his mother.”

  “She’s married again then? You said Henri has a stepfather.”

  “Yes, she married her high school sweetheart and has two more younger children.” He shrugged. “I have no illusions about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was nothing more than a romp in the sack, a night of fun to her. Something she could tell her mates about. She’d gotten off with Dean Cudditch.” He shook his head. “But then Henri turned up, and that’s tied us to each other forever.”

  “But you get on okay, I’m guessing, if you can organize to have days out with him when you’re in town?”

  “Sure, she’s a decent human being, though a bit uptight, and an awesome mother. She wants what’s right for Henri, and so do I.”

  “And that’s to know who his real father is.”

  “Exactly.” He stepped away, back to the window, and appeared to study the horizon. “Of course, I’m a pretty crap father when push comes to shove.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His shoulders slumped slightly. “My job doesn’t allow for me to be around for the school run or for Saturday morning football training. Or even for being there on birthdays and Christmas. Not that I don’t spoil him on those special days, I do, it’s just, well, presents come through the mail as a general rule…”

  “He’s got another family, other siblings.”

  “That’s exactly it.” He turned. A frown creased his brow. “He has another family who are there every day for him, and I don’t want to upset that status quo. He’s happy, settled, content. We have fun together. I breeze in, spoil him rotten. We laugh, make memories. But that’s all it is.”

  “But he knows you, and he’ll grow up having you as part of his life. Small doses perhaps, but there.”

  “That’s what I hope.”

  “Seems to me you have it all figured out.”