High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  “Yes.” His arm snuggled behind her lower back. “It’s about time we did something. I was thinking.” He turned to her. “What about a mini holiday?”

  Cass tripped her fingers up his pants leg.

  He groaned and trapped her hand.

  The driver watched them gravely for a few seconds in the rearview mirror before impassively flicking her attention back to the front view.

  Where could they go, given that she didn’t want to fly? What about …

  “Venice!” she said.

  “Venice? Good choice.”

  “I’ve never been to Italy.”

  “That’s almost criminal. But I won’t harp on about it. My travel in the States has been limited. Venezia, Italia, here we come.”

  Wow, he was actually serious about this. “When?”

  “That one’s easy. I have a week off after three weeks in Asia. So, four weeks from now?”

  “Sounds good.”

  The car turned off the highway, and Cass saw a sign for the hotel. Minutes later they pulled onto a small hedgerow-lined drive.

  “Lunch?” he asked as the bell-hop took their luggage.

  “I’m starving,” she admitted.

  Ronan was right about the massive grounds. Danesfield House in Buckinghamshire sat perched on a hilltop with expansive views toward Chiltern Hills with its woods and gentle waterfalls. He’d stayed there a few times, and assured her that the facilities and cuisine were top notch. As if she cared.

  Both Ronan and Anderson took their stays at four-star hotels and meals at Michelin-rated restaurants for granted. She’d lived half her life as a pilot in a doublewide trailer at an airport, grabbing a bite at the local diner. Yet while neither man was remotely stuck-up or snobbish, they were comfortable living in the lap of luxury in a way she wasn’t, and would never be. “Are we anywhere close to where you grew up?”

  A flicker of distaste crossed his expression. “I’m from Tunbridge Wells, south of London, a good eighty miles from here.” He leaned back heavily in his chair glancing around. She stared at him, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “Blue-collar? Upper-crusty? I’m not familiar with the area, and I’m curious about your background.”

  “Upper-middle, on the cusp of upper-crusty, as you’d say. Until it all fell apart.”

  She propped her chin into her hands. “Do you ever go back?”

  “No.” Ronan swiped a hand through his hair. “After everything went down with my father, my mother moved to New York and remarried. I’ve two half-siblings over there I’ve met a couple times in London.”

  “Not close then?”

  “She’s got her own life. Quite happy with her new man and two daughters.”

  “I see.”

  “I do call her on her birthday but that’s about the extent of it.”

  “I get it. Anderson and I were never estranged, but we’ve only become close since my visit here. How long will you be in England?”

  “I’ve got ’til Wednesday. Have to see the engineers back at the garages in Silverstone and start preparing for Asia. You know, already setting the clock forward and all that.”

  He filled her in on race preparations, the constant adjustments to the vehicles, the stringent test runs, the physical fitness routines. His comments were eye opening to someone like her who had once thought F1 drivers lived a charmed life. They didn’t. A prisoner had more liberties.

  “Ronan to Cass. Come in, Cass.”

  “Oh!” She put down her glass and smiled. “Sorry.”

  “I said, do you want another drink or will we, um, check out the room furnishings?”

  “The furnishings,” she smiled, licking the remnants of the drink from her lips. “Yes to checking out the room. You never know. The standards may have slipped since the last time you stayed here.”

  “Then we need a thorough test,” he said, guiding her along.

  Fifteen minutes later she sat on the edge of the bed while he stood over her, watching, his chest heaving as she tore open the packet and pulled out the rubber disc. She took him in her hand, and he grunted. She cupped his balls, which were already taut against his body, and put her mouth on him.

  He backed up a step as a shudder ripped through him and said hoarsely, “Whoa. I can’t … don’t do that, I’m barely hanging on just looking at you.”

  She met his intense, hazel gaze, rolled the condom on, and he pushed her back on the bed, into the soft, cold, white sheets. She shivered, though whether from nerves, excitement, or the chill in the room, she couldn’t have said. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her hands stroking his body shoulder to thigh, lingering to yank his hips hard against her. There was so much of him, and he radiated heat.

