Fast & Hard: A Formula 1 Romance (The Fast Series) Page 10

I want to carry her up to her hotel room and tuck her into bed. Let her wrap her hands around my neck and feel her head tuck into my chest. Feel like a mighty hunter carrying home the spoils of victory. Her eyes are closed, long lashes folded over one another. Tiny, soft breaths pass over her soft lips.

  But if I pick her up and carry her into this hotel, she’ll be on every predatory celeb blog and gossip rag by tomorrow morning along with jealous women slut-shaming her or horny dudes leaving comments that reveal why, in fact, they’ll never have a woman like Mallory in their lives.

  “Hey,” I whisper and nudge her. She stirs an inch and makes a tiny noise but she’s still out of it. Trying a little louder this time, I tease her more. ”Mallory, get your hand out of my pants, someone is going to see you!”

  Eleven

  Mallory

  Ms. Mitchell,

  Reports from today’s sponsor event are promising. UG Petroleum was pleased with Mr. Gibbes’ appearance. It seems you are doing a fine job keeping a leash on the dog.

  Sandra Alix

  Director of Marketing and Communication

  Celeritas Racing

  The email from Sandra is rare praise and even though my mouth is stuffed with the most delicious falafel, I’m grinning ear to ear.

  This afternoon’s sponsor event was painfully boring and consisted of Lennox driving executives around in a sports car that looked like a spaceship but they seemed to enjoy themselves. Round and round they went in a closed parking lot for hours. While Lennox was making people scream in terror as he did donuts in the car with them, I used the time to schmooze with the executives. Meeting the CEO of an international oil company never hurts when you want to launch a brand new PR firm.

  Lennox did not have to do media today which is probably why he’s been in a good mood all day. Digby was called to the press conference instead, where they grilled him about his error in the last race, which Lennox took childlike satisfaction from. I may have rolled my eyes, but I’ll take the win however I can get it.

  “I will cut you!” I stab Lennox’s hand with my fork as he tries, for the 100th time, to steal one of my falafel in the motorhome’s dining hall. Tonight’s feast is a buffet of fragrant rice and chicken, local grouper, falafel, and baklava drizzled with golden honey. The falafel is too good to share and I’m treating myself to all the carbs after my successful day ending in accolades from my ice queen boss.

  “Eat your machboos,” Matty pushes the pre-measured plate of chicken and yellow rice back toward Lennox. Matty has shoveled down a pound of shawarma and I’ve been inhaling everything before me while Lennox pushes his chicken around his plate like a toddler refusing to eat his vegetables.

  “Oh my god,” I moan around a mouthful of baklava, pistachios, and honey bursting out of the buttery phyllo dough. Lennox stabs a piece of chicken and chews it slowly, glaring at me as I embellish the sweet flavor to antagonize him.

  “Luqaymay, Mallory?” Matty passes me a plate of little round dough balls on sticks, a Bahrain cake pop of sorts, the saffron sugar glaze covering them sticky and glistening.

  “Don’t mind if I do!” I pip. Matty and I have been having too much fun teasing Lennox. I didn’t know Matty even had a sense of humor, but it seems to come out when he can badger Lennox.

  “Both of you can piss off,” Lennox blurts. “And you,” he points at me with his fork, “quit moaning like that.” Obviously, I moan even more when I pull the luqaymay off the stick with my teeth.

  “Matty, Jack told me you and Lennox go way back. How did you meet?” Jack had told me Mattias was another ‘stray’ Lennox brought in and I’ve been wanting to hear the story.

  “At Sisu Performance. I was in training while he was staying there,” Matty gestures a barren cake pop stick toward Lennox.

  “Sisu, what is that?”

  “It’s a company in Finland that works with elite athletes, some of the other drivers. A lot of fitness but also nutrition and sleep tracking and psychological training.” Lennox says as he makes his peace with a forkful of rice.

  “Is this where you learned your jet lag voodoo?” I ask Matty.

  “That’s where he learned all the ways to terrorize me,” Lennox adds with no small amount of sarcasm.

  “And then Lennox hired you?”

