Faster Hotter (17 page)

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Harrison says, “We’ve got quite the weekend ahead of us.”

I can barely keep my eyes open through the cab ride home. This whole carrying-another-human-inside-of-you thing is exhausting as hell. Harrison all but carries me up to our room, my head resting heavy on this shoulder.

“Babe,” I say sleepily, as he helps me out of my dress, “What were you and Enzo talking about at the bar tonight?”

“When was that?” he asks, easing me down onto the bed.

“At the restaurant,” I mumble, “You guys snuck off together...”

“Oh, that,” he says, “Just some F1 stuff. Strategy and the like.”

“It looked kind of serious,” I sigh, snuggling up with a fluffy pillow, “Everything OK?”

“Everything’s perfect,” he says softly, laying down beside me. “Why don’t you just get some sleep?”

I press against him, my back to his chest. I’m too sleepy to make it through a round of lovemaking, but even falling asleep beside each other feels like an act of love, in its way. We drift off to sleep, but questions still drift through my mind. Harrison and Enzo’s conversation didn’t look like any strategy meeting I’ve ever seen. But I’ve got too much else on my mind to dwell on it. Tomorrow is the rehearsal dinner, and the big day will be here soon enough. I’d better rest off, if I’m going to be pulling double duty as maid of honor and best woman.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The following day zips by in a flurry of activity. There are decorations to finish, food to order, readings to rehearse, and nerves to calm—both Bex’s and Charlie’s alike. But by the evening, we manage to get everything all set for the big day. Nothing left to do but enjoy the night, jitters and all.

Charlie’s mom has arranged the rehearsal dinner, a simple affair at yet another fabulous New York City restaurant. Tonight’s fare is Thai/French fusion, definitely more adventurous than I’d give Mrs. Spano credit for. I think that she’s trying to impress the Bishops a bit, cool New Yorkers that they are. I try to imagine my mother and Harrison’s going out of their way to get along with each other and let out a little chortle of laughter.

“What’s that, Siena?” Mrs. Bishop asks from her place across the table.

“Just got a bit of rice stuck in my throat,” I cover, turning back to my plate.

Bex’s parents are the epitome of New York chic. She’s a professor up at Barnard, where she teaches in the classics department. He’s a big-time art dealer, and an expert in modern paintings specifically. Their west village home is more like a museum than anything else. I always wondered how Bex’s robust personality could have thrived in so cool an environment, but her confidence last night goes a long way in explaining things.

We’re nearly done with our meal by the time I can catch Enzo alone. He makes his way to the bar to fetch a drink for Shelby, and I’m hot on his heels.

“Did you want a drink too, Siena?” he asks, looking back at me.

“Just wanted a second alone with my big brother is all,” I tell him, settling down onto a barstool, “How’s it going?”

“Fine, thanks,” he laughs, “You’re such a weirdo, sometimes.”

“I just wanted to apologize again for being a little cold to Shelby,” I tell him, as we wait to catch the bartender’s eye, “It’s just weird, seeing you with her. You’ve never stayed with the same woman for more than a couple of weeks. It seems like things are getting kind of serious between the two of you.”

“More serious than usual,” Enzo allows.

“Come on, you can tell me the truth,” I urge him, “You like her, don’t you? You might even love her, I bet.”

“Did you follow me over here just to try and make me blush?” he asks, “Because I believe it’s working.”

“I just want you to know that I’m really happy for you,” I tell him, “For making things work with Shelby, for doing so well on the track. I’m proud of you. I know Dad would be, too.”

“Thanks, Siena,” Enzo says, “I hope you know he would have been proud of you, too.”

“What, for punching out reporters and talking back to the owners?” I laugh.

“Exactly,” Enzo says, “Dad was constantly giving the owners hell, you know. He’d just do his own thing and screw what anyone else might want. You get that from him, you know.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” I smile.

“Make no mistake. You are him all over,” my brother says.

“So are you. Guess that’s why we understand each other,” I go on. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Us going through so many of the same things together.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, signaling for the barman.

“With Shelby and Harrison. Things getting serious and all,” I offer.

“I’m not sure if I’m getting quite that serious with Shelby,” he laughs, “At least not as serious as you and Harrison are.”

“Did he tell you what we’re planning?” I ask, surprised.

“What you’re...Um...” Enzo stammers, stealing a quick look at me.

“Is that what you guys were talking about last night?” I prod.

“I don’t...I’m not...What do you think we were talking about?” Enzo dodges.

“Us moving in together,” I say, “Was Harrison getting your opinion about it or something? Cause the teams might give us a spot of trouble...”

I trail off, spotting the look of supreme relief on Enzo’s face.

“Didn’t he tell you about us moving in together?” I go on.

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Enzo says hurriedly, “Yep, that’s what we were talking about. You got it spot on.”

“Why are you acting like a crazy person?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

“It’s just...Uh...These are strong cocktails, yeah?” Enzo laughs.

“You’ve had a single drink,” I remind him.

“Right. Well. Here’s Shelby’s wine,” he chirps, snatching up the glass, “Better get it on back to the table. You do not want to see that girl in a state of Chardonnay deprivation.”