  He pressed his mouth to her, holding his body above her with his hands on the bed. She arched and moaned beneath him, wanting the press of his flesh against hers. He rolled off to the side and stroked one shaking hand down the front of her body. He stopped to cup one breast and toy with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers, his eyes half shut with arousal.

  She bit her lip, holding back a moan.

  Never breaking eye contact, he ran the wide palm of his hand down over her stomach as her muscles there twitched and fluttered. He rubbed her, sliding one finger into her; her body clenched around it, and he drew in a sharp breath at her gasp. Another finger joined the first as his thumb circled her.

  “I know you want to take it slow,” she gasped out, “but … next time. I want you inside me now ... please.”

  She stared up into his face, memorizing every line, his skin stretched taut with pleasure, his cheeks flushed.

  Her body throbbed against his hand as his fingers continued to pulse into her body and he stroked her clit. She gripped his wrist and wrested it away. She was on the verge, and she’d be damned if she came without him.

  Silently, Ronan spread her legs and entered her slowly, inch by inch, until she was scouring his back with her nails, sobbing in her urgency to have him inside.

  He stared down at her, giving her time to adjust, but her orgasm was upon her. Before he’d even entered her fully, she closed her eyes, arching up to him as she came apart with a garbled cry.

  His eyes were wild, and they never left hers as he pumped into her, over and over until at last he came with a guttural groan. He rolled his heavy, heaving body off her, settled her into the crook where his arm met his chest, and she faded out with the vision of his hazel eyes softening as he gazed at her.

  • • •

  She leaned on the counter in the vanity and laid her forehead on the cold mirror—anything to avoid that face in the reflection—hating her bloodshot eyes with their dark rings. She’d never been one to wear much makeup, but these days she needed to buy stock in concealer. There was no disguising the haunted depths of her eyes, but she could at least make an attempt to hide the dark circles. When had she last slept through the night? The alcohol numbed her but made the nights restless and nightmare-ridden. Ronan had shaken her awake twice last night, hauling her into his big, warm body for comfort after her subconscious had taken her back to that night in the desert. She’d lain in his arms until he’d fallen back asleep, then had disentangled herself and crept from the bed.

  She pressed her hands on the vanity as her heart rate accelerated.

  Pulling up the tap lever for the tap, she filled the hotel glass. Took one sip, then another. Then her hand was shaking too badly to hold the glass and she put it down on the counter.

  Oh God. Not here.

  She cast a desperate glance at the door. It’s 7:00 A.M. He’d be waking any minute to head to the gym.

  “Cass?” His sleepy voice came from the door.

  Calm down. Just calm down.

  The shaking intensified, her heart thudded against her sternum. She searched the mirror, barely recognizing the flushed, terrified woman reflected at her.

  She backed up two steps, slid down the wall to the floor, panting, and wrapped her arms around her knees.<
br />
  Oh God, oh God.

  Her brain was telling her she wasn’t dying, but her body was sending another message entirely.

  “Cass? Need to use the loo.” Ronan rapped lightly.

  “Just a … just …” She clenched her chattering teeth, her body drenched in cold sweat.

  “Cass?” He sounded concerned now.

  “D-d-d-don’t …” she whispered.

  How long had she been in here freaking out? Was it getting better or worse?

  The door opened, Ronan stuck his head in, holding a hand in front of his eyes, probably worried about what he might see. “You, uh …”

  “Here,” she managed.

  He looked down. “Cassidy, what the hell?”

  “Panic.”

  He crouched down, gathered her up, and took her to the bedroom, where he sat with her in his lap on the edge of the bed.

  She hung on to him, cheeks wet, the shaking finally diminishing, though her heart was still thundering.

  Ronan stroked a hand down her back—long, comforting strokes, calming her.

