Accelerated Passion (2 page)

That would have to do.

She grabbed her phone, mimicked what Dean had done earlier by shoving it into her back pocket, then headed out of the room.

The long corridor was quiet, the carpet a strange orange and blue diamond pattern. Frankie headed to the elevator then descended to the ground floor.

As the doors opened, she heard the low hum of conversation, and the smells of dinner flooded her nostrils. She placed her hand on her stomach—it was about to rumble—and walked across the lobby.

A receptionist smiled at her then went back to her computer screen. The bar area was occupied by several men, none of whom were part of her new team, though she guessed they were McLaren. Heading through the doors of the restaurant, she spotted Paul and Jake. They were sitting with the other members of her mechanical crew, which totalled fifteen. Head of the table, as though he were Lord of the Manor, was Dean Cudditch.

He looked up as she walked in, pausing his conversation with a man she didn’t recognize. He was cute, with long sideburns, an easy smile, and clearly at home with Dean and the others.

Frankie nodded a curt greeting to Dean and made a beeline for a spare seat next to Paul. There was no food on the table, so she figured she hadn’t changed her mind about joining them too late.

“Hey, Frankie, how are you?” Paul asked, smiling up at her.

“Fine. You ordered yet?”

“No, just sat down. Had a beer in the bar first. Well, some of us did. Not Dean obviously.” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want him to have booze in his system for tomorrow’s starting line up.”

“No, of course not.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Jake asked. “Glass of wine?”

Frankie turned to him. “Actually, a beer would suit me, if that’s okay.”

“Coming right up.” He stood and ambled from the room.

Frankie glanced at Dean again.

He sat with his elbows on the table, hands steepled in front of him, fingertips on his bottom lip. He appeared to be listening to the man at his side but was staring straight at her.

She shuffled in her seat. Surely, he didn’t still have a problem with her being female and taking such a senior position. If so, she’d have to show him what was what.

Which she would anyway. The moment she had the lay of the land, saw her new team in action, she’d make the necessary tweaks and do her stuff. There was always room for improvement. A micro-second here, a tiny alteration there, and the sum total of those changes would add up to make a massive difference to the end result.

Winning.

And it was about time Dean started winning again. He’d won more Grand Prix titles than anyone else in the world, but for the last few years, victory had evaded him. Because no matter what she thought of the man, his driving skills were second to none, and he deserved to lift that trophy again and be crowned World Champion.

A few minutes later, Jake wandered back with half a lager in his hand. “Here you go.” He set it in front of her.

“Cheers.” She took a sip. Generally, she’d have a pint, made sense, less trips to the bar, but her team would soon learn that about her.

“Do you know Ruben Strong?” Paul asked, nodding in Dean’s direction. “The bloke chatting to Cudditch.”

“No, should I?”

“I thought you might. He was on our team for years, had your job, but he had to stop work.”

“Stop work?”

“Yeah, he was sick,” Jake said.

Frankie studied him. He was laughing at something Dean had said. “He doesn’t look sick now.”

“Nah, they fixed him.”

“Had a new bird on his arm when he called by the pits,” Paul added. “Reckon that helps a fella feel better, too.” He laughed.

“Yeah, and Ruben always did like the girls.”

“Just like Dean does,” Frankie added. “Unless, of course, they’re responsible for his pit-stops.”

Paul’s smile slipped.

Jake had a sip of his drink.

Damn, why did I say that?

“I’m sure it will all work out fine,” Paul said. “I think it’s great you’re here. We need fresh blood, fresh eyes on the choreography, and you’ve been there done that with Ferrari.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I have.”

“And I, for one, will be happy to work under you,” Jake said.

Paul chuckled.

“Oh, fuck, you know what I mean,” Jake added, his round cheeks flushing. “Take orders, be beneath you, do what you say, follow orders.”

“Digging in deeper, man,” Paul said, laughing louder.

Jake groaned. “Not literally
under
you.”

“I know what you mean.” Frankie smiled. “And for the record, I’ve been known to get my whip out and deliver a few lashes when blokes don’t do as they’re told.”

“Whip? Who has a whip?”