  “Eh, something like that,” Matty shrugs.

  “Matty…” Lennox cuts him off and ticks his head.

  “What? I don’t care, it’s not a secret,” Matty replies, back to his monotone voice and stoic facial features.

  “What’s not a secret?” I pry. Lennox huffs and leans back in his chair, arms crossing his chest.

  “I had some trouble with a girl. Went off the rails, got hooked on heroin.” He says flatly as if this was a minor hiccup in his life.

  “Oh, wow.” I’m not sure what to say. I would never have guessed the tall Finn, straight-laced and toned like a blond adonis, and militant about Lennox’s health would have said that.

  “Went to stay with Mum and Pop — well, his Mum and Pop,” Matty points to Lennox, “Figured my shit out. Then he hired me.”

  “Good for you, Matty. I’m so glad you’re healthy now. I guess Jack was right, he really does bring home all the strays,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Oh for fucks sake, not the cats again,” Lennox rolls his eyes. “There are only two cats. Two.”

  “Two inside,” Matty corrects him.

  “The ones outside are not mine,” Lennox argues.

  “Mmhmm, that’s why you feed them and make them houses and shit.”

  “Ok,” I laugh, “I definitely need to know more about that, too, but Matty would you ever do an interview about how you came to be on the team and what you do for Lennox now?”

  Before he can answer, Lennox barks at me, “No.”

  “I didn’t mean anything private, I just think it’s fascinating and the fans would love even a generic backstory…”

  “I said no. My friends and family are not pawns, they aren’t here for entertainment value,” he snaps. His voice is low, his eyes are dark, and there’s nothing playful about the tone of his voice this time.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “Ignore him,” Matty waves his hand to brush Lennox’s tirade off, “he gets a little protective. Finish your chicken,” he eyes the uneaten food and chides Lennox.

  Two steps forward and one step back, Lennox stabs his remaining food and starts grudge-eating it.

  “Matty, I’m sorry. I would never imply you should tell your private story. I just meant you’re all old friends and I thought the fans would love that kind of personal insight.”

  Lennox is silent and leering at me.

  “No offense taken. Mr. Privacy here wouldn’t allow it anyway, though,” he nods his head toward Lennox and pops another cake ball into his mouth.

  “Nope,” Lennox confirms.

  “Duly noted,” I eyeball him back. What a shame, Lennox hiring two close friends and all the tasks they do for him every day are fascinating to an outsider like me. It would make him seem so much more human, reveal some of the good I see in him, when he lets me see it.

  I spot Tatiana refilling the buffet station and taking an empty tray back into the kitchen. Rather than sit here under Lennox’s glare, I excuse myself to go say hello. Hopefully, Francesca is around too.

  The kitchen is small but bustling with several cooks working and calling out refills needed in the dining room. Bussers are coming in with trays of dirty dishes as fast as more can leave with fresh food. It’s loud and steam rises above the cooktops as the crew works to feed the entire Celeritas team.

  “There were no onions!” I hear Francesca’s Latin voice from the opposite side of a cook station. I step around a trash can and the backside of the cook station and Francesca has her hands on her hips, her face is scrunched up and she looks ready to murder Digby DuPont who is hovering above her.

  “I saw them, Francesca. I saw the onions with my own eyes. Right there in m
y rice. Do you think I’m stupid?” Digby chastises her. A busser passes by them and sticks her tongue out at Digby behind his back.

  I don’t have many friends here, ok, any friends. And I don’t think I care for the way Digby has Francesca cornered and is raising his voice to her. It’s exactly the way Robert and Lydia Mitchell scold the help and treat them like subpar humans.

  “Francesca!” I step between the dueling pair and give Francesca a quick hug. “I just wanted to thank everyone for dinner. It was delicious!”

  Francesca harrumphs and gives Digby the universal face for ‘neener neener neener.’ “Thank you, Mallory. I’m happy someone appreciates our hard work.”

  “Oh gosh, Lennox and Mattias and I stuffed ourselves!”

