Clark let out a growl and threw his hands into the air. “Bloody hell, Rafe, what were you thinking? We’ve told you, told you a hundred times to be wary of reporters. They may seem all nicey-nice on the surface, like they’re desperately interested in you and your life, but all they really want is a nice juicy story for their publication. They don’t care if they’re hurting you by dredging up the past. To you, it’s your life—to them, it’s just a story. Something to titillate their readers.”
Those words finally drove Gloria out of hiding. She slipped around the edge of the van and stomped over to the three men, waving the keys around. “Nice to know what you think of people in my profession,” she spat, quivering with anger and indignation. “Thank you very bloody much. Here are your fucking keys! You’re welcome!” She threw them at—not to, but at—Clark. He caught them neatly and with a sardonic grin, which just pissed her off all the more.
Rafe walked over to her, his eyes narrowed and those perfect lips twisted into a sneer that she itched to slap right off his gorgeous face. “Nice of you to show up after what you did.”
Gloria’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? You’re trying to put all of the blame squarely on my shoulders, is that it? You’re the one that went off in a huff! If I hadn’t found the keys, you could be looking at an empty van right now! Or a non-existent one.”
Clark cut in, “If you hadn’t started poking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted—”
“Clark,” Rafe said, shooting his brother a look, “I’ve got this. Why don’t you and Flynn get what you need from the van and head back to the workshop? I won’t be long.”
Both men looked unimpressed, but did as their brother asked, and after a few minutes, Gloria and Rafe were left alone once more.
“Look,” Gloria said, jumping in first, determined to have her say. “I’m not trying to make out I didn’t do anything wrong, because I know I did, and I’m sorry for that. But you can’t blame me for everything that happened. What was I supposed to do, sit in the van like a good little girl and hope that you came back and graced me with your almighty presence?”
For a moment, she could have sworn a smirk flitted over Rafe’s lips. But even if it had, it had definitely gone now. He reached out and gripped her shoulders, bending so his face was level with hers. “No, of course not. Shall we just agree we were both in the wrong? You shouldn’t have pried, and I shouldn’t have run off and left you in the van. I’m sorry, too. All right?”
His tone was so serious, so intense, that it sent a chill running down her spine. The fact his big hands still clutched her shoulders, their heat radiating through the material of her T-shirt, wasn’t doing anything to settle her jangling nerves, either. She was torn between wrenching herself out of his grasp, and pushing herself into it further and planting her lips on his. Christ, how did he manage to be such an arsehole and yet also be so appealing? She shook her head—maybe her head and body were at war; her head sensibly having decided that Rafe Donovan was a man best to be avoided, and her body having decided he was a man best to jump into bed with.
Perhaps it was just as well there were no beds nearby.
“What?” Rafe snapped, gripping her shoulders more tightly. “You don’t agree?”
Quickly stepping back, breaking his hold on her, Gloria replied, “No, no, I wasn’t shaking my head at that. Never mind. Yes, okay, we were both in the wrong. I’ve already said I’m sorry, and I meant it. I shouldn’t have pried—I could tell it was something you didn’t want to talk about, but I pushed you anyway. I overstepped the mark. Can you… forgive me?” She gave a small smile and looked up at him through her lashes, hoping her feminine charms might soften his current attitude towards her. “Maybe we can forget what happened and start again? I’d still really love to tell your story—the parts of it you’re comfortable with, anyway.”
Her heart skipped a beat as he fixed her with an incredulous look. Now it was his turn to shake his head. Shit, I’ve really blown my chances now. Looks like I’m back to the drawing board. Then, suddenly, he let out a huge laugh. “Bloody hell, Gloria, you’re something else!” To her relief, he seemed more amused than angered. “You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you? Why haven’t I heard of you before? I’d have thought a reporter with your… personality traits would be well-known on this circuit. As someone to avoid like the plague.” He was still smiling, so she decided not to take offence at his words.
