Roaring Hot! (Contemporary Romance): A Billionaire Biker Romance

by Rachelle Ayala

  Roaring Hot!

  A BILLIONAIRE BIKER ROMANCE

  Rachelle Ayala

  Amiga Books

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  “Keeps your heart racing.” – Joanna Daniel

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  Dedication

  Pat Carter who walks around Lake Elizabeth with me twice a week and listens to all my stories.

  Racquel Reck who loves the Suzuki Hayabusa, her dream bike.

  Copyright © 2014 by Rachelle Ayala

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All MotoGP racing events in this book are fictional. All riders portrayed are fictional characters.

  MotoGP is a trademark owned by Dorna Sports, S.L. All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

  The named songs belong to their rights holders and artists. No lyrics are quoted and no rights are infringed.

  Contact Rachelle at http://rachelleayala.me/author-bio/contact/

  Join Rachelle’s mailing list at http://eepurl.com/lR5kv

  Chapter 1

  “I’m not afraid of Japanese girls.” Twenty-seven-year-old Teo Alexiou blinked in disbelief at his grandmother’s onscreen image.

  Oba-chan grinned toothily through the chat window. “Then why haven’t you dated any?”

  “Haven’t gotten around to it. Too busy enjoying the women of the world.”

  “Last I looked, Japan’s still part of the world,” Oba-chan said in her matter of fact voice, the one she’d used on Teo whenever he was too stubborn to pick up his toys or refused to wash his hands before dinner.

  Teo wiped his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “Take a number. I’m still working my way through Europe and Latin America.”

  It wasn’t that he had anything against Japanese women. After all, he was part Japanese, thanks to Oba-chan, but knowing his grandmother, any dalliance with a Japanese woman would carry expectations—expectations a young, single, swinging motorcycle racer was unprepared to fulfill.

  “You’re taking too long,” Oba-chan said. “I’m not getting any younger. Do you think it makes me happy to see you with all those party girls? Two or three on each arm. It shames me that your father didn’t instill more honor into you.”

  Why would his father, a Greek billionaire, waste his time instilling honor and respect when the world was full of jets, yachts, and continents of sexy women?

  Teo felt like reminding granny that she was the one who’d raised his father. She couldn’t fix him from his playboy ways. Was it any surprise Teo’s Filipina mother left him with his grandmother and joined a convent?

  Being traumatized at such a young age, try three, made Teo a crazy bastard. If it wasn’t for Oba-chan and racing, he would have joined the ranks of the drug addled billionaire boys’ clubs.

  “What do you want me to do?” He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Oba-chan had an uncanny way of extracting her pound of flesh from anything he promised.

  Her catlike grin elongated as she stroked her cheek with one long fingernail. “My eightieth birthday’s coming up. Your father’s thinking of surprising me with a gala party at one of his properties. I prefer Beverly Hills over Paris. It’s going to be swank.”

  Sweat erupted under Teo’s collar, and he swallowed hard. She was setting him up. No doubt. The longer her prefaces, the bigger the deal. That woman was seriously scary. How would she know what his father was planning?

  “I can go to a party, no problem,” Teo said. He made a show of glancing at his watch and yawned. “It’s getting late here. I have a race tomorrow.”

  “I know.” Oba-chan leaned into the webcam, making her face take the shape of a wide-eyed guppy. “Move your camera around. I want to see your bed. Is it occupied?”

  He swung his front-facing camera at his empty bed. What did she think? That he’d distract himself the night before a race? Hadn’t she taught him to quiet his mind and meditate? Preserve his concentration?

  One micro-second was all it took to wipe out and crash. Of course after the race, all bets were off and his bed became a revolving door.

  “Good boy, you’re redeemable,” Oba-chan said. “As I was saying, my birthday party is in three months. My challenge, should you be brave enough to accept, is for you to bring a girlfriend.”

