Accelerated Passion

by Lily Harlem

  “You think?” He rubbed his chin.

  “It’s the best you can all do. A compromise. Seems to me Henri has come first in all of these decisions.”

  “He has, definitely.” He smiled. “And he’s a great kid. Doing well at school, speaks two languages fluently, just got a puppy who is driving his mother crazy, but he’s in love with it.”

  Frankie smiled. “It sounds like he’s thriving, and you can’t ask for more than that.”

  Dean ran his hand up his cheek then scrubbed his fingertips against his temple. “He is thriving.”

  “But it makes you miss him more after you’ve spent time together.”

  He set his gaze on her. “Yes. It makes me wonder if I made the right choices back then. Walking away, not proposing and settling in suburbia when she told me she was pregnant with my child.”

  Frankie stepped up to him. A wave of certainty washed through her. “We can only do what we feel is right at the time, no more and no less.” She looked up at his handsome face. “And you, Dean-World-Champion-three-times-over-Cudditch are a Formula One legend. The sport wouldn’t be the same without you. You push it up a level, push the other drivers, the mechanics, the evolution of the cars. You really think you’d be happy driving the school run in a Volvo estate?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have gone that far.” He dropped his hand to his side.

  “Did you really want to marry Bridget?”

  “No, not at all. I didn’t even know her.” He shook his head. “But I bedded her. Shit. You must think I’m an asshole.”

  “No.” She smiled. “You like sex. So what?”

  “I do.” He stepped a little closer. “Like sex, that is.”

  She swallowed. “So you made the right decision. By not marrying her, I mean. If you didn’t even know her.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. It was a night of fun, nothing more.”

  Fuck. He liked sex. She liked sex, too—not that she was getting any. Was she really standing in Dean Cudditch’s bedroom, talking about illegitimate children and sex?

  It seemed she was.

  “Frankie…”

  His eyes had darkened to the color of the sky before a storm. His lips held a slight sheen to them—so damn kissable.

  “I should go.” She nodded at the door. “Shower, you know. I’m filthy…dirty…” She glanced down at herself.

  “Filthy and dirty? Not a bad way to be.”

  She frowned. “Get your mind from the gutter.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed. A deep booming sound.

  “What’s so funny?” She rammed her hands onto her hips.

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  “One minute, you’re one of the blokes. Then you’re a sweet girl and, to be honest, damn sexy with it. Then you’re being Miss Prim and Proper.”

  “I am not Miss Prim and Proper.”

  “So that’s the only one of those descriptions you object to?”

  He thinks I’m sweet and sexy?

  “Just remember.” She stabbed her finger against her chest then wished she hadn’t when she felt hard muscle beneath his T-shirt. Damn, what was she going to say? It had slipped her mind. Hard muscle, solid pecs…

  “Remember what?”

  “That I…”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What were you going to say, babe?”

  Ah, yes, that was it. Was it?

  “That if you call me babe again—”

  “I know. It’s burned into my brain. You’ll make sure I end the day without my nuts intact.”

  She frowned.

  “I just wondered what else might happen while you were down there. Can’t blame a guy.” He glanced at his groin.

  She tutted, loudly. “Behave.”

  “Doesn’t happen often.”

  Frankie gave him one last withering look then walked from the room. Just when she thought she was having a decent and meaningful conversation with him. The moment she stopped thinking he was a prize dickhead, he’d ruined it all.

  He’d said she was sexy!

  Chapter Seven

  The car was sleek and shiny, ready to leave the pits and hit the track. There was a buzz in the air as the crew waited for Dean to arrive and take it on its first test run on the Hockenheim.

  Frankie waited nervously with Paul. They’d tweaked some of the aerodynamics, minor adjustment, at her suggestion and were hoping it might knock a tenth of a second off his fastest lap.

  Dean strode into the workshop, dressed in his driving suit.

  As usual, the atmosphere changed when he appeared. The car was the star of the show, but without the conductor, the orchestra that was the finely and exquisitely tuned machine couldn’t make a tune.

  “Hey,” he said, grinning as he looked around. “Ready to take on the circuit?”

  “We sure are,” Paul said, handing Dean a helmet. “Great conditions for it, too.”

  “How long we got?”

  “An hour if we need it.”

  “Shouldn’t take that long, should it?”

  “No,” Frankie said. “We’ve just tweaked a few things, want to see if we can gain time.”

  “Your fastest around here is…” Paul frowned and tapped the side of his head.

  “Fifty-eight point two-three,” Frankie finished for him.

  Dean raised his eyebrows. “And you think I can scrape that back?”

  “Worth a go.” She ran her hand over the bonnet. “Just keep her in one piece.”

  “Well, I’ve never planned on crashing, even though I’ve had a few knocks.” He tugged up his fire retardant mask so only his eyes were showing. “And I’m definitely not planning on doing that on this goddamn graveyard track.”

  “Good.” She glanced around, ensuring the mechanics were all in order. They didn’t want to waste their time slot by not being prepared.

  Dean slipped into the seat. Instantly, Enrique was there with the wheel. Two other guys worked on the seatbelt, checking his safety. Paul and Jake removed the bricks at the front.

