Revved (8 page)

I like it.

“My advice, don’t talk to Nico unless you absolutely have to.”

“Okay. Got it, boss.” Grinning cheekily, I give him a salute.

I see a light flicker in his eyes. “Boss? Hmm…I like that.”

“Carrick?”

He turns at the sound of his dad’s voice, who looks a little less than pleased when he sees Carrick is talking to me.

“Coming.” He lifts a hand to Owen. Looking back at me, Carrick says, “Catch you before the race, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gives me one of his heart-stopping smiles, leaving me feeling a little breathless, and then he turns to go with his dad.

I don’t really get a chance to talk to Carrick when he comes back down as we’re all busy as hell getting his car ready, and he goes straight outside, having photos taken, meeting people—sponsors most likely—and doing interviews. I notice how he laps up the attention of the grid girls and brolly dollies.

But I’m…whatever. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

When Carrick finally comes back in, it’s time for him to get in his car. I have my helmet on as do all the mechanics since we’re in the pit. But somehow, he manages to lock eyes with me.

He gives me a cheeky wink and then grabs his helmet, pulling it on over his fireproof balaclava. He climbs in the cockpit and gets strapped in. Ben fits his steering wheel, and Carrick’s good to go.

We all head back into the garage. I pull my helmet off, so I can watch the race on the screens.

I cast a glance at Uncle John, who is sitting at the control desk with Pierce and Owen.

Then, my eyes go back to the screens, and I watch as Carrick sets off on his warm-up lap. The roar of the engines vibrates through me.

God, I love this.

I watch as the cars zigzag from side to side along the straights, warming up their tires. But my eyes are mainly focused on Carrick’s car. The bright blue of his helmet glints in the sun.

Finally, all the cars file around the pit straight and take positions on the grid. Carrick is in pole position as he qualified first yesterday. It’s a great start to the season, and I know Carrick is happy with it.

Then, the atmosphere heightens, and I find myself holding my breath as the five traffic lights above the starting line glow red, red, red, red, red. Then, they go out…and it’s GO!

Carrick has a great start, taking the first corner like the pro he is.

As the laps go on, he starts to pull away from the pack, taking a good lead.

When he comes in for a tire change, the vibe is good all around. The pit crew gets to work on changing his tires.

Carrick stays in his car, watching the race on the screens above his head. When the tires are done, he’s heading back out onto the track.

He picks up his position in no time.

There are a few tense moments in the race, like when he drops down to second as Leandro Silva, a Brazilian driver, passes him.

I would never say this to Carrick—as it’s well known that Leandro and Carrick have a serious rivalry going on—but I love Leandro. Not in a creepy way, but in a hero-worship way. He’s an amazing driver. He’s not better than Carrick. He’s just different.

I hold my breath as Carrick nips up on the inside of a corner and takes his place back from Leandro.

Yes!

The race is pretty much that way the whole time. It’s edgy and thrilling with Carrick fighting Leandro for pole position.

We’re on the final lap, and Carrick’s now in the lead, but there’s still that nervousness that he could lose his place in that last moment as Leandro is not one for giving up easily.

Carrick needs to win this. It’ll set his whole course for the rest of the season.

Crossing my fingers, I will him on.

Come on, Carrick. You can do it. Come on…

I’m counting down the last seconds, my heart pumping in my chest and my veins alive with adrenaline.

Then, he crosses the finish line, the checkered flag dropping.

He won! Yes!

I let out the breath I wasn’t even aware I had been holding and do a little happy jig on the spot.

I’m beaming from ear to ear—not just for Carrick, but also for the whole team and myself, too. I didn’t just get to watch, but I got to aid and be part of a Carrick Ryan win. This is only the beginning. There’s more to come. I feel an overwhelming sense of privilege right now.

I’m watching everyone in the garage, all clapping and cheering. The atmosphere is electric.

And I’m catapulted back to all the times I was with my dad when he won and how we would all celebrate in his garage.

I feel a pang in my heart, a painful ache for things long gone.

Dragging myself from the past to the present, I see Carrick climbing out of his car. Removing his helmet and fireproof balaclava, his hair is all stuck to his head, but he still looks amazing, beautiful.

He’s being congratulated by all our team, his dad, Uncle John, and Pierce. Carrick’s grinning and laughing.

Just watching him makes my heart swell, my chest filling with happiness.

Then, Carrick’s face tilts my way, his stare finding mine, and the look he gives me—the depth in his eyes, the smile on his face—leaves me feeling breathlessly staggered, and exhilarated.

In this moment, I realize that I’m massively screwed.

Because I fancy him. Big time.

And now, I have to find a way to deal with that.

Trust me to get a crush on the one man I can’t have.

Pulling in a deep breath, covering my feelings for him, I smile and make my way over to congratulate him.

“
I’M BORED
.” Carrick drops down into the chair in front of me.

