Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) (14 page)

“You know I love you, right?” Harrison asks.

“Oh sure,” I grin, cuddling closer, “You know it too?”

“You bet. Just wanted to make sure we have a unified message
for when the press starts to hound us.”

“That’s your statement to the press? That you love me?” I
ask, amazed.

“Well, naturally,” he smiles, “Might as well tell them the
truth every once in a while.”

“I’m not sure how interested the media is in the truth,” I
remind him.

“Well, they’re always interested in a good love story. So at
least we can give them that.”

Harrison and I lay together for as long as we dare, but soon
it’s time to rouse ourselves again. We have to be off to Dallas, after all, for
the final race for the championship. As we dress ourselves once more, I steal a
look at this unlikely companion I’ve found. His muscular back ripples with
strength as he tugs his shirt back over his torso. As many times as I’ve seen
him without a stitch on his body, every little glimpse still thrills me.

“What do you think it will be like?” I ask him.

“What’s that?” he replies, walking around the bed to where
I’m sitting.

“Life after the tour,” I tell him, “Will I still be exciting
enough for you, once all of this is over?”

“Siena,” Harrison laughs, kneeling before me on the carpet,
“You were in the room just now, weren’t you? You’re about all the excitement I
can
take.”

“OK,” I smile, “Just making sure.”

“Don’t start worrying about that now,” he tells me, “We’ve
still got quite the shit storm to weather before we get to start thinking about
who will wash and who will dry the dishes.”

“Moving in together, are we?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

“I...uh...may have assumed...” Harrison mutters.

I take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply. I know in
my heart they’ll be a life for us together after this final race is through,
but it’s so hard to see now. Having him believe it too means everything to me.
I don’t know how we’re going to get out from under the world of trouble we’ve
landed in, but if both of us wish for it hard enough, maybe that will do the
trick.

“I’ve always preferred drying to washing,” I tell him.

“Now who’s trying to domesticate whom?” he laughs.

“Fine,” I sigh, “Cross that bridge when we get there.”

With one last kiss, I let Harrison go off to pack his things
while I do the same. I gather my bags and head down to the hotel lobby, where
my team is already clustered and waiting for me. Bex catches my ear as I
approach the group.

“Everything OK?” she asks.

“It will be,” I tell her.

“Let’s get a move on, folks,” Gus says, “We’ve got to get to
Dallas in a jiffy, get our boy a little extra time on the track before the last
big shebang.”

We move as a pack out into the warm sunlight, made all the
warmer by the dozens of flashbulbs that spark and sear before our eyes. Enzo
and I trade a glance and don matching elated smiles. God knows, we’re old pros
at this by now. We make our way through the gathering crowds, trying to dodge
as many questions as possible as we head for the fleet of Ferrelli town cars.
But these reporters are of the super-persistent variety, it would seem. As
calmly as I can, I turn to face the onslaught of questions with Enzo by my
side.

“Enzo, are you disappointed in the outcome of the race?” a
reporter cries.

“Disappointed?” Enzo replies smoothly, “Third place is a
damn decent place to finish. I’m very pleased with my performance here today.
And I look forward to racing my best yet in Dallas in a few days’ time.”

“But you’ve fallen from grace since the first days of this championship,”
another reporter says, “Are you losing your touch as you go along?”

“You can’t win them all,” Enzo reiterates, “What fun would
it be if I just came in first every time? No one would bother to watch the
races!”

“Has something been distracting you these past few weeks?”
someone asks, “Your father’s condition, the revelation of your sister’s affair
with Harrison Davies?”

“My sister’s private life is her own business,” Enzo says
shortly.

“But all that ugly business with the press conference that
ended with you punching a member of the press—”

“That man had the audacity to insult a member of my family
in a threatening manner on my property. I was well within my rights—”

“But you’ve moved on from Harrison to Rafael Marques now,
haven’t you Siena?” someone asks.

“That is absolutely untrue,” I say decisively.

“But the picture—”

“A misleading photograph has been circulating, yes,” I
allow, “But it is just that: misleading. Far from the truth. The truth is that
I barely know Rafael Marques and have never had anything approaching a romantic
encounter with him. And furthermore, it’s very true that Harrison Davies and I
are in love. Exclusive. And that’s all I have to say on that matter.”