Frankie looked up.

Dean stood at her side. He had one eyebrow raised, and a half smile played with his lips.

“Er, no one,” Frankie managed.

“Shame, that sounds like fun.” He held out his hand. “Come and meet Ruben Strong. He was my lead mechanic for years and a true legend. Helped the team to victory several times over.”

Frankie sat with Dean and Ruben as the meal was ordered then served. They hadn’t involved her in the conversation. Their chatter centred around the good old days and all the fun they’d had with hot cars and hotter women.

She dug into her lasagne and thanked the waiter when he delivered her a pint of lager.

“No more of that for me now,” Ruben said with a sigh as he started on his pasta.

“So you’ll never come back? To us?” Dean said with a frown and pulling his attention from her full pint.

“Nah, I don’t reckon so. Things have settled down. I can do without the adrenaline.” He pressed his hand over his chest. “And I’m grateful for what I’ve got and for having a future.”

“Yeah, I guess you were on the point of not having that.”

“Yep, not fun.” Ruben smiled as though shaking off memories. “And Katie is great, understanding and all that.”

“Is it serious?” Dean asked.

“Nah, still getting to know each other.” He had a sparkle in his eye. “But I get the feeling it could be.”

Dean set down his knife and fork and clapped Ruben’s back. “I’m happy for you mate, really happy. Everyone deserves a good woman at their side.”

“Speaking of women.” Ruben nodded over Frankie’s shoulder. “Looks like you have some coming your way, Dean.” He chuckled.

Frankie glanced behind herself. Two tall girls—they weren’t more than twenty or so—were strutting toward their table. Wearing tight skirts, low tops, and more makeup than a cover model for
Vogue
, Frankie recognized the type well—groupies. Out and about, hoping to see the drivers—no, wait—hoping to
bed
the drivers.

“Well, hello, ladies,” Dean said, pushing his chair back.

The one on the left, with the blonde hair, giggled. “I hope you don’t think we’re intruding, but could we have your autograph?”

“Sure.”

Frankie glanced at his half-eaten steak. They could have let the guy finish his meal first.

“Just here…” The brunette offered him a black pen then bent toward him. She plucked at the neckline of her already plunging T-shirt and exposed the voluptuous rise of her left breast.

“That where you want it, sweetheart?” Dean asked.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” She tittered.

Dean pulled the lid of the pen off with his teeth. With it still in his mouth, he scrawled his name on her chest.

“Thank you,” she said, licking her lips and stroking her finger over it. “I won’t wash for weeks.”

Dirty cow.

Dean took the lid from between his teeth and smiled, a charm-the-pants-off-a-nun type of smile. He turned his attention to the blonde. “You want the same.”

“No, just a photo.”

“Sure.” He pushed his chair farther back.

She must have taken that as an invitation because she dropped down onto his lap, arms around his neck and long tanned legs crossed over the side of the chair.

“Hey, there we go,” Dean said with a chuckle and appearing only mildly surprised. He looked up and smiled as the other girl took a couple of photographs.

“Finished?” he asked the brunette.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” The blonde on his lap set a loud kiss directly over his lips.

Oh, for God’s sake.

Frankie took a deep slug of her drink. How would she cope with this guy? Her last driver was married with three kids and took no notice of girls, and, in the majority, they sensed his I’m-not-interested vibe and steered clear. But this…

“Well, aren’t you a hottie,” Dean said, stroking his hand down the girls back to her ass.

“I’m glad you think so.” She squirmed on his lap.

He set his hands on her waist. “But right now, I’ve got to eat. I need my strength for tomorrow.”

“I hope you win.”

“Me, too.” He eased her to standing.

“Well, if you need anything.” She coiled a lock of hair around her index finger. “We’re staying in this hotel. Room three sixty…we’ll be waiting.”

“And your name?”

“Hannah.”

“Good to know, Hannah. You have a nice evening now.” Dean pulled his chair up to the table and reached for his knife and fork again.

“We will. Bye and thanks. See you later.” The brunette waggled her fingers then linked hands with her friend. They strutted off, wiggling their asses and their heels clacking on the hard floor.

