High Speed Hunger

by BL Bonita

  Noble Romance Publishing, LLC

  High Speed Hunger

  ISBN 978-1-60592-363-5

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright 2011 B.L. Bonita

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  Edited by Bryl R. Tyne

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  Blurb

  Drive it like you stole it . . . .

  Eileen Lavoie can’t keep her hungry eyes off the new pit crew guy. He’s built like a machine and his Jamaican accent makes her wet with every seductive word. But she’s already dating her team’s number one Sprint car driver. What should she do, stick with her reckless, on-and-off boyfriend, or give in to temptation?

  Raised on the track, Tyrone Ellis knows he can make a name for himself if given the chance, and he also wants the boss's daughter in every way a man can have a woman.

  One night of unforgettable sin sets the wheels in motion, and he sets out to prove he's the next best thing for the team--and the right man for sweet Eileen.

  On a track born of high speed and hunger, will Ty win the race and get the girl, or will jealousy and hatred lead to a deadly end?

  Chapter One

  The racetrack buzzed with the roar of engines. Dust clouded the humid air as wheels spun out and rear ends fishtailed on the dirt track. Drivers pushed their Sprint cars to the limit, fighting each other for the lead in a raucous race toward the finish line.

  Eileen Lavoie shielded her eyes from the blaring, afternoon sun and watched Bobby Donaldson overtake the lead car. She smiled, not at all surprised by his driving.

  He was her team's number one driver and considered the best in the county.

  Bobby may be known as reckless, but his carefree style—or maybe, his lack of brains—made him a beast on the track. He took chances and went for the gold, even if his moves were considered dangerous. But that was Bobby: full of piss and vinegar.

  Typical man on top of his game.

  A flash of yellow from the pit below caught her attention. She stared down at the crew rolling away equipment. Immediately, her gaze halted on the new guy. She licked her lips and glanced over every masculine inch of him. The view from above was simply delicious. God, the man had a body any hot-blooded woman would kill to run her fingers over . . . or lick the salt from. Broad and tall. Dark skin. With an ass I'd like to .

  . . .

  She shouldn't be thinking of him like that, but fucking hell, he was one beautiful specimen of man.

  Tyrone Ellis. Even his name sounded slick and sexy.

  According to Pop, Ty grew up on a racetrack in Jamaica, but hadn't driven for a few years. He was a quiet man, yet something wild and confident shown in the way he carried himself. His easy smile and dark eyes made her body heat in all the right places.

  But what affected her most was his accent. Rich and smooth, like a fine wine. Every time he talked to her, her body tingled as if his words actually touched her. Caressed her. She closed her eyes, recalling the first conversation she'd had with him, especially the part when he raked his alluring gaze over her and crooked his smile—

  Loudspeaker static made her jump as the commentator announced the last lap.

  Eileen refocused on the track and on the finish line just as Bobby flew past the checkered flag. The crowd erupted in wild applause.

  Sprint cars raced around the last turn and punched it down the straightaway.

  Several cars bumped each other trying to force the other off the track. As always, the spectators would love a crash, but today's race was a breeze compared to the World Bandit Cup. If the crowd wanted smoke and flames, the championship would be the race to see.

  Bobby blew past the finish line with the second car kissing his ass end.

  As he always did for the crowd, he sped onto center field and did a round of doughnuts, kicking up dirt, and his fist pumping the air out his window. Eileen watched the stands, amused, yet put off by the girls clad in skimpy tank tops and barely-there shorts screaming and giggling. Some even lifted their tops and jiggled their tits at the racers.

  Eileen rolled her eyes. The things some women did for attention made the rest look cheap. She stared down at Ty again, wondering what type of women caught his eye. Why should I care what he likes?

  The guy only started working for the team a month ago, and yet, she couldn't help thinking about him. Thank God she didn't share a place with Bobby, for he might hear her calling out Ty's name in her sleep.

  "Well, we done good, didn't we, LeeLee?" Pop cleared the top step and stood next to her at the railing, his sharp gaze looking over the field.