  Teo’s stomach took a flying loop. Girlfriend was not in his vocabulary. Hook-up, vacation fling, one-nighter, friends with benefits, groupie, yes, groupies were the best, they even came in pairs or triplets.

  “A date to your party? Piece of cake.” Teo put on his most charming grandson smile.

  “Not just any date, a relationship. From now until my birthday, you’re to find and hold onto a real girlfriend. Got it?”

  “Yeah, well, sure. How do you define a real relationship?” Prickly heat wiggled under his skin like the feet of a million centipedes. Even though he was only one-quarter Japanese, he still respected his elders and wanted to please his grandmother.

  “I have my ways,” Oba-chan deadpanned. “I’ll know if it’s not real. Don’t cross me. Three months. Think you can stick to one woman?”

  He heard the sound of knuckles cracking, something his grandmother always did before applying the belt of correction back in the days when she brought him up. What she was asking him was impossible given his sport.

  “I’m on the road, a different race circuit every two weeks. Qatar, Australia, Malaysia, Argentina.”

  Oba-chan wagged her finger. “You have all this technology and oodles of cash. Surely you can afford to fly her to your races. I think you’re scared.”

  No way. He liked women he could take or leave, but he wasn’t afraid. He just didn’t have the time or energy to invest in a relationship.

  “I can afford a lot of things,” he said. “Sticking to one woman isn’t something I want.”

  “It’s because of your mother, isn’t it?” Oba-chan’s nostrils flared. “You have to remember, she didn’t leave you, she left your father.”

  Same difference. She’d left both of them, except Papa hadn’t cared. Teo’s heart twisted with that old, familiar pain. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but the conversation was over. He’d agree and deal with it later.

  “I’ll do it.” He puffed up his lips. “Only until your birthday, then I’m breaking it off.”

  “Fair enough. I expect you to … how do you kids say it these days … to ‘hook up’ with someone right away.”

  “Hai, Oba-chan!” He saluted her. “Anything else?”

  “Nope, she doesn’t even have to be Japanese. Sayonara.”

  * * *

  Amy Suzuki dipped her manicured fingertips in Tabasco sauce. How the heck was she going to land an acting job if she kept chewing her nails to the bone?

  “Yow, that looks lethal,” Peter, her roommate, said. “It’s the same principle with cat repellant, except it won’t work if you actually like hot, spicy food.”

  “Who’s going to be there again?” Amy wiped her fingers with a napkin and cinched up her mesh swimming bag. Crashing a pool party held by one of the biggest directors in Hollywood called for subtlety. Of course it helped that Peter was one of the lackeys, or as he called himself, a PA, or personal assistant. More like pers
onal ass-kisser, but hey, at least he knew the gatekeepers at Amanda Silver’s pool party.

  Peter snapped a towel at her. “All the most influential directors and agents, not to mention the Queen Bee herself.”

  Amanda was as old as Hollywood, but a nod from her could mean a bit part in a miniseries, or a stint on a cable network drama, a decent start.

  “Sure this is going to work?” Amy tugged her bikini straps in place. “I need to land a part soon or I’m on the streets.”

  Peter quirked a flamboyant eyebrow. “Did I hear you right? You’re finally going to let me pimp you?”

  “Stop it!” She slapped him playfully. Peter, her best friend, was always joking around, especially since he’d covered her rent since graduation. Rent she was determined to pay back.

  Amy’s stomach curled with anxiety. Her parents weren’t happy she hadn’t landed a job, as if anyone other than engineers and business students had jobs lined up directly out of college. It was either find a “real” acting gig, or go back home and live under their thumb. Cutting off funds was a sure way to add pressure.

  “Waterproof mascara coming up.” Peter waved the wand in her face.

  Amy obediently leaned over the kitchen counter and let him deftly apply the lash lengthening strokes. She should be counted lucky to have a roomie interested in cosmetology, although here, in Los Angeles, men were always perfecting their makeup skills on anyone who’d let them.