Figuring she could hardly piss him off any more than she already had, she responded cheekily, “Let’s finish the interview, then I’ll tell you something about me. That… er, sensitive topic we touched on earlier is out of bounds, okay?”
Nodding thoughtfully, he said, “All right, but we’ll have to be quick, because I do need to get back to the workshop and help my brothers finish the tune-up on my bike before the next race.”
She’d seen the listing on the timetable, so she knew he was telling the truth. “All right. Let’s get on with it, then.”
Chapter Six
From her seat in the stands—at Rafe’s recommendation she’d gone to sit somewhere with a view of one of what he called the most ‘exciting’ corners—Gloria watched, wide-eyed, as the multitude of bikes raced past. They were slower here, due to the hairpin bend, but it was no less thrilling, given the angle at which the racers leaned their bikes over in order to make the corner—their knees almost touching the asphalt. How gravity didn’t just pull them over altogether, in a terrible tangle of limbs and metal, she had no idea.
Thankfully, after their bust-up, she and Rafe had called a truce. They’d carried on with the interview, and although Rafe had mentioned his parents several more times—he could hardly tell his life story without mentioning them, after all—she hadn’t asked any more about them. Therefore she now knew that the whole Donovan gang had helped to set up the race team using the family money. He’d been racing professionally for five years—having first finished school and college, then gone on to gain a degree in engineering as a backup plan, at his parents’ insistence—working his way up from smaller, regional races, then eventually qualifying for the British Superbikes the previous year. She wasn’t sure exactly when his parents had died, but she got the impression that they hadn’t lived to see their son move onto this particular tournament.
He’d quickly made a name for himself and had, in fact, been courted by some of the bigger teams, but he’d turned them down. Although she hadn’t had chance to ask him why, as they’d run out of time, his reasons were clear. He liked being his own boss, and wouldn’t cope at all well with being told what to do, what to wear, what bike to ride, what tune-ups should be done on the machine. They hadn’t managed to cover his lack of sponsors, either, but reading between the lines, Gloria thought she had that figured out, too. Rafe was a wild card—an arrogant, often badly-behaved young man. So either the sponsors didn’t want him, or he didn’t want them because he didn’t want to have to conform to what they’d expect of someone they were throwing lots of money at.
If he didn’t have any sponsors, then they couldn’t dump him for doing something wrong, could they?
He seemed to be doing perfectly well without a team and sponsors anyway. His brothers were supportive and protective of him—as evidenced by the confrontation at the van—and they had everything they needed, equipment and kit-wise to keep Rafe and the bike safe and speedy. And he was definitely speedy. And gutsy, and, well, frankly insane.
With his unadorned bike and leathers, he was once again easy to spot and she observed, rapt, as he leaned the bike far, far over as he steered around the corner, managing to overtake—or was it undertake?—someone at the same time.
She shook her head in wonder as he got around the corner in one piece, righted the bike, and zoomed off into the distance.
Now that the action wasn’t right in front of her, she allowed her mind to wander back onto her article. She had enough material from Rafe already to fill the space she’d been allocated, so she didn’t
need to find anyone else to interview in addition to him. And she wouldn’t even need to mention the death of his parents—she already had her hook: Bad Boy Biker Snubs Teams and Sponsors. She’d go on to include the fact that family money financed the team, and that Rafe Donovan appeared to prefer doing his own thing, rather than being beholden to, or reliant on, anyone else.
He wasn’t quite the underdog she’d first thought he was, but she’d gotten an interesting story, nonetheless. How many other young men or women in his position would turn down lucrative, exclusive deals from teams and sponsors? Zero, she suspected. But then, when money was no object, why wouldn’t a person stick to their principles and remain in control?
The article wouldn’t be particularly flattering of Rafe’s personality, but he was thick-skinned enough to deal with that. She was sure he’d rather she went that route than the ‘rich orphan makes good’ one. It was the orphan factor, she suspected, that had made him the way he was now, anyway—the arrogance, the skill he had at rubbing people up the wrong way, the fiery temper. They were all traits he’d developed—albeit not necessarily on purpose—to help him deal with the death of his parents, and to keep people at arm’s length. She didn’t know any of the Donovan men particularly well, but intuition told her that Flynn and Clark were the only ones who ever managed to get past Rafe’s prickly exterior these days.