  The engine started.

  “Here goes.” Dean gave her a mock salute. His voice was muffled through the helmet.

  She nodded then held up her stopwatch.

  The car rumbled as it left the pits then growled at the starting line.

  The flag dropped.

  She started the clock.

  The car roared away, the back end giving one quick tail shake as the acceleration almost took it to break point.

  Within seconds the sound faded.

  Paul and Jake and the other mechanics went to watch the screen, but Frankie stayed where she was with her attention on the finish line. She hoped her minor adjustments would make a difference. It would make her move to McLaren worthwhile. It would make sense to Eric and Dean why she’d been recruited.

  “Do you think he will do it?” Enrique asked.

  “Let’s hope so.” Her heart pounded. Butterflies swarmed in her belly. “Maybe not on the first lap, but we’ve got a few chances.”

  The screech of the car’s engine had dulled, but within seconds, it started to strengthen. Dean was heading their way again. Likely past the three-quarter mark by now.

  Frankie’s thumb hovered over the stopwatch. She kept her focus on the line and concentrated on the sounds of the engine whacking up and down the gears as he negotiated a couple of particularly notorious and dangerous bends.

  Suddenly, the car was there again. A blur of silver and red racing their way.

  Wait, wait, wait.

  She clicked the watch at the exact moment the nose touched the finish line.

  She hardly dared look.

  She did.

  Fifty-eight point two-one.

  “Wow.” She could hardly believe it.

  “What is it?” Enrique’s shoulder nudged hers as he strained to see.

  “We’ve taken it down from point two-three to point two-one.”

  “Puto infierno, that’s awesome.”

  “It is.
”

  Paul and Jake rushed over. “Well?”

  She showed them the digital display.

  “Fuck, that’s brilliant.” Jake punched the air.

  Paul gave her a quick hug then high-fived Enrique.

  Within seconds, Dean was rolling the car back into the pits. Like a stallion that had just completed the Grand National, heat radiated from it, and the exhaust blew as though out of breath.

  Dean released the wheel and his belt then jumped out, his feet silent as his soft soles landed on the tarmac.

  “Well?” He pulled of his helmet. “That felt good, but was it?” He looked at Frankie. His eyes were wide with anticipation, and his chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “It was good.” She grinned.

  “How good?”

  “Point two-one,” Enrique blurted. “Two-one.”

  “Fuck, that’s awesome for a first run.”

  “I know.” Frankie held up the stopwatch.

  “Well done,” Jake said, smacking Dean on the shoulder.

  Dean grinned and high-fived Enrique.

  He shook a couple of hands thrust his way. What this meant for the rest of their time at Hockenheimring was worth its weight in gold.

  “Fucking incredible,” Paul said.

  Dean gave him a quick sharp hug. “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay, I will.” Paul beamed. “All Frankie’s suggestions.”

  Dean stilled and looked her way. “Really?”

  “Si, really.” Enrique bounced on the spot. “She is awesome.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I—”

  Dean was suddenly in front of her. He clasped his hands over her cheeks, his gloves cool on her warm skin, and stared down at her. Next thing she knew, his lips had covered hers.

  He pressed a hot hard kiss over her mouth.

  She forgot to breathe.

  She stared at his closed eyelids.

  Her arms hung limply at her sides.

  Dean Cudditch is kissing me.

  After a moment, she came to her senses. She pushed him away and stepped back.

  He was grinning, excitement, exhilaration, and passion shone in his eyes. “You might be a little Oz firecracker, babe, but, damn, you clearly know what you’re doing.”

  “As it happens, yes.”

  Firecracker. Shit, she felt as though her whole body was about to combust. Who the hell did he think he was, kissing his lead mechanic in front of the team?

  Damn, she wished he’d do it again.

  Her mind spun. Her lips tingled. Her cheeks burned.

  Enrique stared at her.

  Dean was taking more slaps on the back as Paul spoke quickly about some of the changes they’d made.

  Frankie took a step away and studied the watch again. She pretended to be fascinated by it in the hope no one would think she was ruffled, seriously ruffled, by the kiss Dean Cudditch had planted on her lips.

  But he did that to all the girls, didn’t he?

  Why would they take any notice?

  Because, generally, the girls he kissed might get him going faster in bed, but not on the track. She was unique in that department.

  “You okay, Frankie?” Enrique asked, frowning.

  “Yeah, of course.” She shrugged.

  “You want—?”

  “I want you to help get the car ready to go round again.” She used her firmest tone. “One result does not make consistency it just proves possibility.” She tucked the watch away and clapped. “Come on, chop, chop.”

  “Si, senorita.” He nodded seriously and headed for his side of the car.

  She followed suit and started a check on the air intake. She needed to stay away from Dean. He made her lose control. She forgot where she was and who she was with when he was there. He became her focus, a star she orbited around.

  Soon, the car was ready to go again.

  She had Paul take charge of the stopwatch.

  The result was the same.

  A whoop of delight erupted from the team.