“Bloody hell, is it always like vultures around a carcass at dinner?” Frankie muttered.

“’Tis when Dean’s about,” Ruben said, stabbing a spear of asparagus and popping it into his mouth. He appeared to be suppressing a grin.

“They must be desperate,” Frankie said.

“Hey, thanks for that.” Dean pulled an expression of deep offense.

“What?”

“That only desperate women would find me attractive.”

She stared at him, looked deep into his stunning blue eyes. He knew damn well that’s not what she’d meant. He knew how goddamn attractive he was, there was no doubt about it. Not only that, he used it to get laid whenever he felt like a shag.

“I guess I’m not desperate then.” She shrugged, going for nonchalant.

“So you
don’t
find me attractive.”

Fuck, of course she did. But there was no way she was going to stroke his already massive ego. It didn’t need bloating further. “You’re one of the team and just happen to be the driver.”

“That’s not what I asked. I appreciate everyone is important, that we’re in this together. It’s a team sport.” He took a sip of his cola. “What I wanted to know is whether or not you find me attractive.”

“And would you ask me that if I were a bloke? If one of your new lead mechanics was a man, would you be curious to know if
he
found you attractive?”

His cocky smile faltered.

Ruben chuckled. “Watch she doesn’t slap you with a sexual harassment suit, mate.”

Dean’s smile fell altogether. “Maybe I would ask a bloke the same question. You don’t know that.” He frowned.

Ruben laughed louder. “Yeah, right. ‘Course you would. Now come on, play nicely, you two. You’ve got to work together.”

Frankie tore her gaze from Dean and went back to her meal. So much for discussing tactics, what she had to offer McLaren, or how the season was going. It had turned into the least intellectual conversation of her life.

Dean finished his steak and set his knife and fork together. “What time are you heading home, Ruben?”

Ruben glanced at his watch. “Soon.”

“Well, come and join me in the bar for a nightcap.” He stood.

Ruben raised his eyebrows. “A non-alcoholic one?”

“Of course. Then I’m going to play.”

“What, with Hannah and her friend?” Ruben asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Nah, by myself.” Dean winked.

Yeah, right.

“You still up to all that?” Ruben shook his head.

“Yeah, why not? It helps me sleep.” Dean turned to Frankie. “I’ll see you at the track tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

He turned, without smiling, as though his mood had soured, and left the restaurant.

Frankie finished her pint and sighed. That really hadn’t gone according to plan. Now her driver thought she was either jealous of the girls that sprawled themselves over him and offered their breasts for signing, or she was a prude and looking to sue him.

And she was neither of those things. She just wanted to do her job to the best of her ability and play her part in ensuring McLaren were crowned champions.

Race day dawned bright and sunny, which made the choice of tires to start with an easy decision. They’d go for super-soft.

Frankie showered, pulled her hair into a low ponytail, then headed to the track with her teammates. An early bus had been organized for them so they could miss the worst of the traffic. They’d breakfasted on eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast, but Frankie never could eat before a race. Nerves always got to her, and today, they were especially shaky. Not only was it a new team, it was a new team on a race day. She was putting her trust in them big time.

But why not trust them? They could do their job. She was just overseeing things today. Watching, observing. Paul would have it under control.

Walking to the pits, the buzz in the air, the anticipatory atmosphere quickened her heart rate. It always did. The thrill of what was to come, the speed, the danger, the precision skill required from everyone was what she lived for.

“You okay?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Looking forward to a win. We need the points.”

“We’ll win.”

“I hope so.”

“What time is Dean due here?”

“He won’t be long. He always choppers in.”

“But the hotel isn’t exactly far.”

He shrugged. “I guess he’s not good with traffic jams and if you’ve got a helicopter at your disposal, why not use it?”

“Yeah, I get your point. See you in a minute.”

There didn’t appear to be a female changing room, so Frankie headed into a small office and pulled on her new race day overall. It was skin-tight, cream-colored, and had McLaren written down the right arm and leg. It zipped right up to the hollow of her throat and was completely flame proof. There was no mirror to check it out, but she knew it fit snugger than her previous all-in-one.