Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by O'Connor, Brynn

  “Come on doc, aren’t you going to find out why?”

  “I-I’m n-not your doctor.”

  “Okay Nurse Carrie, I just think that maybe you should get a closer look.” he insists.

  Before I can form a suitable reply he takes two steps towards me, closing the distance between our two bodies. I start to step back when his hands find my hips and he pulls me into his body and his very rigid member. I let out an involuntary gasp as his manhood presses insistently against my groin. I can feel my body respond to his. I put my hands against his amazing, bare chest with the thought of pushing him away but I just can’t seem to do it.

  His hands run up my body. I lift my head, a protest on the tip of my tongue when his mouth finds mine and desire completely overtakes me. His hands find the fastener on my own fire proof suit and he begins to strip me bare. Within seconds my Nomex suit, bra and panties are around my ankles, and before I can think about being self-conscious about it he’s lifting me onto the exam table.

  I know I shouldn’t be doing this. Unprofessionalism like this can ruin the career of a team nurse faster than a car can go around the track. But I can’t help it. I am beyond caring for anything but what my body is demanding. My hands push his head down and my hips thrust upward, meeting his hot mouth.

  “What the hell’s taking so long?” calls a voice from the doorway.

  Harvey bursts into the trauma room. His mouth hangs open, he’s gawking like a schoolboy. Shit!

  “Uh sorry—” Marco begins.

  Harvey overcomes his shock and thankfully exits the room.

  “Uh...I’ll just wait out here,” he says as the door closes.

  “Dammit Marco!” I shout. I can’t get him off me fast enough.

  “Hey settle down,” he replies.

  “This was supposed to be a medical exam!” I holler as I grab my bra and panties.

  “Hey,” he protests, “You wanted it too. Putting your hand on my bare hip. You started it!”

  “What?” I shout. I reach down, grab one of his shoes and launch it at his smiling face.

  The shoe ricochets off his forehead. I pick up another shoe and throw it. This one strikes him in the chest and falls to the floor between us.

  “Are you done yet?” he barks, beginning to get a little angry.

  I chuck the shoe straight at his head, but he ducks. The door opens, and this time its Enzo, our Red Bull sponsor, who takes it in the chin. I am so angry I don’t even notice that I’m still stark naked and must look like a raving lunatic. Enzo though doesn’t appear to be too upset about the whole shoe thing and just bends over to pick it up without taking his eyes off my body. I grab my race suit and do my best to cover myself from three sets of prying eyes. Harvey is back in the room and is all too happy to be here.

  “Can we have a little privacy here?” Marco finally says. He takes one menacing step towards the two men who quickly back out, shutting the door in front of them. Marco turns to me, an ugly look beginning to creep onto his face. “Now, if you’re finished with your little tantrum, will you please get dressed. I still have some work to do and you’re supposed to be in the pit with the rest of the crew.”

  Slowly the reality of my situation sinks in. As I get dressed I wonder if this is the last time I’ll be putting on the red, blue, and silver Red Bull pit crew suit. Marco seems to guess my thoughts and his face softens. He smiles and walks over to me.

  “It’s fine, Carrie. I’m sure this isn’t the first time a driver has had relations with a member of his team. You don’t have to worry about losing your job, if that’s what you’re thinking. My job may be on the line, and I may lose my ride for next year, but for now, I’m all Team Panata has and if I go they all go. It’s actually in everybody’s best interests if I’m happy and driving well. I want you on my team and no one’s going to fire you because of this little incident. Like I said, I’m sure this is not the first time something like this has happened.”

  While I appreciate his little speech here, I can’t help but wonder something. Has he ever been involved in one of these little incidents that he claims probably happens every once in a while? I wonder how many other pit crew girls he has given that speech to. He seems to read my thoughts.

  “In case you’re wondering Carrie, this is a first for me. So no, I haven’t given this little speech before. And besides, in case you haven’t noticed, females are scarce when it comes to the teams. You’re in a man’s world, Carrie.”

  We finish dressing in an uncomfortable silence and leave the room; exam unfinished. I doubt anyone’s going to complain about it though. We have a race to get ready for, so people’s minds are going to be on everything but our indiscretions.

  The moment I enter the pit crew area I discover just how wrong I am. Suddenly there are ten pairs of crew members simulating the ‘exam’ that just went down. Wow, news spreads fast around here. I refuse to be baited and just keep my eyes down and refuse to be drawn into any conversation that has to do with anything other than racing. After a minute or two everyone realizes their little joke is just not that funny and they give up and return to the task at hand, winning the upcoming race.

  Chapter Four

  Practice Run

  “You can’t fix stupid…” Larry Morgan

  Marco

  Marco Panata’s practice run at Atlanta Motor Speedway...

  “You got your head in the game now Marco?” asks my crew chief Alanzo.

  “As opposed to where his head was a minute ago?” my Red Bull sponsor sneers.

  Geeze, the hell I’m gonna catch for what just happened. Well I was hoping I’d catch it some other damn day! It’s gonna be hard enough to concentrate today.

  “Looks like he’s still got Carrie on the brain...” says Craig, my gas man.