  “While we wait for that to dry, let’s do the moisturizer.” Peter squeezed a dollop on his fingertip and dabbed it over her face. “You’ve such pretty, porcelain skin. Don’t want to ruin it.”

  “I’ll stay under the umbrellas,” Amy said. Where other actresses sported the tans needed to portray beach girls, Amy was of Japanese descent and the roles she tried for required paler geisha-like skin.

  “Not with the sunscreen I’m about to apply.” Peter bent under the counter and pulled out a supersized container of SPF gadzillion sunblock.

  For the next forty minutes, Peter covered Amy from head to toe with sunscreen, then finished with her foundation, eye shadow, and lip gloss.

  “Ta dum! The ultimate natural look, makeup without looking made up,” he proclaimed with a loud smack, kissing his own palm. “You’re fit to be the next princess on Game of Thrones.”

  “Only if they write in a Japanese one,” Amy grumbled, flipping her sunglasses over her eyes.

  The movie industry these days were no longer interested in martial arts films, preferring epic fantasies which unfortunately were populated by Caucasian fairies, elves, hobbits, dwarves, and wizards.

  Peter grabbed her hand and twirled her around. “You’re going to be a star. I know it. Let’s get our asses to the party and wow them.”

  Chapter 2

  “Any girls around here look nice enough for your grandma?” Teo’s buddy, Ronaldo Silver, tossed a water polo ball at him.

  The two of them were playing cool at the deep end of Ronaldo’s grandparents’ pool party.

  Teo lobbed the ball back at Ronaldo. “I should have placed last week.”

  Barcelona had been his best chance to unseat Luca Salvadori, the reigning champ on the grand prix circuit. He’d been moving up the ranks until the idiot in front of him took the hairpin turn too wide.

  Ronaldo punched the ball into the air. “You’re lucky you didn’t get creamed when Walton wobbled in front of you. I saw the video from my helmet cam.”

  Teo dived underwater and pulled Ronaldo’s shorts down. He might not be superstitious, but his friend knew better than to talk about crashes and near misses so gleefully.

  Surfacing and shaking the water from his hair, Teo swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself up and out, right at the feet of a flock of silicone enhanced Playmate types. These babes looked like they’d stepped off the pages of every strip magazine known to mankind. Leggy, boobalicious, glam to the core.

  A woman behind him inhaled sharply as if she’d just received mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The redhead in front of him raised her sunglasses and slid him a wink, while the Latina next to him patted his ass.

  Thud. The water polo ball slapped his back.

  “Teo Alexiou, you jerkowitz,” Ronaldo yelled. “Stay away from the talent.”

  “Teo Alexiou?” A blonde wiped water droplets off his shoulders. “You almost wiped out in Barcelona.”

  “Nah, wasn’t me.” He flexed his muscles and stalked toward the cabana. “I’m just the actor playing him.”

  The women giggled, as he’d expected. Usually, he’d ask them about the casting call, then pick the one he fancied and take her to the bar for a drink—the typical ritual, drink, dance, talk, and walk around the garden for some hot, heavy making out, before moving to a more private location.

  “Where’d you get the muscles?” the blonde asked, applying a dollop of sunscreen onto his chest. “Isn’t the motorcycle doing all the work?”

  Cross her off the list. She had no clue how much physical exertion it took to wrestle a three-hundred-fifty pound motorcycle bending around the curves at more than a hundred-fifty miles per hour.

  He flashed his megawatt grin at the Latina. “What are you drinking this evening?”

  Ronaldo caught up to him. “Hey, that’s my date. You’re supposed to find someone your grandmother would approve.”

  At the mention of grandmother-approved standards, the women scurried away, covering their mouths and stifling laughter.

  “Thanks, bud, for the cock block.” Teo crossed to the free flowing bar and asked for a beer.

  “You’re better off looking in a convent,” Ronaldo joked.