  "As always, Pop."

  Jonnie Lavoie, retired, legendary Sprint car driver, smiled through his thick, white moustache and set his big arm over her shoulder. She covered his weathered hand with her own smaller one and gave it a pat. For a long time it'd been just the two of them, since cancer had taken her mother away, but she'd always been daddy's girl.

  Being here with him, running the team, was more than any dream come true. She was proud to be his partner. But taking care of him had added more years to her life than she wanted to think about. His drinking had progressed, since becoming a widower five years ago. She'd spent so many all-nighters taking care of him, driving him to and from the hospital, she couldn't remember the last time she had a full night's sleep.

  Pop pushed back, holding her at arm's length. His wise, blue eyes crinkled at the corners from too many years of squinting. He stared at her, looking deep in thought.

  "You need a vacation, baby girl."

  Pop never once talked about anybody taking time off. "Why?"

  "Because you look tired. You work too hard, and you need to pamper yourself for a change."

  She cupped his face, forcing him to really look at her. "When I need time off, I'll tell you. Okay?"

  Pop nodded, though he still looked concerned. "You're just as stubborn as your mother ever was." He pulled her hands from his face and urged her toward the chairs.

  "On another note, Ty came to me the other day asking for a shot at driving. What do you think?"

  They headed down the steps from their lookout over the field. She didn't know what to think about Ty driving. Usually a member of the team had to work with the crew for six months before driving a car. But when they rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, coming face-to-face with the man in question, her mind went blank.

  Eileen stared up at Ty, lost in the heat of his dark gaze. He stood well over a foot taller than her; she felt like a sprite next to him. A sprite he seemed to enjoy devouring with his stare. Pop patted her hand, snapping her back to reality. "I've already made arrangements for him to drive this weekend on a test, and you're gonna watch him."

  "What?" She whirled on her father, her eyes wide, heart beating in her throat.

  "Me? Why?"

  Pop released her arm and chuckled. "Because, one of these days, this team'll be yours. You know a good driver when you see one. Be a good girl and do as you're told."

  She wanted to argue, but the amused-looking, dark Adonis standing there, rendered her speechless. Nobody ever made her feel that way; her pride bristled.

  Tyrone shook Pop's hand, his smile big and bright. "Hey, boss."

  Eileen closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to melt. That damned Jamaican accent made her body react as if charged with an electrical current. When she opened her eyes and looked up at him,
he was staring right at her. Again.

  Those full, enticing lips should be illegal.

  Eileen lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. She needed to keep her guard up with a man like him. She could envision herself saying yes to anything he asked simply to hear the melodic tone of his voice. "Think you're ready to prove yourself?"

  "You bet, girl." Mouth tipped up at one corner, Ty gazed over her with a boldness that stirred a fire below.

  A flutter of desire curled in her belly from the way he'd addressed her, but she stood her ground. "It's Eileen, not 'girl'."

  The man had a way about him that annoyed her but made her weak in the knees at the same time. She sensed something special about him as well. No other man had ever made her feel all tingly in so few words.

  "There you are! I thought you'd be in the stands cheering me on, LeeLee."

  Bobby's loud voice boomed over the crowd.

  Needing a distraction, she practically threw herself at Bobby, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I was, honey." Laughter burst from her lips when she looked up at him. His curly red hair was flat on top with the sides clinging to his face. He looked like a rumpled cartoon character. "Looks like the helmet got the best of you."

  Bobby threw an arm over her shoulders and scowled at Tyrone. "What do you want with my woman?"

  Ty laughed, clearly not at all fazed by Bobby's outright disdain for him, but he didn’t even look at Bobby. His gaze was still locked on Eileen.

  "We're talking business," she said. "We're gonna test him behind the wheel this weekend."

  Bobby glared at Ty and straightened. "I had to wait six months to drive. Why's he so fuckin' special?"