***
As soon as the race—which had again given her a pounding heart and damp palms—finished, Gloria made her way back to the workshop, where she’d agreed to wait for Rafe in order to finish the interview. And, she reminded herself with a grimace, for her to fulfil her part of the agreement—to tell him something about herself. She wondered how he’d react when he discovered she wasn’t even a sports writer. Would he care? Or would he simply be pleased that—their previous differences of opinion now having been resolved—she was doing an article about him in the high-circulation publication she wrote for?
She’d find out soon enough.
She reached the workshop before the Donovans, which wasn’t a surprise as they’d had to come from much further away in the complex. Leaning against the building, she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun, soaking up the delicious rays as she waited. The scorching heat was blissful, and she let herself drift off into a daydream where she was on an idyllic beach somewhere, with the only sounds the crashing of waves and the singing of beautiful, tropical birds. She wore a skimpy red bikini, and was settled onto a comfortable sun lounger, with sunscreen readily available, a feel-good romance novel in her hands. All she needed now was a sexy bloke to bring her a lewdly-named cocktail with a silly umbrella, and her fantasy would be complete.
As if she’d summoned him, Rafe’s voice cut sharply into her daydream, leaving it in tatters. “Er, earth to Gloria? Come in, Gloria.”
Startled, she let out a gasp as she opened her eyes and took in the sight before her. Rafe stood there, his leathers already unzipped at the top and hanging around his waist, his helmet tucked beneath his arm, the lines from its tight fit still creasing his forehead and face. They didn’t manage to mar his perfection. Flynn and Clark, she saw from the corner of her eye, were just wheeling the Kawasaki back into the workshop. It had done its job for the day, she knew. What she didn’t know was whether they’d be doing anything further to it today. “Oh, hi,” she said, scrabbling wildly in her brain for something to say, “you were great out there—well done.”
“Thanks. It went really well. I’m in a great position for tomorrow, so I’m pleased.”
“Good, good; great stuff,” she replied breezily, glossing over the mention of position, because she didn’t want to admit she didn’t understand how that impacted on his subsequent races. She’d have to Google it later. “So, what’s the plan now, then? You done for the day?”
“Pretty much. Just gotta get her washed down, get all the muck off, and then tuck her up in bed for the night.”
“Sounds good to me.” She immediately bit her lip, realising too late how her words must have sounded. It came across as odd to her when Rafe spoke about the bike like he was talking about a woman, so she hadn’t really known how to respond. And now she had, she’d left herself open for a massive misunderstanding.
Typically, Rafe picked up on it immediately. His face twisting into a smile that was nothing short of wicked, he shot back, “Really? Perhaps you’d like the same treatment? That can certainly be arranged.”
As heat blazed across her cheeks and chest, she had one consolatory thought—if he’s flirting, it must mean he’s forgiven me. “Er… that’s not what I meant.” But you wouldn’t kick him out of bed.
He pouted and fixed her with a round-eyed, innocent-little-boy look. “Aww. You wound me, Gloria. I really thought we had something.”
She’d grown used to his behaviour, his teasing, but even so, right now he was coming on strong. He was being almost as lecherous and idiotic as when she’d first met him.
Suddenly, the penny dropped. When she’d first met him, he’d been throwing out smart arse comments left, right and centre, and now he was doing it again. The common denominator between then and now was that they were both immediately post-race. Of course—he had adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him hyperactive and amplifying his more irritating personality traits. With any luck, he’d tone it down soon as the hormone started to work its way out of his system. They’d only just gotten back onto an even footing—the last thing she wanted was for them to start arguing again.
She changed the subject. “So, you all right to finish off our interview once the bike is taken care of?”
“As long as you’re willing to uphold your end of the bargain.”