  “Yeah, kinda like water on the brain,” Alanzo replies, “only the swelling happens someplace else.”

  “Very funny guys, very funny.”

  I climb into my new number 77 and strap myself in. The conditions are ideal for a practice run. There’s a cool breeze, the track is dry but not too hot. Ideal for the tires I’m running right now. As I start revving her up my spotter checks in.

  “How ya feelin’ Panata?”

  “I’m ready to tear it up!”

  “Show us what she’s got!”

  The moment I pull out of the pit area and onto the track I know something is wrong...really wrong. I’d have a lot more credibility with my team had I known exactly what was wrong before nearly putting myself into the wall at the first turn. I screech to a halt just inches from the concrete barrier.

  “Something wrong boss?” asks my spotter.

  “I can’t get her to make a left turn. What the hell you guys do to her?”

  For an answer all I hear is laughter coming from my team. Boiling over with frustration I climb out. I’m done for the day. I rip my helmet off and throw it to the ground. The reality of my situation hammers me right between the eyes. Those idiots! They turned my damn car around. If I hadn’t been so distracted by the whole Carrie episode I’d have noticed before I even climbed in. I give my helmet a swift kick for good measure and hoof it back to the pit area and my waiting crew.

  “Very funny,” I snap. “Very fucking funny, guys. Are we really doing so well we can burn through a practice session with childish pranks?”

  Ignoring their apologies, I stomp off to my trailer to cool down. They just about put me into the wall with their lame ass joke! Well...in retrospect, had my head really been in the game the joke wouldn’t have gone as far as it did. I really do need to get out there and put some time in this new car or I’m gonna be in worse trouble come Sunday.

  The next four hours behind the wheel are some of the roughest laps I have ever turned in a race car. Murphy’s Law is in full effect. I start out over steering but when I come into the pit, they over correct and the next corner puts me in the grass in the middle of the track. Then my tire carriers bring the wrong set of tires over the wall and my
tire changers don’t catch the mistake. They set me up for running hot on a day when the surface temperatures aren’t even pushing eighty and I’m all over the place. On the last pit Carl, my Jack man, fails to get out of the way and I end up running over his foot. What a day. The only good thing about today, well aside from my little exam with Nurse Carrie, is that today wasn’t a race day.

  Carrie

  Monday Evening…

  I’m just sitting down with my second glass of Pinot Noir when there’s a knocking on my door. It’s gotta be Rachael. No one else comes by at. I look at my watch. No one ever comes by this late except Rachael.

  “It’s open!” I holler. I hear my door open then close again. “Perfect timing Rachael, I was just sitting down—”

  I turn around as I’m speaking, and when I see who it is that’s really dropped by, my glass just about ends up on the floor. I barely recover and set it on the kitchen counter.

  “Sorry to ambush you like this Doc, but I really would appreciate it if you would finish the exam.”

  “You really think that’s wise?” I ask.

  “I promise, I’ll be 100% gentleman, no funny business.”

  “You know I could lose my job if Dr. Collins catches wind of our little escapade this afternoon.” Dr. Collins is the team physician and oversees Rachael and I and the rest of the medical staff.

  “Not to worry Doc, nobody’s telling anyone about it,” Marco says.

  “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And I fail to see how this is going to be kept secret when the entire team knows about it.”

  “Yeah but they know who to tell and who to keep things from. They all like you and no one wants anyone to lose his job over this.”

  “Well I hope you’re right, because if I blow it on this team I’m finished with NASCAR for good!”

  “I know hun, I know.”

  “Then you should also know I’m not your hun, or sweetie, or dearie, or anything else you might think of. I’m your trauma nurse, so let’s try and keep this professional.”

  “Agreed. Hey is that your bedroom?”

  “No going back there. You stay where I can see you,” I protest.

  “Is this for me?” he asks, returning to my kitchen with the bottle of wine.

  “It was for Rachael, since I was sure you wouldn’t have the bad taste of coming by at this late hour.”

  “Hey, dial back the hostility will ya? You got my promise, I’m 100% gentleman.”

  He does seem sincere...but a part of me wishes he wasn’t. For some inexplicable reason I find myself wanting to be with him. Yeah, as bad an idea that is, I can’t help what my body responds to. And right now it’s responding to him...again. I decide to sit down on my couch. I’m suddenly feeling a bit wobbly on my feet.

  “You okay Doc?” he asks, walking over to the couch, taking a seat at the opposite end.

  I consider protesting him sitting there but that seems a bit extreme since he gave me his solemn promise twice. And besides, he wouldn’t dare come into my trailer and take advantage of me. He’d be kicked off the team in a heartbeat. As I sit here contemplating, I find myself sneaking glances in his direction. He is one handsome man, especially when he’s got a week’s worth of growth on his chin. His hair is damp and even from here I can smell whatever body wash he just used in the shower. And that’s where I lose it. Thinking about him in the shower. Dammit, if he would have just waited till after he comes over to shower I wouldn’t be thinking about his naked hard body right now. Two glasses of wine don’t help my ability to resist either. I rarely drink at all, and having two glasses of some strong wine is really catching up to me. I turn my body to where my knees are pointing in his direction. Big mistake. The short flimsy skirt I’m wearing decides to ride three quarters of the way up my thighs and it turns into a micro mini in the blink of an eye. This is not how this is supposed to be going.