  “Don’t mention convent.” Teo’s splashed beer at his friend. “What’s worse is my father’s been roped into this scheme. He’s cutting off my private jet if I don’t make his mother happy.”

  Ronaldo clapped a wet hand over his shoulder. “Don’t know what to tell you, dude. This place is crawling with actresses, or wanna-be ones. I call them mactresses, get it?”

  “Not really,” Teo said, his eyes narrowing. None of the overly made up women would be the least bit appealing as far as Oba-chan was concerned. She’d been sending him pictures every day—granddaughters of people she knew, every one of them innocent and sweet, looking like their idea of a Saturday evening was a Hello Kitty pajama party.

  “What do you get when you cross a mattress and a wanna-be actress?” Ronaldo laughed and slapped his thigh at the anticipation of his own joke. A bad joke.

  “I’m out of here.” Teo grabbed his towel and stepped into his flip-flops.

  “Wait, wait,” Ronaldo said. “I’ll ask my grandma. She’s sure to know of some starving actress who’d play the part.”

  “Actress? You’re kidding. I’ll find my own date.” Teo scoffed at the notion he’d need Ronaldo’s grandmother’s help, even if she was the legendary Amanda Silver, the talent spotter who’d casted Hollywood’s most memorable roles. He doubted she would be able to find an Oba-chan approved girlfriend—unless she recruited from Asian housewife schools.

  “Hear me out.” Ronaldo rubbed his hands as he always did whenever he had one of his harebrained schemes. “We put in what we’re looking for in my grandma’s database and pull out their contact information. I tell them my dad’s producing a documentary on motorcycle Grand Prix racing. Instant girlfriend until your grandma’s birthday.”

  “I’m not paying anyone to be my girlfriend.” Teo sidestepped around a group of young men licking tequila shots off a model’s body.

  The entire scheme was too harebrained. Teo was a professional motorcycle racer on the pro circuit. He had absolutely no intention of seeing a woman twice, much less date anyone exclusively. But Oba-chan had given him a challenge and a deadline. And what Oba-chan decreed, Oba-chan got.

  This party was a waste of time. He’d do better stalking teachers at the Japanese language training school. Racing around the cabana, Teo headed toward his Suzuki Hayabusa motorcycle parked on the circular driveway.<
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  Ahhh! A woman squealed, and her drink splashed as she stumbled and planted her face into his chest. Her straight black hair flung like a curtain in front of her.

  “Sorry, miss.” He grabbed both her arms to steady her. A jolt of electricity shot through him and had his hands tingling. Who was this creature? Her bikini-clad body was slender and trim, and her skin glowed like fine porcelain. She was definitely Asian, either Chinese or Japanese.

  “My contact lenses.” Her breath hissed between clenched teeth. “Ow, ow, they sting.”

  “Did you drop them?”

  “No, I have to get them out. Were you wearing sunscreen?”

  “Well, yeah, sorry.” He guided her into the pool house. “There’s a restroom in there.”

  “Thanks.” Not looking up, she fumbled with her purse and stepped into one of the changing rooms. She wore no ring where it counted.

  Teo’s gaze didn’t leave the changing room door. Was this a stroke of fate? An eligible woman, possibly Japanese, had landed almost in his lap. And even better, she was pretty. Cute, kissable rosebud lips, a pert nose, slender eyebrows and long, silky hair a mile long.

  A minute later, she stuck her head out the changing room door, her eyes blinking. “Mister, could you find my friend Peter?”

  “Sure, what do you need?” Teo noticed tears running down her cheeks. Her eyes seemed swollen, although she did her best to cover them.

  “I need someone to remove my contact lenses. I washed and washed my hands, but the Tabasco sauce isn’t coming off and my eyes sting.”

  “I can do it, hard or soft?”

  “Soft lenses, but find Peter. He’s tall, lanky, probably hanging out with the other PA’s, I mean personal assistants. They’re usually at the bar playing models and bottles.”