  "Come on, boy," Pop interrupted, obviously sensing the same trouble brewing Eileen sensed. "I got some new equipment for you to check out." He grabbed Bobby's elbow and pulled him in the other direction. The glare Bobby fixed on Ty could've lit him on fire.

  Eileen stared after Bobby and Pop with a mixture of emotions. As much as she disliked testing out the new guy, she was intrigued to see how Ty drove. Pop would never allow him to drive if he didn't sense something great in him.

  Bobby needed to watch his attitude, too. Ty's sheer size alone should be enough to put him in the hospital should they ever fight. Before they rounded the back of the hauling truck, Pop looked over his shoulder and winked.

  "Your boyfriend doesn't like me." Ty shoved his hands in the pockets of his yellow coveralls. Eileen couldn't help raking her gaze over the lower half of his body.

  When she finally glanced up to his face, his knowing expression made her blush.

  "That's just the way Bobby is." She forced a smile. "He's a damn good driver, though."

  Ty stared at her, his gaze piercing. "A smart woman like you shouldn't be on the arm of a man like him."

  Eileen snorted, but he didn't laugh. "He's not that bad."

  He stared at her lips, her eyes, making her more nervous with each passing breath. "You'll never be more than a gorgeous trophy on his arm."

  She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came forth in Bobby's defense. Ty was right. But gorgeous?

  "And that's a shame," he added, his voice think and sensual. "Maybe I'm too old-fashioned, but if you were my girl, you'd never have to wonder what I cherish most, and I'm a damn good driver."

  She didn't know how to respond to that, but somehow she knew Tyrone Ellis was unlike any man she knew or had ever known. He doesn't even know me. "Uh . . .

  okay. Well, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning." She nodded, shifting her gaze to the crowd now departing the stands. Awkward.

  "Have a good night, Mr. Ellis."

  When she smiled at him, Ty winked, and the corner of his mouth tipped up again. "You too, girl."

  Eileen walked away before he said something else to make her weak in the knees. The fact he called her 'girl' when she specifically told him not to didn't really bother her. On the contrary, his defiance turned her on.

  As she walked through the gate, feeling the unwanted pulse of need between her legs, she looked over her shoulder. Ty stood in the same spot, still watching her.

  Chapter Two

  Late Thursday evening, Ty wandered downstairs to the shop to look for his music CD, figuring he'd left it in the boom box.

  He made his way down the interior stairwell and paused when he reached the landing. From the distant music, he wondered if one of the mechanics was working late.

  Being the new guy, he didn't want to step on any toes, but he was only coming in to grab something quick not barging in to offer anyone advice or a hand.

  Several Sprint cars were up on hoists, others parked in neat rows along one of the walls. The team had over a dozen cars, each one of them souped-up to the nuts.

  Ty headed over to the boom box. He didn't see anyone by the cars. Maybe somebody had forgotten to shut the music off.

  Just as he was about to flip open the CD compartment, a movement on the other side of the shop caught his attention. Thinking Mak, the lead mechanic, must be tinkering around, he wandered over to say hello.

  As he neared the work truck parked by the far wall, he caught a glimpse of red hair through the truck windows. He squinted for a better view, but couldn't tell what or who it was. He rounded the back end of the truck, and wished immediately that he'd never come downstairs.

  A red haired woman he thought he'd recognized was bent over a counter, her skirt pushed up over her hips as Bobby fucked her from behind. Ty stood frozen on the spot, speechless, unable to tear his gaze away from the two of them. At first, he thought it could be Eileen, but realized the girl was too skinny even if she'd dyed her hair.

  Though he was glad not to see the woman he secretly wanted in that situation, at the same time, he was pissed Bobby would cheat on her . . . and right in her own shop.

  The girl was arched back, her hair bouncing with each hard thrust. Sweat glistened on their exposed flesh. Ty swallowed the lump in his throat as Bobby wrapped a fist in the girl's hair and thrust deeper, shoving her body into the counter.

  She cried out, grinding back against him.

