High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  “I’m doing it for you,” he said, rolling over and smearing the cream on her back, making her shiver. “And only once for that matter.”

  “Okay,” she squirmed under his attentive touch. “And it’s already helped me keep my job. Oh I wish we didn’t have to go to London and Japan and Brazil and China.”

  “Don’t forget Russia,” he said trailing his tongue across her shoulder.

  “God,” she giggled, “that, too.”

  She knew with such a grueling schedule, these romantic interludes would be chopped to a minimum. They’d be jetlagged, dealing with logistics, dodgy infrastructure, transfers, customs officials and setting up studios in places where the languages made everything take ten times longer. As an F1 girlfriend, she’d skipped some of the more challenging destinations, especially when packed together in succession. Now she had to take it in her stride and still look perky on TV.

  But as long as she did see him, that was all that mattered.

  Chapter 22

  Suzuka, Japan

  Of all the stupid situations to be in, this was the worst. It was enough to make Adam want to take a seat in economy class. Only an hour into the eight-hour flight from Madrid to Nagoya, his nerves were raw from dealing with Reece’s mind games. Whose idea had it been to book them beside each other? This would be a bumpy ride.

  Reece had a no-finish in Barcelona, and this was probably the reason for all this asshole behavior. He’d come in third, and Maddux had clinched his first win.

  “Watch a film, Fontaine,” Reece said straight after the pilot announcement, slotting his headphones into the armrest. “It’ll help you relax.”

  “You’re the one who needs to relax.”

  “Or you can talk to me. How’s your lovely sister these days?”

  “Getting married,” he retorted. Two years ago, Reece had met Saskia when she’d come to Adam’s second race, in Texas, risking the wrath of Dad in doing so. Reece had, of course, singled her out and lavished his attention on her. Adam had been friends with him then and actually encouraged it. God forbid. She’d had a lucky escape because Reece had had a sponsor meeting that night. He’d hate to think what might have happened.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “A Californian. You don’t know him.”

  “Do you?” Reece scoffed. “Considering how much time you spend at Emily’s Hill.”

  “I’m going to watch a film.” Adam yanked out the remote control and pressed the first film that came up in the menu.

  “Who’re you bringing?” Reece asked before he could put on the headphones.

  “None of your business.”

  “Hmm. Look, Adam, this life”—the Englishman motioned around the tastefully lit, first-class cabin—“is good, I’ll grant you, but it’s a touch unreal, wouldn’t you say? A sister’s wedding is real. You need someone real to hold on to.”

  Adam dropped the headphones in his lap and looked out the window. This advice was so ironic, he’d just let Reece hang himself with his words.

  “We drivers … we’re a strange breed and we need real people in our lives.”

  “The people in your life are 100 percent real are they, Reece?” Adam pictured the anatomically enhanced grid girls that perpetually surrounded the bastard off the circuit.

  “Well, I’m going through a phase, but I did have Alice.”

  Okay, he did have Alice, the nice, normal Italian girl, last year for about four months. Adam had heard about it but not seen it. Four months would be a record for Reece. Had it actually meant something? Hard to believe, but he wasn’t about to get sucked into this pointless conversation. Reece was obviously after something. “That’s nice, Reece, maybe you should get her back if she meant that much.”

  “Yeah.” Reece fiddled with his own remote control now, tapping the buttons in agitation.

  Adam sank back to watch the film, not quite sure who’d won that round.

  • • •

  He bolted awake when the announcement came for Nagoya Airfield. Amazingly, he’d slept most of the trip. Things were looking up already. As countries went, Japan was soothing—the quiet, gentle, unassuming people left you alone, and the foreignness of the writing system prevented one’s brain from going into overdrive assimilating the information all around.