  He held her long after her heart rate went back to normal. Long after she needed him.

  He started to speak but she covered his lips with a trembling finger.

  Easing her out of his arms, he laid her in the bed, covering her with the sheets and comforter.

  He left, and it was all she could do not to call him back. She heard the toilet flush, the water run, then shut off. The bed sagged as he climbed back in, pulling her into his body, holding her tightly, almost too tightly.

  “Jesus, Cass, that was scary,” he whispered into her hair. “Can we talk about it? Do you need a doctor or—”

  “No doctor. Later, please? I just need sleep,” she begged.

  The heat radiating from his body, the comforting thud of his heart lulled her to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  “It’s not just China,” Ronan said softly, taking her hand in his, helping her into the private car that would take them to Silverstone. “It’s Japan and Malaysia, too. Actually, Japan’s first.”

  Cass squirmed in the seat. After a late night, planning a jet-setting schedule was headache inducing. Or was that a remnant of her panic attack this morning?

  “It’ll be a full month,” she said.

  “Right, but then Venice.”

  “Then Venice.”

  They’d had to leave the hotel by noon as Ronan was on a tight schedule. He was going to drop her off at Anderson’s hotel in Silverstone and drive on to the garages where his engineering team was headquartered.

  “I don’t think I can face the travel to Asia right now.” She studied his reaction in profile. All she could see was a slight denting in his cheek muscle and two rapid blinks. He turned to her. “That’s okay. It’s a grueling schedule.” He grinned. “I’m tempted to skip it, too, and, you know, do some extracurricular stuff.”

  She cleared her throat. “Any of those tracks lucky for you then?”

  “They’d be luckier if you were there.”

  “Be serious. Besides, you still have the panties, yes?”

  “Of course. And I am serious.”

  “I’d like to be there,” she said, “it’s just … it’s just the flight, you know? The flying is … hard. I have to get very drunk,” she admitted. “That’s how I managed to get over here. Poor Anderson. And then the state I was in going from Brussels to the UAE, I … I’m probably on some kind of watch list.”

  “I didn’t realize. At least, not until this morning. Is that what happens if you fly?”

  She nodded, staring out the window.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” He’d seen more than enough this morning. Rehashing it wouldn’t help him, or her.

  “How many of those have you had?”

  She turned back to him. His expression was concerned as the driver turned onto the highway.

  “I don’t want to—”

  “Talk about it. Yeah. I know. Tough. We’re talking about it. Is this because of the accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  She remained mute.

  “Is it expected after a … trauma?”

  She shrugged. “I assume. I was told I might have nightmares. Grief. You know.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I’ve never had that kind of experience.”

  “I just want to forget it.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t there someone you should be talking to? Or—”

  Her fists clenched. Why did they all think a shrink was the magic bullet? And why did everyone from Anderson to her mother to Ronan couch it in the same terms: “someone you should talk to,” which implied “not me, I don’t know what to say” and “I don’t want to know.” The truth was they didn’t want to know. Didn’t even ask. Which was just as well because none of them could handle knowing what had gone down in the desert that night. How responsible she really was for the death of another person. And knowing that made her relationships feel like a lie. “I did talk to a crisis management team when it happened. We’re required to. Then I had the meetings with the investigative teams from my company, the Federal Aviation Authority, everyone.”

  “Then tell me about the job.”

  “The job?”

  “Yeah. You know enough about mine. I’d like to hear about yours.”

  “Think of me as an ambulance driver in the sky.”

  He laughed. “Think of me as a test car driver. Try again, Cass.”

  She exhaled a long breath. “I work in a pretty remote area in Arizona. My helicopter is, was, stationed at a small airport. About half of the calls we get are inter-hospital transport—small hospital to more specialized one. The rest are scene calls—”

  “Accidents?”

  “Yes—motor vehicle accidents, snakebites in the back country, stuff like that.”

  “Wow. So you land where exactly?”