“Of course—I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
“Great. In that case, let’s get on with it. Follow me.”
She followed him into the workshop, where the bike had been mounted on a centre stand. Flynn was nowhere to be seen, and Clark was busy removing what looked like cleaning cloths and detergent from a large plastic box.
“Hey,” Rafe said, sauntering over to his brother and pulling his gloves from where they’d been stashed inside his helmet, then placing them and the helmet down on the nearby work surface. “Why don’t you and Flynn head back to the hotel? I’ll take care of this while I chat to Gloria.”
His gaze sliding between his brother and Gloria, Clark gave a careful nod. “Yeah, all right, mate, if that’s what you want. Just give us a call if you need anything.”
“Cheers, will do.”
With another nod, this time a curt one in her direction, followed by a meaningful glance at Rafe, Clark left the workshop by the rear door.
A few moments later, Flynn appeared through the same entrance, carrying a bucket of water. He walked over and put it down beside the Kawasaki, then addressed his brother. “You gonna be all right?” He and Clark had clearly been talking outside.
Rafe rolled his eyes. “I’m washing her, Flynn, not stripping her down and rebuilding her from scratch. I’ll be fine. See you later.” That probably wasn’t what his brother had been referring to, but it seemed Rafe was unwilling to bite.
After some extended eye contact, during which the two men seemed to be silently communicating, Flynn took his leave. “Nice to meet you, Gloria. Maybe see you again.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer it. “You too, Flynn. Have a good evening.”
Flynn left, closing the door behind him. Rafe then walked over and tugged down the shutter at the front of the building, cutting them off from the outside world.
Gloria’s heart pounded for what felt like the millionth time that day. The look on Rafe’s face when he turned around made it race even faster. It was a good job she was young and healthy, otherwise cardiac arrest might have been a distinct possibility. He seemed determined, focussed as he approached. But what the hell was he thinking?
“So,” he said, grinning, moving past her and towards the Kawasaki. “Are you rea
dy to get all wet and soapy?”
Chapter Seven
Gloria’s mouth went dry, and her brain failed to come up with a single response. Instead, she forced a tight smile onto her face.
But Rafe didn’t appear to be expecting a reply anyway; already he’d retrieved a sponge and the bucket and was crouched down beside his precious bike. “So, we carrying on with this interview, then, or what?” his voice came from the other side of the machine.
“Oh! Yeah… okay, sure.” She grabbed her phone from her shoulder bag and got it ready. Then she moved closer to Rafe, otherwise the recording quality would be poor—already his voice was muffled and a little distorted as he bent and twisted to work on his task. “Right, Rafe, I’m about to start recording again, okay?”
“Yes, of course.” His head appeared over the seat of the bike, and he grinned. “Ready when you are.”
***
The final part of the interview—which had confirmed her suspicions about his attitude to teams and sponsors, as well as filled in a couple more blanks—concluded at about the same time that Rafe finished working on the bike. He stood with a groan, stretching out his back and his long limbs, then lifted the bucket. “Got everything you need?”
“Yes, I think so. If anything else springs to mind, I’ll let you know.”
Nodding, he said, “All right. I’m just going to get some clean water, won’t be a mo. There are some drinks in that coolbox if you want one. Help yourself.”
“Great, thanks.” She was just being polite, but actually, she was thirsty. She hadn’t had anything since the sparkling water in the VIP viewing area.
With a shrug to herself, since Rafe had by now opened the rear door and gone out, she made for the coolbox. Opening it, she immediately reached for a can of Dr Pepper. She could do with a sugar rush round about now to give her a kick start. Rafe had calmed down, so she wasn’t having to banter with him, but it had been a long day and her energy was starting to deplete. She’d missed lunch, too, which didn’t help. Still, she could head off soon, when Rafe had deemed her end of the bargain held up, and go back to the hotel for a much-needed shower and some dinner. She sent a mental note of thanks to Graeme—due to his ingenuity, she didn’t have far to go to get back to her hotel, either. Awesome.
British Bad Boys: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set Page 11