But of course, the “l” word sets the entire crowd of
reporters into an uproar. Enzo stares blankly at me as we charge through the
crowd and into the back of a waiting town car. We take off toward the airport
in silence. Enzo’s known how I feel about Harrison, but making it public like
that has only made it all the more true for him. I think that part of him is
still hoping that Harrison will prove to be just another tournament fling. But
of course, it’s not. Just as I can tell that his thing with Shelby isn’t as
fleeting as I’d hoped. Siblings. What are you gonna do?

“This should make for some pretty interesting Christmas
dinners...” Enzo says dryly.

“That’s for sure,” I laugh, “We can have a McClain table
instead of a kids’ table, maybe.”

“God, I wonder what it will be like,” Enzo muses.

“Having our better halves around?” I ask.

“No,” Enzo says, “Think about it, Siena. By the time the
seasons change again, we won’t have Dad anymore.”

My brother’s words catch me like a swift kick in the gut.
Wordlessly, I scoot toward him in the backseat, resting my head on his
shoulder. He takes my hand, and I feel like a little girl once again. Enzo used
to comfort me if I’d get picked on at school or come home with a bad grade, but
I don’t know how I’ll ever be comforted when Dad is taken from us.

“Does it feel real to you yet?” I ask him.

“No,” he admits, “I think that’s why Dad wanted to stay at
home for the rest of the season. So that we remember him as the picture of
health. It’s crazy, of course, but you know Dad and his ideas, he's a proud
man...”

“I wish there was something we could do,” I say, feeling a
knot rise up in my throat.

“All we can do is try and be happy. That’s what he wants for
us,” Enzo says.

“But if I do what makes me happy, you’re going to be hurt,”
I tell him.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Siena,” Enzo sighs, “The
thought of you with Harrison...”

“What is it you can’t get over?” I ask.

“I just don’t know how to trust him with you,” Enzo tells
me, “He just seems to be out for himself, Siena. How do you know he has your
best interests at heart?”

“I just know,” I tell my brother, “And one day you’ll see
it. Even if it takes forcing you guys to carve the Thanksgiving turkey
together—”

“That’ll be the day, Sis,” Enzo scoffs. “I wouldn’t get your
hopes up about life after this season. We have a lot to sort out for this team.
And that won’t end when the championship is decided, you know.”

“It’ll end when I end it,” I say, “I know that for a fact.
Between the blackmail, the accidents, the lies...something’s tying all of it
together, Enzo. I know it.”

“You realize you’re a PR manager, not a detective, right?”
Enzo laughs.

“Well. Maybe I’m thinking of a temporary career change,” I
sniff.

“Whatever you have in mind, you’d better work fast.
Whoever’s on your tail isn’t going to let up now.”

Our conversation falls by the wayside as we arrive at the
Ferrelli private jet. We join our teammates and pile into the sleek airplane,
off again on the final leg of this journey. We take off, and Detroit falls away
below us. Everything we’ve been working and hoping for, the culmination of all
our triumphs and struggles, has led us to Dallas. Who knows what surprises this
next city has in store? Hell, who knows if anything can surprise me at this
point?

Before the winner crosses the Dallas finish line, I need to
figure out who’s behind all the madness that’s been gripping this season, what
they want, and how to stop them. I need to clear my name, expose the real
criminal, and secure my place on Team Ferrelli's board. I need to shape the
narrative of this year in a way that's honest but uncompromising. I need to
find a way to get Enzo and Harrison to like each other, and come to terms with
saying goodbye to my dad. And all while keeping a perfect PR smile painted on
my face.

No sweat.

From the very moment we touch down in Dallas, the world
seems to spin just a little bit faster. The entire F1 caravan has been whipped
into a frenzy in anticipation of this final race.

Every team, every driver, every fan, is revved and ready as
the last week of the tournament season. I’m not easily overwhelmed, having
spent most of my young life watching my dad and his friends whip around race
tracks at 200 miles per hour, but even
my
head’s starting to swim these days. Of course, I’ve got a bit more to worry
about than the average F1 fan. There’s so much riding on this last leg of our
long journey.

