by Lily Harlem
She stepped back and swatted him on the shoulder. “And let down your fans and the team? I really don’t think you’d do that, Mr. Cudditch, not even for a raunchy evening.”
“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He winked then straightened out his tux. “How do I look?”
“Like a sporting legend.”
She took in his dapper appearance. She still hadn’t decided how she liked him best—in his driver’s outfit, casual jeans, smart suit…or naked. They all appealed to her, and she was sure she’d never get enough of each sexy look.
“Hang on. I’ll just get my purse.”
She headed back into the room, well aware his attention was on her ass in the tight outfit.
He let out a whistle. “Damn, everyone is going to be so jealous of me tonight.”
She smiled and turned as she picked up her bag. “And why is that?”
“Because not only am I world champion, I also have the world’s sexiest woman on my arm.”
Happiness flooded through Frankie. He always said the nicest things that made her feel so special, so adored.
He held out the crook of his arm. “Come on. The red carpet awaits.”
They headed down to the lobby then out into the hot evening air. Doha was scorching even at this time of day.
A long, shiny black limo awaited them with a driver holding open the back door.
Frankie stepped toward it, feeling as though she were flying high. How very different her life was to this time the year before. Not that she hadn’t been happy then. She had been, but now she was in love with a wonderful man who loved Formula One every bit as much as she did. What could be better?
Before long, they pulled up at the grand conference center the glittering ceremony was to be held in. The roads were busy with fancy cars and reporters’ vans, and huddles of Formula One fans stood beneath large canvas sheets, which provided them with shade.
Pulling up at the end of the red carpet that had been laid out, Dean took her hand. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She drew in a deep breath.
“Sure?” He frowned.
“Yes, I’m sure. Just not used to the attention the way you are.”
“You’ll get used to it. Let’s face it, you’ve been in enough magazines now and on the cover of nearly every newspaper in the world after I won in Germany.”
“I know, but…well, I wasn’t expecting that, so it was okay. This, now, I know I’ll be photographed and asked questions, and I can’t help but feel nervous.”
“Why? You can answer any question they throw at you, and you look amazing.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And what’s more, you have me at your side. I’ve got your back, always. Come on.”
The door opened, and he stepped out. Immediately, he turned and reached for her.
She took his hand, glad of his strength and solidity as she emerged from the car and looked around at the excited faces and the line of photographers.
“Dean, Dean…over here.”
“Autograph, please!”
“Can we just have a minute?”
“Sky Sports, live on air…”
Dean tightened his grip on her and headed toward a gaggle of female fans. They bounced on the spot, their grins wide, and held out either pens and paper or mobile phones.
“Hey,” he said.
“We love you,” squealed an Asian girl who shook her head in excitement, her glossy black hair swinging wildly.
Dean chuckled and took her offered pen. He signed the event leaflet she offered.
“Thank you, thank you.” She hugged it to her chest and looked like she might faint with happiness.
“Please,” said another girl, thrusting forward her camera. “A selfie.”
Dean leaned in for the shot, not letting go of Frankie’s hand for a moment.
Frankie set a smile on her face, knowing that she was the envy of these girls. But they didn’t really know Dean Cudditch. They thought they did. They’d created an illusion in their mind of who he was and what he was like. But did any of them know he adored all Xbox games and not just racing ones, or that marzipan was a big no-no for him, or that he had a wonderful son who was the apple of his eye?
No, only she knew the real Dean, and only she indulged in pillow talk with him about aerodynamics and fuel weight. How many other women in the world could do that, or, more importantly, thought it was hot to do so?
Her heart rate settled. Yes, she should be here. They were made for each other, her and Dean. Like a perfectly engineered machine, their bodies, minds, and souls worked together seamlessly.
Dean finished with the group of fans and urged her toward the Sky Sports reporter gesturing wildly.
“Hey, Dean, congratulation on claiming the world championship.” The reporter shoved a fluffy gray microphone forward as his cameraman shifted a heavy-looking bit of kit on his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Dean released Frankie’s hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her up against his side.
“Your fourth career title came at the end of an enthralling, season-long battle with Farrah, and you thrilled fans worldwide as you both battled tooth and nail for the ultimate prize. How did it feel to finally win?”
“Bloody amazing.” Dean laughed. “Always happy to win, but never happier than when it’s put Farrah in second place.”
The reporter smiled. “So will there be brawls in the bar tonight between you two?”
“Of course not. We’re sportsmen and gentlemen.” Dean tilted his chin as though mildly offended by the question.
“There was a controversial collision at the Belgian Grand Prix. How did it feel to have just missed that?”
“Like Lady Luck was on my side?” He glanced at Frankie and a smile caught the corner of his mouth.
“And you have a beautiful lady at your side tonight, too.” The reporter swung Frankie’s way, as did the camera, the lens glinting in the sunshine. “How does it feel to be swapping the pits for the red carpet, Francesca?”