  Of course the move is not lost on Mr. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman”, either. He shifts to face me as well. Now our knees are only a couple inches from each other and I can almost feel the electricity between us. This is not good.

  “So what brings you by?” I ask, for lack of a better thing to say.

  He sets his empty wine glass on the coffee table. “How do think I ran today?” he asks.

  “I really don’t remember, actually.”

  “Are you normally this detached?” he asks.

  “Hmm...I don’t know, never really thought about it.”

  “Right. I think you usually pay attention but today was...how shall we say...it was rather unforgettable, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re under a lot of stress Marco, and that’s affecting your concentration and your ability to function behind the wheel. You have a lot riding on these next few months, yes?”

  “That’s pretty much it. Just before my doctor sprung me, my crew chief and my primary sponsor Enzo, from Red Bull Italy, came by.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “No, it wasn’t. If I want to race next year for Team Panata, the team that carries my freaking name, if I don’t wanna lose my ride next year, I have to either place top ten in points or win at Daytona.”

  “How are you doing in points?” I ask.

  “Too far off to make it unless I win every single race for the remainder of the season.”

  “Well, we both know that’s not possible. Not even your father could have done that.”

  “Right. So that leaves Daytona. If I win at Daytona I get to keep my sponsor and my ride for another season. That’s why my brain is so fucking scrambled right now!”

  “So you’re saying I’ve gone and hitched my wagon to the wrong horse?” I ask. The minute that comes out of my mouth I regret it. That was a little too morose.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to whip your horse? He’s liable to bolt and you’ll lose your wagon as well.”

  “Sorry...I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You think I can get a refill?” he asks, picking up his empty wine glass.

  “Sure.”

  I refill both our glasses. This time when I sit down I notice he has moved closer to my side of the couch and his knees are about an inch from mine. At least I got the chance to return my skirt to its normal mid-thigh location.

  Over the next hour or so we talk about our favorite subject, NASCAR. There’s not really anything else that interests either of us. When I set my glass down again and turn to face Marco I’m suddenly aware of how much I’ve had to drink. My head, which was buzzing along rather pleasantly for much of the evening, has picked up the pace and is now spinning.

  When I turn to face Marco, I move a little too fast and sway, dangerously close to falling off the couch. Marco realizes it and is there in a flash to steady me. The only problem is that he happens to cop a feel in the process. The moment he realizes what he’s inadvertently done he jerks both his hands back and I end up falling unceremoniously onto the floor with a thud.

  “Sorry...sorry Doc, didn’t mean to let you fall...”

  “It’s my fault. I sat down kinda fast,” I glance at my empty glass. “And I don’t usually drink this much.”

  He lets me pick myself up off the floor, but this time when I sit, he’s so close that I’m practically in his lap. Before I know it we’re in each other’s arms and horizontal on my couch.

  “You promised to be a gentle—”

  He covers my mouth with his. There’s a battle raging in my mind. I swore I would never get involved with another driver after Danny, and here I am sprawled out with yet another driver. But we’re not actually involved, here. It’s just two consenting adults having some post-race practice fun...or something like that.

  A wandering hand tugging at the edge of my panties brings my mind back to the present. Marco’s hand slips beneath the thin material and an involuntary gasp escapes my lips as his palm cups my sex, forcing my legs farther apart. Without really meaning to, I find myself arching my back. I let out a long sigh as he lower
s his weight down onto me. I feel him pressing against me, and I lose all pretense of self-control. We undress each other in a hurry, and finally connect in that most intimate of ways.

  I can only thank god for the sound proof walls of my trailer, because damn do we put them to the test.

  Chapter Five

  The Atlanta Motor Speedway, the ADVOCARE 500…

  “To finish first, you must first finish…” —Rick Mears

  Carrie

  “Glad you decided to join me, Carrie.”

  Marco’s spotter, Harvey Klein, invited me up to stand with him in the spotter's stand during the race. It’s a rare honor and offers the best view of the track and the 43 cars running today. I have such a limited view from my spot in the pit area it gets really boring. Usually I have to sit in the hot sun with a thick fireproof Red Bull safety suit for endless hours doing nothing. On occasion a member of the crew will need medical attention but that’s pretty rare.

  The first thing I notice while standing out here is that I can’t keep track of our car. Everybody tries to have a unique paint job, but since the paint scheme ties in directly to the colors of the sponsor’s product, sometimes you’ll get similar schemed cars on the track. Also, from my vantage point way high up, they all tend to look alike. Harvey seems to have no trouble at all sticking with his driver and identifying every other driver out there on the track today.

  “Would you like to talk to him?”

  “What?” I jump a little at Harvey’s voice. I was too engrossed in trying to spot our car.

  “It’s quiet out there,” he replies. “Why don’t you say hi?”

  He hands me his headset. “It’s voice activated. When you want to talk without it transmitting you just tap this button.”

  I try to remain calm as I fit the headset on over my ears. What do I say?