I barely have time to set down my suitcases in Dallas before
I’m drawn into the PR whirlpool surrounding this last Grand Prix. Press
conferences, interviews, and photo ops whiz by left and right as I struggle to
wrap my brain around each task at hand. In the blink of an eye, half the week
is gone. I can scarcely even account for the hours. With Harrison and Enzo
training every spare second, I fall into a strange, public solitude. I’m
constantly surrounded by people, but I feel incredibly alone. The insane
pressure I’m feeling falls down around me like a stone wall, making me feel as
isolated as ever.

On Thursday evening, the night before the Dallas
preliminaries are to be run, I find myself
actually
alone for once—cross-legged on my bed, pouring over every news article that’s
come out about me, my family, and Harrison since this tour began. The
mysterious mastermind behind all the harm that’s befallen this tournament still
manages to elude me.

Try as I might, I just can’t seem to imagine who would be
willing to pull so many awful, manipulative stunts. But with Rostov and Landers
out for the count, Maxwell Naughton recovering abroad, and Enzo and Harrison
still very much in danger, the list of Formula One casualties is too long for
me to stop digging now. If I can figure out who’s to blame for all of this, and
prove it, I’ll be able to do more for F1 in a single revelation than most
people do over the course of an entire career.

“Siena?” I hear a voice say through the crack in my bedroom
door.

I look up, my eyes swimming from having stared so long at my
laptop screen. I’m almost surprised to hear my best friend’s voice again. In
the past few weeks, we’ve barely been in the same room. I unfold myself from
the bed, wincing as my stiff muscles ache beneath me. I’ve lost track of how
many hours I’ve been pretzeled up, staring at my computer. 

“Hi stranger,” I say, pulling open the door.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my name,” Bex laughs,
scooting over the threshold and wrapping her arms around me.

I hug my pixieish friend tightly. It’s so easy to get caught
up in romance, but sometimes friendship can be just as much of a comfort.
Especially when the friend in question is as unflappable and supportive as Bex.
I pull her into my room and ease the door shut behind us.

“I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t passed out or lapsed
into an internet coma,” she says, looking up into my face. “Dear lord, look at
those bags under your eyes. And when was the last time you brushed your hair?”

“Thanks a lot, pal,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Hey. I’m just being honest with you,” Bex says, crossing to
my bed, “just because your life is in turmoil, doesn’t mean your curls have to
be.”

“I should get that on a mug or something,” I laugh.

“So, what the hell is up?” Bex asks, plopping down onto my
bed. “What’s your game plan, Siena?”

“Try to figure out who’s been screwing with us and out them
to the press, naturally,” I say simply.

“Any idea who that special someone might be?” Bex asks.

“So far, not a clue,” I say miserably. “Well, that’s not
entirely true. There are plenty of clues, plenty of leads. I’m just having trouble
figuring out where they point.”

“Tell me what you know so far,” Bex says.

“Well, the shadiest character that’s cropped up so far is
the kid who was following me and Harrison around, sneaking pictures,” I tell
her. “I haven’t seen him since Enzo and Harrison almost beat the hell out of
him at the Italy press conference. But I’m fairly positive that he’s the
anonymous author behind that first insane story that ratted us out to the
public.”

“But you don’t think he’s the boss?” Bex asks.

“No way,” I tell her, “he’s just a kid. Definitely working
for someone. He said so himself. But I have no idea who.”

“Well, it has to be someone who stands to gain something from
messing with the leader board,” Bex says.

“But that could be anyone,” I point out. “Some advertiser
could be trying to drive up ratings, someone could have bet their life’s
savings on one racer over another. There are plenty of reasons that someone
might want to fix this thing.”

“That may be so,” Bex says, “but I bet there’s one person
who’s got more to lose than anyone else, right? Someone who needs this thing to
go a certain way...maybe another racer?”

“Like who?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, “what other leads do you
have?”

“I mean, we can pretty much rule out Landers and Rostov,
given what happened to them. Enzo and Harrison can’t be involved.”

“Let’s hope not,” she says.

“I did honestly think for a time that Charlie or Shelby
could be messing with everything, but that was back when the only people in
harm’s way were me and Harrison. But whatever’s going on is bigger than petty
jealousy or an angry ex. Now, it seems no one's safe.”

“You don’t think something’s going to happen on Sunday?” Bex
asks fearfully.

“I have no idea. I hope not,” I tell her.

“That’s good,” she says with a glint in her eye. “Sunday
needs to be smooth sailing.”