She pulled in a deep breath and stretched her smile wider.
Dean held her a little closer.
“I’m more at home in the pits, to be honest,” she said and laughed gently.
“Well, you certainly don’t look out of place here,” the reported said, giving her outfit an appreciative nod. “In fact, you look amazing. Don’t you think, Dean?”
“Of course, that’s what I think.” He breezed his lips over her temple, his stubble just catching on her skin.
“And not just a pretty face,” the reported added, directing his microphone at Dean again.
“You’re right there. She has an incredible ability to get the best out of every aspect of the car.” He paused. “Neither the car nor me could function without her.”
She turned to him, and he kissed her, on the lips this time.
The reporter chuckled. “Well, I guess sparks are definitely flying for you two. Thanks for chatting to Sky Sports.”
Dean grinned at her then nodded his thanks at the reporter.
Next, they paused at a group of young male fans who also wanted selfies and had McLaren shirts they wanted signing.
Frankie was getting hot, the evening sun pouring onto her bare shoulders.
“You okay?” Dean whispered against her ear.
“Yes, fine.”
“One more stop then we’ll get into the air conditioning.”
“Whatever you want to do.”
“I want to get out of this heat. A tux is not the best thing to wear outdoors in Doha.”
After a brief chat with a German news team, they headed through the swanky glass entrance to a vacuous lobby.
Immediately, they were offered champagne, and Frankie savored the bubbles popping on her tongue as the cool air rained down on her.
“Phew, that’s better,” Dean said, also taking a sip of his drink.
“Much.”
“We should go and schmooze with the sponsors. You up fo
r that?”
“Of course.” She was up for anything if it meant being with Dean.
The first half of the evening sauntered past in a gentle flow of Formula One conversations—the ups and downs of the season, the surprises and disappointments, and the predictions for the next year. Frankie loved it all and was happy to chat about any subject that was up for discussion as long as it included racing.
Dean was never more than a few steps from her, and mostly he was by her side, touching her, holding her hand, and a few times, she caught him gazing at her.
She guessed the outfit really had been a success, despite it feeling not quite her when she’d initially tried it on.
They were seated together in the main dining room. As the first course was served, Frankie had to pinch herself to make sure she was really there, sitting with Dean Cudditch and the McLaren big wigs and sponsors.
A large stage was set before them, spotlit with red and silver lights, and Dean’s winning car taking pride of place on a podium, sparkling like the champion it was.
God, she loved that car!
Main course consisted of tender beef fillet with truffle sauce and dessert a selection of four different tarts. Frankie discovered one had a layer of marzipan and leaned over to warn Dean.
He pushed it to the side of his plate and, beneath the table, stroked her leg.
When the plates had been cleared and yet more champagne served, the president of FIA took to the stage. He was a gray-haired man, with a slack, wrinkled face and an easy smile. Frankie had always liked what she’d heard about him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is an absolute pleasure to have you all here with us in this beautiful room in this beautiful city. Let me first thank Doha for hosting our annual Formula One Award Ceremony.”
There was a ripple of applause.
“This has been an incredible year for the sport we all love. The competition never so close and the cars never so advanced. It begs the question…can they go any faster?”
“Of course!” someone heckled from the audience.
“Always!” Another shout.
“Well, it does seem to be the course of human nature to always build bigger, go higher, travel deeper, move faster, so I guess we’ll keep on making turbocharged history on the track.” He smiled. “Now I’m not going to keep you. There are several more speeches to be made and awards to be handed out, but, first, before that, I have the honor of presenting this years FIA Formula One World Drivers’ Championship trophy, which goes to…” He looked around the room and set his hand on a huge silver cup that sat by the microphone. “As you all know, it goes to Dean Cudditch and McLaren.”
The guests seated at Frankie’s table erupted in applause, as did the rest of the audience.
This was the moment they’d been waiting for.
He turned to her with a grin. The smile on his face was priceless and beautiful.
She captured his cheeks and kissed him. Hard.
The crowd got louder.
He was still beaming when she released him.
“Go, go and get your award,” she said, joining in the wild clapping.
He stood, straightened his tux jacket, and flexed and unflexed his fingers. He then strode to the stage, his long legs pacing between the large round tables. Several people stood to clap him on the back. He took the steps two at a time, almost bouncing onto the stage, then turned and waved, the wide smile still in place.
He shook hands with the president of FIA and took his award.
The guests around Frankie’s table stood, their clapping harder than ever.
He raised the cup high in the air, a flutter of ticker tape fell over him, and the car and the spotlights flicked back and forth.
“Whoop!” Frankie shouted as her palms began to sting from clapping.
The rest of the audience had joined suit and were all standing.
She glanced at Farrah, who was at a table to the right. He, too, was standing. He had a half smile on his face, but it wasn’t a full-blown grin.
Finally, the ticker tape settled, and so did the audience.