  Dean gave a thumbs up. He didn’t get out of the car. Instead, he headed straight off again, and, to everyone’s delight, he matched the time.

  They had consistency. A great day’s work.

  Rather than heading back to the house, Dean declared he wanted to take everyone out for steak. He knew a great place just off their route home.

  Frankie didn’t want to go. She needed to be alone. That kiss. The fact he’d told her she was sexy. It was all too much. A shower and bed were all she could think about. Well, that wasn’t strictly the case. Dean was all she could think about, but going out for dinner with him and fourteen other blokes seemed more like torture than fun.

  Dinner alone with Dean. Naked dinner alone with Dean. Eating dinner off his gorgeous body, now that she could do. Perhaps she could lick sauce from that colorful tattoo of his, spread it lower…

  She shook her head and frowned at the direction her thoughts were going. Did she really want to be another Bridget? A woman he bedded for one night then moved on to the next. It was clear Dean was the type of guy who enjoyed the chase. The challenge of capturing his prey, fucking them stupid, then moving on to another victim.

  Well, she had no intention of being some poor hapless gazelle caught by his charm.

  “I’m going to skip dinner,” she said quietly to Paul.

  “What? Why? You’ve played a huge part in the reason for the celebration.”

  “I’m tired.” She opened her purse and rummaged for the keys. “Do you mind if I take the car?”

  “Go ahead. There’s plenty of space for us to grab a ride with one of the others.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I wish you’d change your mind, though, Frankie, and come out with us.”

  “Nah, you have a boys’ night out. You don’t need me there cramping your style.”

  “No cramping about it. You’re one of us.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She forced a smile. “Of course. Need my bed and an early night, that’s all. Been lots of excitement today.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” He didn’t look convinced.

  “I’m sure. There’s stuff in the fridge. I’ll throw something together for dinner.”

  “Want me to bring a meal back for you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Go have fun.”

  “Dean will be disappointed you’re not there.”

  “I doubt that.” She held in a huff then walked away. “See you in the morning.”

  She swung the keys from her finger as she headed off the track to the car park.

  Dean’s fancy car was tucked under a white shelter, protecting it from the heat of the sun. She admired the bodywork and the smooth lines. One day she’d have a car like that of her own. One day when she stopped this constant traveling the globe, fighting to prove her worth in a man’s world.

  She clicked her key fob, and the standard issue Ford came to life. It wasn’t often she felt weary with having to demonstrate her skills the way she had today, but now she realized how exhausting the emotions that went with it were. What if the track time had been slower? What if the driver had discovered a kink in the handling that didn’t suit him?

  “Stop it.” She slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Buck up. You did it.” She pulled out of the parking spot. “No feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Soon, she was nearing the house and feeling better. She’d put on some music and let the air-conditioning cool her body. The thought of a quiet evening became more appealing the closer she got. Perhaps she’d have a swim, open a beer, and watch a movie. Enjoy the tranquility of the house for a change.

  Yes, that’s what she’d do. Indulge in time alone, something she had so rarely.

  And she wouldn’t think about Dean, not for one minute.

  Well, maybe for just one…or two.

  * * * *

  Frankie had been asleep for an hour or so when she heard the team
arrive back. The crunch of the gravel under tires and footsteps was loud and seemed to echo over the surrounding hills. The accompanying raucous voices and bellows of laughter shook through the house.

  She grabbed the pillow and rammed it over her head, trying to block the sound. So much for an early night. She was wide awake again now.

  Reaching to her bedside locker, she realized she’d left her phone downstairs. “Damn it.”

  Now she had no idea of the time or an alarm to set for the morning.

  She sat and listened to the movements around the house.

  Heavy footfall on the stairs told her some of the team were heading to bed. But distant voices made her think a few were having a nightcap in the kitchen.

  Where had she left her phone?

  She cast her mind back. She’d had it when she’d made dinner because she’d texted her sister. Then again, she recalled taking a photograph of the sunset reflecting in the pool. And then another of the grand fireplace in the living room, both of which she’d forwarded to her sister.

  Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she stood. Her phone was in the living room, on the polished dresser with the fake flowers, she was sure of it.

  She’d have to go and get it and hope that, as she suspected, the men were in the kitchen. Because she couldn’t be bothered to get dressed again, a robe over her favorite pale blue sleeping vest would have to do.

  Cautiously, she opened her door and peered along the bannister. It was empty. Dean’s door was open but his light off. She guessed he was with his team, also enjoying a nightcap.

  Barefooted, she padded down the stairs then into the dark living room. Instead of turning on a light, she tapped the top of the dresser until she located her phone.

  The men were loud, their mood clearly high, but they were all in the kitchen.

  Feeling particularly stealthy, she headed back to the stairs. Silently, she jogged up them.

  Her door was in sight. Nearly there. She glanced at her screen. It was past one a.m.

  Suddenly, she collided with a solid chest.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  “Dean.” She grabbed the bannister to stop herself from falling over.

  He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and held her steady. “You okay?”

  She looked up at him. “Yeah, I just forgot this.” She held up her phone. “It was in the living room.”