  He tossed the travel bag over his shoulder and exited from arrivals alongside Chad. He’d succeeded in separating from Reece at immigration control. Judging by the shrill acoustics of the crowd on the other side, there were a lot of young women—Reece fans, no doubt. He checked his phone for a signal—always touch and go with these carriers. He couldn’t wait to hear Vivienne’s voice back in London. She wouldn’t be here for another four days.

  “Would you look at that,” Chad said when they passed through to arrivals. He pointed at a bevy of what looked to be schoolgirls waving and cheering.

  “What? Japanese people in Japan?”

  “No, you idiot. Look at who they’re shouting for.”

  Adam turned his attention to the placard one was carrying. The girl carrying it bounced up and down in the excitement of being noticed. The placard was a huge black and white shot of him in sunglasses, in dire need of a shave, taken God knows where.

  They started clamoring—there must have been fifty at least—and they squeezed past each other and past other normal people to get closer to him. He shrank back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Smile, for crying out loud.” Chad beamed at the girls and waved his chubby arm, eliciting a cheer. “See? They’re mad for you. Even I’m getting adoration by association.”

  Adam grimaced. Their squeals amplified the closer they got to the railings. Now they were near enough to reach out and grab him, which some of them did. The sea of thin, milky arms, clutching smartphones, clambering for his attention, dark heads bobbing in enthusiastic greeting, overwhelmed him. A flutter of homemade banners featured more shots of him he’d never seen before, with assorted hearts and other symbols he couldn’t understand. Incredible.

  Cameras flashed—professional ones, too, not iPhones. The Japanese press was here. Adam made an honest effort to smile, but it seemed so at odds with how he was actually feeling. All he wanted was a dark, quiet bedroom and the company of one woman who wasn’t due to arrive for another four long days.

  In the serenity of his white hotel room at the Suzuka circuit, he rang Saskia to get the latest on Dad, more for her sake than his. She’d be devastated if Dad couldn’t walk her down the aisle in December.

  He’d had another “episode.” Saskia hadn’t been there herself, but one of their new hires had known to ring 911 immediately.

  Adam clutched the edge of the duvet. He’d not expected a repeat incident. But it looked like Dad wasn’t bluffing. This was serious.

  “New hires?” he asked, trying to deflect attention from his alarm.

  “We’ve, like, a steady stream of visitors now with your Fontaine Fans website. It was one of them who stayed with Dad the most in the hospital—this old dame whose husband follows your team. She was even wearing your green shirt. It was the first thing Dad remarked on when he came around.”

  “What? Why would she—? T-shirt?”

  “Yeah, we’re getting, like, about six groups a day now because of your site. We’ve hired extra staff, Adam. Don’t tell me you don’t know this?”

  “I had no idea. But Dad hates them.”

  Saskia’s loud sigh came over the line, a hiss of static. “We’re doing great financially because of them, and they’re nice, even if they don’t know the first thing about wine. So much nicer than the wine snobs. Dad’s happy; he can pawn off the bad stuff on them. He’s more worried about his health, Adam. As am I.”

  • • •

  When Vivienne arrived at his door four days later during qualifiers, Adam lifted her up in a huge embrace, devouring her face with kisses. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “Hey, it’s only been a few days,” she said, chuckling.

  “Fa
r too long. It’s been terrible—rear wing problems, and the track’s deteriorated since two years ago. But never mind. How’ve you been? How was your trip?”

  “Fine, yours?”

  “Great. I got attacked by a squad of Japanese girls at the airport, and every time I leave the room, I worry they’ll follow me and smother me. I don’t think I’d cope.”

  She nudged him. “Oh, I think you rather like the attention.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Hmm. I can see I may have some competition now.” Her eyes shone, teasing him, but there was an edge to her voice. Could she—possibly—be jealous? Even slightly? He laughed aloud.

  “What’s so funny?” She frowned, digging her toe into the carpet.

  “Vivienne? You cannot be serious.”

  She turned to him, eyes widening as if belatedly understanding his meaning. “No, of course not, dummy. It was me who encouraged this to happen, remember? I engineered this.”