“Well sure,” I say, “you mean for the Grand Prix, right?”

“Right,” she says, just a bit too quickly.

“Bex Bishop, are you keeping something from me?” I ask.

“What, me?” she says. “Why, I would never.”

“You only start talking like a southern belle when you’ve
got a juicy secret,” I insist. “What’s going on with you Bex?”

“Hopefully, you’ll know on Sunday,” she says, standing up
quickly. “I just wanted to come and make sure you were OK. Get back to work,
super sleuth.”

“Bex, wait!” I say, but she slips out the door before I can
say another word. I can’t even begin to guess what she’s got up her sleeve.
Life is never boring with Bex around. Not like I need any more excitement these
days.

I return to my computer, curling up on top of the covers as
I troll through information. Other than that punk paparazzo, there’s one person
who I’m very curious about. The bartender from Detroit who seems to be a close
personal friend of Rafael Marques, the woman who could have very well produced
that video that made it look as though I’d threatened the Spanish driver. Is
she another agent of the person who sent that kid with a camera into action? Is
she cozying up to Marques to gain access to the F1 world that would be unavailable
otherwise? Is Marques involved and would he go so far as to sabotage his own
car?

At some point in my musing, I must doze off, because the
next thing I know I’m being nudged out of a shallow slumber by the weight of
someone beside me in bed. I look blearily around and spot a very familiar face
perched on the edge of my bed. Harrison sprawls across the comforter, pulling
me close to him. I curl up against his body, my back pressed against his chest.
I soak in the feel of him beside me. We haven’t seen each other all day, and
the relief that comes with feeling his touch is unbelievable.

“What are you doing here?” I ask sleepily. “Shouldn’t you be
practicing?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he laughs.

“Oh shit. Really?” I groan. “Glad I’ve got a whole four
hours to try and get some shut eye. Not that it seems likely.”

“Siena, you’ve got to take it a little easier,” Harrison
says, running his hand down my arm. “You’re killing yourself over this thing.”

“Well, what choice do I have?” I ask, “With so much at
stake—”

“I don’t give a damn what’s at stake,” Harrison says, “not
if you’re making yourself miserable. Nothing is worth that.”

“There’s so much hanging on this race,” I say quietly, “I
just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve been slamming my head against the
wall, trying to figure out how to fix everything for everyone.”

“What is it you think you can fix?” Harrison asks, not
unkindly.

“The fact that people keep getting hurt. The way we’re being
messed with. My Dad, all worried over whether I’m going to ruin his legacy—”

“But see?” Harrison says, slipping his arm around my waist,
“None of that is in your control, Siena. Not really.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, a bit snappier than I mean to.
“Of course it’s in my control. It’s my job to be in control.”

“No,” he says gently, “the only thing you can control in
this crazy, messed up world is your own actions. Everything else will happen on
its own, whether or not you’re willing to accept it.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” I ask.

“In a way,” Harrison says. “All you’ve ever done is try your
hardest to make this sport better. To support your family. To be your best. No
one can take that away from you. Whatever rumors are floating around, you know
that you’ve done everything in your power to be the best PR director, and
sister, and daughter that you can be.”

“And the best secret lover slash maybe girlfriend, I hope,”
I laugh softly.

“That goes without saying,” he tells me, planting a kiss on
my neck.

This smallest caress of his sets off a spark inside of me.
Exhaustion aside, I can feel my body begin to respond to his. I press back
against him, writhing ever so slightly. He lets out a little laugh as he feels
my body come alive at his touch.

“Oh no,” he tells me, “I’m not going to be responsible for
keeping you up all night. Not tonight, at least. I never thought I’d say this,
ever, but tonight we’re just going to get some sleep. You got it?”

“You’re killing me, Davies,” I groan, slumping down against
the bed.

“I know, I know,” Harrison says, “but once this race is
over, we can have all the sleepless nights you want. We never have to sleep
again, if that’s what you prefer. But tonight...”

I don’t even hear the rest of his phrase, as the sweet
comfort of slumber rushes in to claim me. The second Harrison’s arms close
around me, my torrent of fears and worries subsides. No matter how many things
are in flux, he always knows how to make me feel better. Thank god for that
man. Even with his own career and safety hanging in the balance, he still makes
time to come and comfort me when I need it most.