  “Ms. Mitchell,” Digby interrupts and takes my hand to turn me toward him. He’s wearing a polo shirt tucked into his tailored pants and has an aqua sweater hanging over his shoulders. He looks like he just left a golf match, not a Formula 1 race. “My apologies, good help is so hard to find,” he mewls as Francesca scurries away.

  I pull my hand away and tuck them both into my back pockets so he isn’t inclined to grab them again. Digby DuPont is as wholesome and squeaky clean as they come, according to what I’ve learned about him, but I have no patience for people who berate service workers. “I don’t know, the food is always amazing,” I retort.

  “Of course. Long day, that’s all.”

  One of the men who’s always with Digby, I assume his personal assistant, enters the kitchen and steps beside us, his iPad clutched against his torso. “Sir, the yacht is ready.”

  Sir? What a difference between these two teammates. The only time Jack would call Lennox ‘sir’ would be to make a joke.

  “Ms. Mitchell,” Digby puts his hand on my shoulder, “have you ever been to Bahrain before?”

  “No, first time. It’s beautiful, though.”

  “You must see it from the gulf, the city is stunning at night,” Digby gushes and starts reaching into his back pocket. “I have a yacht in the marina here. Would you like to be my guest this evening?”

  “Oh, umm, thank you but I have a lot of work left.” I don’t really have anything major planned but something about Digby is beginning to give me the creeps and also, I’m just not interested. If I was interested in someone, and I’m not - it’d be the tall tattooed sometimes-asshole in the dining hall. But that’s neither here nor there.

  “Yes well, perhaps afterward?” Digby pulls a card from his Armani wallet and hands it to me.

  “Right, thanks,” I say and smile.

  Digby and his prim and proper assistant, who looks entirely dead behind the eyes, excuse themselves and I look at the card he’s handed me. It’s glossy black card stock with ‘Digby DuPont’ and an international phone number in elaborate embossed gold writing on the front. I snort at the pretentiousness that oozes off it and make my way back into the dining hall.

  Matty and Lennox are still at our table. Matty is turned sideways talking to one of the other Celertias guys and Lennox is scrolling through his phone. I cruise past the buffet table and grab one falafel on a cocktail napkin. Skirting past so Matty doesn’t notice, I slip Lennox the falafel with a wink. My peace offering.

  He pops the whole thing into his mouth, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, and smiles at me as he chews. Good to know I can placate him with food, as well as sarcasm, jokes, and inappropriate sexual tension.

  I sit back down in front of my open laptop and toss Digby’s silly business card on the table next to me. Lennox swallows and picks it up, “What’s this?”

  “Nothing. Ran into your favorite teammate in the kitchen.” I start browsing through my email again.

  “Why do you have this?” Lennox is holding the card up and leaning over the table toward me with wide eyes. His jaw is stiff and I can see a vein pulsing in his neck.

  “It’s no big deal, he asked me to join him on his yacht tonight. I told him no.”

  Lennox launches to his feet and his chair screeches back against the floor. Before I know what’s happening, he’s halfway to the kitchen, cutting through the dining room crowd on a mission.

  “What happened?” Matty turns to ask.

  “I don’t know. He saw a business card Digby gave me and freaked out.” I reply shaking my head.

  “Fuck,” Matty curses and starts toward the kitchen after Lennox.

  I snap my laptop closed and grab my backpack, trying to hustle my way through the dining room without causing a scene. This nonsense with Digby is getting tiresome. By all accounts, he seems a little douchey, but harmless enough.

  “Where is he?” I hear Lennox roaring as I finally make it to the kitchen.

  One of the chefs says Digby’s already gone and points toward the rear exit of the kitchen. Lennox tears out the door with Matty in tow behind and I jog after them trying to keep up. We are not having a public altercation over a freaking business card.

  Outside, behind the motorhome, Lennox and Matty are several paces apart looking up and down the road. “He’s gone,” Matty says.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I bark.

  Lennox stops his hunt and storms to me. He’s absolutely livid and the sight makes me take a step backward. The angry Lennox Gibbes seems to grow in size and anger pulses off him in waves. “What exactly did he say to you?”