He’s looking as gorgeous as ever, dressed in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, which shows off the deep golden tan of his skin.

I’m trying really hard not to stare at his arms. They’re just really good arms. Unblemished smooth skin, muscular, sexy veins running along them—they’re the kind of arms you want to lick.

As you can see, my crush is going extremely well. The stopping-it part? Not so well.

We’re in Kuala Lumpur for the second leg of the season. It’s my first time in this country, and I’ve got to say, it’s amazing.

“How can you be bored? It’s only nine thirty in the morning.” I take a bite of my toast.

I’m eating breakfast alone as Petra is still in bed, sleeping off last night’s hangover. Surprisingly, I’m feeling bright this morning, considering how much I drank last night. Carrick came out last night, but he didn’t stay long as he had an early morning training session.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been up since six. Feels like half the day’s gone already.”

“You just left the gym?”

“Yep.”

“Your new trainer kicking your butt?”

Carrick was complaining last night about his dad hiring a trainer for him while he’s here.

Because he’s taller than the average driver, he naturally weighs more, so he has to be careful not to tip the scales.

Carrick might win his races, but he likes to drink, and his diet isn’t exactly healthy. If he’s not careful, he’ll gain weight, putting him at a disadvantage on the tracks—hence, the new diet and training regime.

“The guy is a fucking drill sergeant. I’m bloody starving as well. Muesli was what I was allowed to eat for breakfast. Fucking muesli,” he grumbles.

“Poor baby,” I tease.

That earns me a grunt.

My phone alerts a text from Mum.

Good night, darling.

The time zones are really starting to mess with her.

Chuckling to myself, I text her back.

Mum, I’m ten hours ahead of you, so it’s nine thirty in the morning here. I’ll call you tonight, so it’ll be morning your time.

She messages back straight away.

I love you.

♥

Then, I look up from my phone to see Carrick eyeing my bacon with what can only be described as longing.

“You all right?” I laugh.

“No, I’m dying of starvation.” He looks up at me. “Are you going to eat that bacon?”

Our hotel is one of the only places in Kuala Lumpur that serves proper bacon. I was looking forward to eating it, and I kind of don’t want to share it with him. I’m greedy like that.

Leaning back in my chair, I pick up my coffee cup. “Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to eat bacon? You’re on this health kick for a reason.”

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Jesus, I’m not exactly overweight, am I?”

He flexes the muscles in his arms, and I have to resist the urge to stroke them—or lick them.

“And one piece of bacon isn’t gonna turn me into Jabba the fucking Hutt.”

“I’m pretty sure when Lucas created him, it was just Jabba
the
Hutt. Not Jabba the
fucking
Hutt. And if your dad sees me giving you bacon, he’ll have my job.”

“No, he won’t. Come on…just one piece of bacon.”

“No.” I move my plate toward me and away from him.

“Aw, come on, baby. You know you wanna give me some.”

Baby?

I feel that word wash through me like an erotic cleansing.

Pressing my thighs and lips together, I shake my head. “Nope. Your smooth Irish charm won’t work on me.”

Grinning, he gives me a look straight from the sex devil. “Aw, Andressa,
baby
, if you give me some…I’ll make it worth your while. It can be our little secret. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“How do you manage to make a conversation about bacon sound dirty?”

“I’d say it’s a talent…but maybe it’s not me who’s dirty. Maybe it’s you. After all, you are the one interpreting it that way.” He lifts a brow.

And my face goes bright red.

His fingers creep over the table toward my plate. “So, am I getting that bacon?” He flutters his eyelashes at me.

Bastard knows how good-looking he is.

“Fine.” I give in. “One piece, and that’s your lot.”

I pick up a piece of bacon and hand it to him.

“Have I told you recently how awesome I think you are?”

“Nope.”

I watch as he puts it in his mouth, the way his eyes close on the taste.

“Well, you are. So fucking awesome. God, that’s some good bacon.” He moans, chewing it.

I start squirming in my seat at the sounds he’s making.

Who knew a piece of bacon could be such a turn-on?

I have a vision of me naked in bed with him above me, inside me, making those same noises—

“Okay, I need more.” His voice breaks into my sex thoughts.

“Hmm? What? Yeah.” I pass the plate over without even thinking.

Then, a second later, I realize what I’ve done. “Wait! Give that back! You’re gonna get me in trouble!”

I try to grab the plate, but Carrick scoops up all the bacon and shoves it in his mouth.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you just did that!” I slap my hand over my mouth, laughter escaping.

“Never underestimate what a starving man is capable of,” he says, munching his way through his mouthful of bacon, a glint in his eyes.

I can’t help but stare at him as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, it’s oddly sexy.

“God, that’s so much better. I feel like a normal fucking human being now.” He leans back in his seat, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“You have issues,” I quip. “Do you want the rest of my breakfast?” I gesture to what’s left, my coffee and half-eaten toast.