  Ty retreated. Now probably wasn't the time to start trouble with the team's number one driver, no matter how hard he wanted to pummel the jerk into the ground.

  He spun on his heel, determined to sneak away, but brushed against a forgotten wrench sitting on the back bumper of the truck.

  The clang of metal on cement shot like a firecracker through the garage.

  Ty regretfully turned around and faced them, just as Bobby pulled out and away from the girl. He rushed to fix his clothes, his eyes wide with shock. "What the fuck are you doing down here?"

  The girl smoothed her dress and made a quick exit through the side door, leaving Bobby to deal with the consequences alone.

  "I don’t think it matters what I was doing, does it, Bobby?"

  Bobby took a step closer, but halted. "You're not going to say anything are you?"

  Ty shook his head, amazed how the prick could be so casual over what he'd just done. "What you do isn't my business." And he walked away, leaving his CD in the stereo.

  Beating the shit out of Bobby would only raise questions he didn't want to answer. Probably best to pretend nothing happened.

  * * * * *

  Friday evening Ty was putting away some tools when Bobby strutted in, his snappy, annoying whistle shrieking through the wide-open space. Ty wished he'd blasted the radio to drown out the idiot's presence.

  " So . . . ." Bobby said. "How you like workin' for Rajin Cajuns' team? They have car racing back in banana land?"

  Ty gripped the wrench in his hand, every muscle in his body tense. Out of respect for Eileen and her father, he decided not to act on impulse and pound the piss out of this moron's face. Instead, he turned with a wry smile, glanced over him like he was no better than trash.

  "Some of the best drivers are from Jamaica, Bobby, but I wouldn't expect someone with a grade-three education to know that."


  Bobby's eyes narrowed, and he let out half a chuckle, as if the statement didn't faze him, but Ty detected the fucker didn't like being one-upped. "Well, now, you're a smartass, ain't ya?"

  "Better a smartass than a dumbass." Ty turned his back to Bobby and continued what he was doing. He wouldn't let a little immaturity get in the way of his job, but if the asshole started something, Ty would be the one to finish it.

  "You best watch your back, boy. I'm number one around here, and ain't nobody gonna get in my way. You say one thing to my girl about what you seen, and I'll make your life a living hell. Got it?"

  Ty didn't bother to face him. "Does it turn you on to stand so close to my ass, Bobby? Cause I'll only tell you once, I don't swing that way."

  Bobby blew out a few curses and stalked off. Just for the hell of it, Ty added, "Say hi to your little redhead for me. You know the one, boy."

  The side door slammed. Ty chuckled and returned to work.

  He couldn't believe Eileen dated the guy. For a smart woman who ran a racing business, she could do much better in his opinion. Bobby was the epitome of moron who clearly thought of nothing else but his own needs. And to know the man wasn't faithful as well tested every one of Ty's nerves.

  A woman like Eileen deserved a good man, and Bobby just didn't cut it . . . not by a long shot. The guy shouldn't be trusted, but what Ty thought didn't matter. Even if he did confess what he'd seen, Eileen and her father may take it the wrong way, think him a troublemaker.

  Coming to the United States from Jamaica had been hard on him, leaving all of his family behind to see what the world had to offer. He'd arrived in Louisiana after reading an online ad for a crew guy at Rajin Cajun Racing. Raised on the track, he'd watched his father race at Vernam Field in Clarendon Parish back home. By the time he was fifteen, Ty was a local speed demon, out-running anything on wheels. But after the accident that killed his father, he'd questioned if he could sit behind the wheel ever again.

  Meeting Jonnie Lavoie a month ago had changed Ty's mind. The spirited man reminded him of his father and all those long-buried urges to get behind the wheel raced back full force. Aside from being completely opposite in looks from his own father, in every other way Jonnie was so much like the man it was uncanny. The sparkle in the eyes just before a race; the way he rubbed his thumb over his pocket watch as the cars ripped around the track. He even wore two different colored laces on his boots—