  “Hospitals or on the scene. If it’s a scene call, law enforcement and the fire department usually get to the scene first and set up a landing zone away from power lines and trees and stuff.”

  “During the day?”

  “Day, night, whenever.”

  “Wait. You land at these places at night?”

  “Well, yeah, Ronan, there are accidents everywhere, night and day. So to get as close to the scene as we can, we land on highways, in elementary school parking lots, wherever we can find a safe spot.”

  “And you think my job is dangerous?”

  “We wear night vision goggles.”

  “Cool.”

  “Way cool.”

  “You love it,” he said, his tone registering surprise. “It’s not just a job.”

  “Loved it,” she corrected. She turned back to stare out the window, gloom settling over the car. “It was never just a job.”

  There was a long pause until Ronan said, “What will you do in London? I can give you a whole list of activities, you know.”

  “Like what? I’m not going to stand outside Buckingham Palace or watch Phantom of the goddamn Opera, or go to a wax museum.”

  “You’ll see. There’s a lot to do. And I’m going to Skype you for a full report of course.” He caught her eye. “Every day.”

  She smiled. “Oh goody.”

  • • •

  “I’m not going to China,” Cass announced an hour later, watching her father take the last swallow of his coffee. The hotel restaurant was deserted. Her mind and body were horribly sober. They’d be leaving for London within the next half hour.

  Her father set down the porcelain cup. “I figured. I’ll be gone three weeks though. You can stay in my London flat. That way you can walk or Tube anywhere you need to go. Or would you rather go home?”

  “I’m not ready to go home.”

  “Well, you know where the race is after Asia, don’t you?”

  “Texas.”

  “Will you come with me to the Texas race?”

  “Why not?�
�� Her reply was breezy, but her blood ran cold. Texas was only a few hundred miles from Arizona. She’d done her EMS flight training there. She could drive home from Texas. It seemed Anderson was ready to send her back. And who could blame him? There was plenty of speculation already about her and Ronan. The F1 sponsor community was a small one. It had to be more awkward for Anderson than he was letting on.

  “It'll be Thanksgiving a few days after the Circuit of The Americas race. Why don’t you join Mom, Jim, and me for an early celebration?” If she was going to face her mother and stepfather, she could use Anderson’s moral support. Jim hadn’t let up. She had six unopened emails in her box. More nagging about finding a flying job before the investigation was complete, no doubt.

  “Cass,” he leaned forward, “is that what you want?” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’d be happy to go. I’ll email your mother and see if it’s acceptable to her.”

  Cass stared at him. “You’d be willing to do that, with Jim there?”

  Anderson signaled the waiter for the check with a raised hand. “I’ll stay at a hotel, of course, but sure. You know there’s no animosity between your mother and me.”

  He signed his name on the slip and rose, obviously delighted with himself. “Sounds like a terrific plan.”

  “And you and Jim?”

  “Don’t worry, Cassidy.” He extended a hand to help her up. “I’ve no quarrel with the man who helped raised you and helped you find your passion in life. He did a damned fine job.”

  She squelched the impulse to hurl herself into Anderson’s arms.

  • • •

  Three weeks—nearly a whole month in London. A normal person would grab a friend to chatter and mindlessly shop with. But as girlfriends were thin on the ground, even back home, she was going to have to switch into waiting mode gracefully. Funny, just a month ago this solitude was exactly what she’d yearned for, what she’d followed Anderson to Europe for. Now it yawned before her like a prison sentence.

  Ronan saying he’d Skype was all very well, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d gone to bed alone the past five nights as he travelled to Japan and adjusted to the time zone. His one Skype call had been very late at night for him, and he’d needed to get to bed. She sat on the vast bed afterward, raiding her father’s bar guiltily until getting slightly drunk. In fact, that had been the pattern since he’d left. She hadn’t even had the wherewithal to go out to a liquor store and buy a decent bottle of bourbon.