  “Precisely. You engineered it.”

  “So, of course I don’t mind if you get mobbed by a bunch of perfect, porcelain-faced Japanese girls and it gets broadcasted on prime time news in downtown Nagoya. Not in the slightest. Okay, I’m mildly peeved.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling and pulling her into him. “Let’s see what they’re up against, shall we?”

  She responded immediately, as her body latched on to his. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his tongue prized her lips apart. Her eyes widened, her hips pressed against him and she moaned. Just watching her surrender so quickly to his touch made him determined to make her climax loudly. His hard cock twitched in recognition of her naked lust.

  “Now,” she said cupping his groin in her hand. “Inside me.”

  He scrambled for the condom in his back pocket.

  She swiped it off him, rolling it onto him. “No thinking, Adam, just do it. Now,” she ordered. Her face was hard, her nostrils flaring.

  He pushed her back across the duvet, parted her thighs, and entered her with such force that her head banged against the headboard. She gasped.

  “Oh God, sorry,” he said.

  “No, Adam, it’s good.” Her body was slick and so ready for him. He lost all control, thrusting into her. Just when he felt he might be too rough, she hooked on to him with her legs, drawing him in with a viciousness that urged him to pump even harder, faster.

  He liked her when she was jealous.

  She strained against him as she climaxed again, arching with a force that pushed his hips upward. At his moment of release seconds later, he opened his eyes and found her staring at him, pupils so huge they swallowed her irises. He lost himself in that shared communication. He heard his own voice groaning out, and he collapsed on her.

  • • •

  “It is quite a nice change from being booed off the circuit,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow hours later at 3:00 a.m. when Viv stirred and opened her eyes. It was difficult to sleep with her smooth curves molding into him. He kept wanting to wake her up and repeat their lovemaking.

  What was it about her he couldn’t get enough of? Yes, she was beautiful and smart and independent and yet passionate about people—passionate about him. He’d always kept his relationships far from work, but with her, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. And no relationship had ever turned so serious so quickly.

  He tickled her nose with a stray feather that had escaped from the duvet.

  “You see?” she murmured, still half asleep. “I bet you feel a lot more relaxed now going into the race on Sunday, even with Suzuka’s high-speed corners.”

  “I do.” He trailed his hand down her cheek. “But that’s not because of any manga girls.”

  She smiled, and her eyelids fluttered and closed.

  He watched her breath come and go in her chest, and tenderness squeezed his heart. “When this is over in four months, I’ll give you all the time you deserve—if you want it.”

  No reply. She was asleep. But her mouth curled up to one side as if she was dreaming something pleasant.

  • • •

  Viv traipsed groggily down to the hotel lounge to have a call with Mack. The time difference meant she had to get up at five, but with all the globetrotting of recent months, her inner clock had no clue what time it was supposed to be anyway.

  “Having fun out there?” Mack wanted to know.

  “Well,” she coughed, “I’ve just got here. But I’m all set up and ready to go.”

  “Good.” He yawned audibly. It was bedtime for him. “Now, you know how we’re playing this. Japan is neutral territory, so ramp up the rivalry aspect in your commentary. We want a nice little three-minute piece on the Marlowe-Fontaine bickering before the main commentary on Sunday. That’ll set the stage nicely for Catherine’s interview back in London next week.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Fontaine’s got some freak following over there. He’s big in Japan. Play it up. Give it some sparkle for once. Girls screaming. All at Fontaine. Then some screaming at Reece, that kind of thing. If you can get the fans to mud wrestle, all the better. That’s what we want, isn’t it?”

  “Um, yes, it’s how we’ve played it all along.”

  Mack wheezed with laughter. “Do I detect a note of possessiveness? That’s what we want—emotion. Go on with you.” He broke off the call.