“Thank you,” Dean said, setting the cup down next to the microphone. He wrapped his hands around the wooden podium. “To FIA for this award, it means a lot to me, and also to McLaren for giving me the opportunity to become World Champion once more.”
Frankie picked up her drink and took a sip. She wondered if he’d rehearsed a speech in his head. They hadn’t discussed it.
“I would also like to thank Farrah for being such an incredible sportsman, but you know that. He won this award last year and has a string of titles to his name, but…” He paused. “Without him, I wouldn’t be standing here. Why? Because a man needs competition, and he needs quality competition, someone who pushes it to the limit, demands the best I’ve got to give in order to take first place. Without Farrah and his team, I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here now.” He pointed in the direction of the Ferrari team. “Thanks, mate.”
Farrah’s smile turned into a broad grin, and he held up his glass and nodded.
Dean smiled. “And, of course, I wouldn’t be here without my team. They’re the best. Talented, committed, hard-working. One in particular is exceptionally beautiful, too.”
The crowd laughed, some clapped, and all turned to Frankie.
She felt the heat rise on her cheeks and clasped her hands on her lap beneath the table.
“Frankie Wright, and, for the record, it’s dangerous to call her Francesca.” He laughed. “Has one of the best engineering brains I’ve ever come across in Formula One. I’ll be honest when I found out my new lead mechanic was a girl, I was a little wary. I mean, come on, what do girls know about Formula One?”
“Hey!” shouted another female in the audience.
Dean laughed. “Yeah, I know, right. That was me showing how little I knew about girls, and I thought I knew a lot.”
Another bout of laughter.
“But Frankie proved me wrong within a very short space of time. Now, not only is she with me when I’m on the track, helping with those all important tweaks to the system, she’s also become one of the most important people in my life.” Again, he picked up the shiny award. “So thank you, Frankie, for coming into my world and showing me what it’s really all about…love.”
Frankie’s chest tightened. A warning prickle attacked her eyes, and her throat went cloggy. Emotion welled within her. She loved this man so much. He’d told her he loved her, too, but now he’d shared that with the whole planet.
Everyone took to their feet again as Dean headed down from the stage and back to his seat.
Frankie’s knees were weak, but it was okay because she felt like she was floating on happiness.
When he reached the table, he set down his cup by his wine glass then kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She gripped his hand and squeezed it hard.
What they shared was so special, so unique, and there was no way on earth she was letting it go.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur of champagne, speeches, and handshakes. Frankie broke away as the night was coming to an end to take photographs of the car, which still sat on the stage surrounded by colorful ticker tape.
“Hey, there you are.” Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her bare shoulder. “I was looking for you.”
“I couldn’t miss taking a picture of our baby.”
“Mmm, looks good.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth. “Wouldn’t mind fucking you over it again, up there on the stage.”
“That would be one hell of a photo opportunity for the reporters here.” She spun within his arms.
“I wouldn’t even notice them once we got started. You do that to me, make me forget the rest of the world even exists.” He swept his lips over hers. “It’s just you. I just need you.”
“I know the feeling.” She flattened her hands on the lapels of his tux. Being in love was the most wonderful state to be in she’d
ever known.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. We’ve done enough socializing. I just want to be alone, naked, with you.”
“I like the way you think, Mr. Cudditch.”
He grinned and took her hand.
After pausing to retrieve his award and her purse, they headed outside to a waiting limo. The sky was black, and the stars shone like fine silver stitches sewn into dense velvet.
Dean paused to shake hands and pose with a few lingering fans. He took the time to chat and obviously made it worth their long wait to see the drivers.
Frankie was happy to step back. The air was a fraction cooler, and her head slightly muzzy from drink. A few moments of quiet would do her good. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt happier, but she was lucky, that feeling came over her more and more these days.
Since she’d met Dean.
Eventually, he sauntered her way, looking every inch the world champion that he was and with his award held casually at his side.
She stepped up to meet him.
“Sorry,” he said. “For making you wait.”
“Don’t be silly. Those guys loved meeting you.”
“They were cool.” He released his bow tie then shoved it into his pocket. He then undid the top button of his shirt. “It’s not cool out here, though.”
“I know. Let’s head back to the hotel.”
They rode in the same limo that had brought them, snuggled up in the back, the big trophy on Dean’s lap.
He slid his hand behind her, his fingers catching on the knot at the base of her neck that held her outfit secure.
“Careful,” she said, “undo that, and it will all fall away.” She pressed her hand to her chest.
“Will it now?” He raised his eyebrows.
She smiled and glanced at the driver, who stared straight ahead, but she could see part of his face in the rear view mirror. “Yes.”
He breezed his lips over her cheek, his breath warm. “Good to know, though.”
A shot of desire flooded her veins. Their arrival at the hotel, and their room, couldn’t come soon enough.
It seemed Dean felt the same way because, as they rode the elevator, he pulled her close, his erection evident through his trousers.
“I need you,” he said into the shell of her ear.