My brother hurries away across the dining room, refusing to meet my eye. What the hell was that about? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so squirrelly in my entire life. I follow him back to the table, my curiosity entirely piqued. What I know for sure now is that he and Harrison were more certainly not talking about us moving in together last night. After all, to hear Harrison tell it, they were discussing F1 matters. So what the hell gives?

I listen attentively as Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Spano give their toasts, moved by their love for the children they raised. My heart swells as I watch them address their babies on the night before their wedding, the adoration gleaming in their eyes. My own eyes grow teary as I try to imagine what loving a child will feel like. Already, I feel so attached to the little unknown person growing inside of me. What will it be like when he or she is actually born?

My dreams are filled with imagined milestones that night. First words and steps, birthday parties and holidays. Senior prom. College Graduation. I picture zipping up the back of my daughter’s wedding dress, or seeing my son waiting at the altar for his bride. All these things that I’ve barely cleared myself, happening again for the new person Harrison and I are bringing into this world. And as I let myself imagine the love and pride I’ll feel along the way, I realize something:

I really can’t wait to be a mother.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Once we’ve all parted ways after the rehearsal dinner, Harrison and I head back to our hotel to try and rest up for the big day. Full and happy, I expect to be asleep the second my head hits the pillow. But as I watch Harrison shuck off his perfectly cut attire, his beautiful form revealing itself once more, the thought of slumber flees my mind. I stand in the middle of the bedroom, simply watching him move through the motions of getting ready for bed. He glances my way, toothbrush suspended in his mouth mid-brush, and grins.

“Why, hello there,” he says.

“I don’t mean to stare,” I tell him.

“You say that as if I’d ever mind,” he says, spitting into the sink, “Everything OK, babe? You’re looking awfully pensive.”

“I just...can’t believe that I get to be the one who watches you brush your teeth,” I tell him, “Is that weird?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he says, leaning against the door frame. He crosses his thick arms across his shirtless chest, his muscles rippling beneath the surface of his tanned skin. “That’s the same way I feel when you fall asleep before me. Or ask what kind of takeout I’d like. Or make coffee without bothering to get dressed, first.”

“It’s the little things, I suppose,” I smile, making my way toward him.

“It’s the little things about you,” he says, holding his arms open to me.

I press myself to him, resting my cheek against his hard chest. He wraps his arms around me, and we simply stand there—half-dressed, just before bed, almost like a normal couple. Our relationship has been anything but ordinary. Most people might think that the adrenaline-fueled races and illicit meetings were the stuff our love is made of. But honestly, it all comes down to these simple moments. We’re just two people who care about each other, going through life as a team. Everything else is in the details.

“Can we just stay right here?” I sigh.

“That would be fine by me,” Harrison says, kissing the top of my hair.

“I hope you know that this is all I need,” I say, peering up into his stunning face, “The tournaments, the championships, the media attention—I could do without it all.”

“You mean you still would have fallen in love with me if I was a normal person?” Harrison laughs.

“Well...yeah,” I tell him, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, “I hope you know that my loving you isn’t wrapped up in the whole F1 champion thing. I’d still love you if we’d met in a coffee shop. Or on OKCupid, like regular people. As long as I still got to be the one to see you brush your teeth.”

“I know, baby,” he says, letting his hands glide across my hips, “But I have to tell you...I haven’t minded our wild antics one bit either.”

“Oh, that goes without saying,” I grin, “Until you’ve screwed on a Barcelona beach or in the backseat of a luxury sports car, you just haven’t lived!”

“That is just the beginning,” he says, “Can you imagine all the things we’ll do together?”

Words fail me as I realize how wonderful a thought that is. Why can’t I just come out and say it? Harrison, I’m utterly in love with you, please spend the rest of your life with me, we’re going to have a gorgeous child together, marry me this minute? Would that be so hard? I decide not to find out.

Instead, I raise my lips to his, savoring the irresistible taste of him. My fingers run through his hair as he opens his mouth to mine. His tongue glides along mine, twisting and caressing. That little flick of the tongue is all it takes to flip me from affectionate to ravenous. My hands fall to Harrison’s crotch, and instantly feel him swollen beneath his finely made slacks. I run my hands all along the length of him, marveling at his thickness. I never thought I could be so insatiable for another body, the actual flesh and blood of a person. I always figured that love would be all about the heart and the mind, but I’ve got to be honest—I just can’t get enough of this man’s cock.

I pull away from him suddenly, grabbing his hand and tugging insistently.

“Come on,” I say, my voice throaty with lust.

“Where are you taking me?” he counters, trailing after me.

“These windows are tinted, right?” I ask, stepping into the cavernous living room.

“Completely,” he says, “Nobody out there can see us in—”

His words trail off as I pull down the straps of my tight dress. I step out of the slinky garment, letting it fall down around my stockinged feet. Harrison breathes in sharply as he sees what I’ve been wearing underneath. A lacy black corset wraps around my every curve, billowing my breasts and cinching my waist. Delicate garters hold up my stockings, seamed along the back of my legs. I let Harrison take me in for a long, charged moment. But I can’t resist for another second, not when I’m already throbbing with need for him.

“Get over here,” I growl, turning of my heel and swinging my hips as I walk toward the wall of windows.

“As if I could keep my hands off you,” he says, crossing the room in three quick strides and catching me up in his arms. I lean against the thick glass as his hands find my waist. “I could just touch you for days,” he says, in utter awe.