  Viv sat, twisting the phone around in her lap. What did Mack mean by that? Possessiveness as in Adam being her pet psychology project, or something closer to the truth entirely? She headed to reception to inquire about the possibility of getting coffee this early. There was no way she could sleep now.

  Why had this project seemed so important to her anyway? Now that Adam had become popular, all it did was make the press about him even more ridiculous, vindicating all his reservations.

  The lone receptionist, a twenty-something model of perky perfection, straightened to attention when she approached.

  “Well, I’m wondering if I could get some coffee this early?”

  “Yes, they have set up the restaurant for breakfast. Please go this way, and they will help you, Mrs. Ah ...”

  “McCloud. Ms.”

  Viv sank down onto a seat near the window in the dark restaurant. A kitchen maid had telepathically received the message that she needed caffeine and brought her a huge silver pot of coffee. As she sipped the piping hot coffee, she watched the sky grow pink and then orange as the sun rose slowly. The setting, gently fragranced by fresh orchids, was so conducive to quiet contemplation.

  Mrs. McCloud. The receptionist’s innocent words mocked the complexity of her relationship. Her relationships, plural. She would be thirty in January, and she looked old enough to be a Mrs., but she felt light years away from matrimony.

  What was she doing, risking not only her job, but also her heart by following Adam this far in the game—the sixth-to-last race. This was so different from her relationship with Ronan. Yes, they were both tenacious F1 drivers, but her connection with Ronan had been all surface and mirrors. Attraction, camaraderie, but nothing even approaching the depth she had with Adam.

  She loved so many things about Adam. His innate honesty—he had no idea how to sugarcoat anything and was all the more trustworthy for that. His intensity, while not uncommon in F1 drivers, sent a charge through her. He cared so passionately about cars and races, it should’ve been a blot against him after her experience with single-minded F1 drivers, but it wasn’t. She admired it in him.

  She’d felt this way about ballet in her youth, but she’d given the dancing life up. Her personality didn’t lend itself to being so single-minded for all of her life. People and real life distracted her in the best way possible. Journalism had a draw on her for these very reasons, but it didn’t consume her. The only thing consuming her thoughts right now was Adam.

  And yet Adam seemed incapable of holding a conversation in either the future or the past tense. The past to him was dead. His future lasted until the next race and then drew a blan
k. This guy took living in the present to a whole other level.

  He had no plan for failure, and failure was defined by anything less than first place. And that was the hell of it. He’d been right when he’d said it was all about winning. They had blinders on, the lot of them—and she was a big-picture person. One who liked to know where she was headed—career, family, location. Back in Montreal, he’d said he’d get out when he won, but that was before they were together, before he had to be careful about what he said. Could she trust him on that?

  And what if he didn’t win? She wasn’t about to play second string to a car for the next decade. He’d move on to the next season with even harder determination than he had coming into this one. And if he won? Same thing, except he’d be jealously defending his title, just like Reece was doing this year. Why was she drawn to men like this? Men whose profession made them so unavailable?

  What about her own profession? If she came out in one piece at the other end of this BBC stint, she’d still need a job. And what would they give her? What did she want? She couldn’t imagine covering footballers and that whole scene. Olympic coverage perhaps? Or local UK reporting—but as a newcomer who looked good in front of the camera, they’d give her the fluff between the news. No matter how serious she tried to look with short hair and glasses, producers always wanted to put her in the fluff.

  Maybe she could do serious reporting in the United States. Maybe then she and Adam could let themselves go, allow the truth to be known. She wouldn’t ever have to go back to F1.

  But until then, she had to play the game right. The worst thing she could do now was to appear unprofessional and let her emotions impair her reporting ability. If anyone found out about her relationship with Adam, at least they wouldn’t be able to replay footage of her reporting and laugh in hindsight at how biased she’d been. No, she’d always erred on the side of cold where Adam was concerned. And, regardless of what Mack said, she’d continue to do so.

  She felt a presence behind her and swung around.

  “Adam!”

  “May I join you?”