  “Nothing! Calm down!” I yell back at him.

  “If it’s nothing why do you have this?” He waves the business card at me.

  “I told you. He asked me on his yacht. I said no. Try to keep up!”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Mallory.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that!” I scream back at him and point my finger in his face.

  “Ehh, keep it down guys,” Matty makes his way to us and is looking around. It’s dark and thankfully there is no one behind the motorhome along this service path, just piles of produce boxes and sounds from the kitchen bustling inside.

  “Fuck off!” Lennox snaps at Matty next, who shrugs and walks away, cool and unfazed, as always.

  Me, on the other hand, I’ve had enough. “Don’t talk to him like that, either!”

  “I’ll talk to him however I want!”

  “What is wrong with you? Nothing happened! You’re acting like a crazy person, storming around like The Hulk! Why don’t you just get it over with and piss a circle around me to mark your territory!”

  “I am not a crazy person!” He roars back. His chest is heaving, his nostrils are flaring, and he looks like he wants to eat me, swallow me whole.

  “Stop yelling at me!”

  “You stop yelling at me!”

  Before I have time to consider what I mean, I scream back at him, “I don’t want to!”

  “Good! I don’t want you to, either!”

  There’s a brief moment where all I hear are crickets, a heartbeat of time in which we’re both silent. My fists are clenching around my laptop bag, my breathing out of control, my pulse could keep pace with any one of the cars on track.

  I am so fucking turned on.

  In two long strides, he’s on me.

  My backpack and laptop hit the ground.

  My hands lock behind his neck and as much as I’m dragging him down to me, Lennox is pulling me up to him. His strong hands are in my hair, holding the base of my skull with one and my jaw with the other. His lips smash into mine with all the aggression and power behind his frame.

  My hands dig into his hair and god help me, I am kissing him back as hard as I can, climbing up him trying to get closer and closer. The heat of his body pressed up against mine in the cool desert air is electrifying as I smash myself into him. A strong thigh parts my legs and I grind my core into him, desperate for more as his tongue sweeps my lips.

  I open my mouth and my tongue chases his. He tastes like sin, the original forbidden fruit, and I moan as he rolls his hips into mine. We’re battling for dominance, his fist is wrapped around my long hair and I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, d
ragging my teeth along it as he pulls me closer still.

  He growls into my mouth as I rake my nails across his neck and he grabs my ass with his free hand, dragging me up onto his bent thigh over and over while I writhe and grind against him. His mouth expertly explores mine, biting and licking, taking everything I give him and everything I didn’t know I had it in myself to give.

  This is not a sweet kiss, this is pure adrenaline and passion. My body is on fire, so wet I slide against him effortlessly. One of my hands snakes around his back to clutch his shirt, his powerful shoulder blades flexing and manipulating my body. He holds my head exactly where he wants it and slides his lips down my jaw, his tongue leaving a wet trail to my neck. He bites the soft skin above my collarbone and I let out a gasp, pulling his head into me harder, “Lennox!”

  His tongue flattens over the bite and he sucks the tender skin into his mouth before he returns those skilled lips to my own. Pulling my hips in, I can feel his hard length against my stomach, I can feel the heat permeating my clothes, infiltrating my core, all my excuses and reason dissipating into the desert air.

  Taking my head between his two hands, he brings his forehead to mine. “I want you,” he growls.

  “We can’t, “ I whisper.

  “We are,” he wraps both hands around my ass and keeps me close against him.

  I put my hands on his chest and ease myself off his thigh. I can feel his pulse hammering through my palms. “You make me crazy.”

  “Back at you,” he bends to nuzzle my neck.

  In a moment of extreme self-control that my throbbing lady parts do not agree with, I push him back and separate ourselves an inch. “I can’t do this, Lennox. I need this job.”

  “This won’t risk your job, I won’t let it.” His green eyes are electric and glimmering under the light of the moon and the glow of the buildings next to us. In this moment, I could so easily believe him, be swept up in that kiss, those strong arms. If only I didn’t have responsibilities and an agenda, and technically, a boyfriend back at home who no longer returns my calls or texts.