Accelerated Passion (7 page)

But what the hell did it matter to her who international playboy Dean Cudditch screwed, or if he were at it with more than one person at a time? He was nothing to her except a work colleague.

The toast popped up. She startled slightly.

“You okay, Frankie?” Paul asked, rubbing his stubbled cheek.

“Yeah, just anxious to get everyone to the circuit.”

“I know what you mean. I’ll go and bang on a few doors. Get them all moving.”

“Yes, good idea.” She found a knife then butter and began to scrape it over her toast.

“I’ll see you later,” Dean said, heading out of the kitchen. “Hope it all goes well.”

Frankie wanted to warn him to be careful playing with tigers. They were known for being sneaky and cunning and taking what they could. Chances were, a sexy millionaire racing driver would make for a very healthy divorce settlement if a woman managed to get her claws in far enough.

But Frankie held in her words. In fact, taking heed of her mother’s advice, she didn’t speak at all for fear of what might come tumbling out.

* * * *

The morning at the track went well. The team were happy, the support vehicle arrived on time, and they began the mammoth task of unloading. There was good banter going on with other teams, and the sun was once again shining.

Frankie enjoyed lunch in the on-site canteen with Enrique, Paul, and Jake. She was hungry after being on the go all morning. It was physical work, and there was lots to think about.

By the time the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon and the shadows were lengthening, she was ready to go back to the house. Thoughts of a hot shower, her big soft bed, and a book were becoming more and more appealing.

As Jake drove them down the narrow road, she found herself staring out of the back window. The scenery was pretty. The houses could have come straight from picture postcards.

She wondered how Dean had got on with his tiger. If he’d spent the day romping around a posh hotel room in Hockenheim, sipping champagne from his companion’s navel, ordering fancy room service, fucking until he could fuck no more.

Crossing her legs, she tried not to think of the dream she’d had about him. But it was hard not to. Especially when she knew what it was like to be backed into a corner by him, have him wrap his arm around her, and pull her against his near-naked torso. How it felt to have all of his attention centered on her.

Eventually, Jake pulled the car to a halt on the gravel. She noticed a Porsche parked to the right that hadn’t been there before.

“Whose is that?”

“Dean’s.” Jake nodded at a garage with an open door. “I guess he hasn’t put it away yet.”

She surveyed the sleek line of the roof and bonnet. It was a stunning midnight blue that seemed almost pearlescent. But, of course, he had an amazing car for driving around and visiting his lady friends. He probably had a car like this in every country he raced in, just sitting waiting for him.

She climbed out, dragged the strap of her bag up her arm then stomped toward the front door.

It was open as a straggler had just arrived with his suitcase, and she nodded hello to him. He’d have to double up in one of the attic rooms, but no one seemed too bothered about that.

“Do you want a drink, Frankie?” Enrique asked.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer, but I’m going to take a shower first.”

He grinned. “Okay, I’ll see you after then.”

She mooched up the stairs, her legs weary.

When she drew level with Dean’s room, she heard the low tones of his voice.

He was on the phone. The conversation one-sided.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Pause. “Yes. I promise. Same time. And thank you for the picture. I love it.” Another pause. “Can I speak to her now? Yes. Goodbye. Love you.”

Frankie’s breath caught. Dean was clearly serious about his tiger-lady even though there’d never been anything in the media about his latest squeeze. Was he purposefully keeping her secret?

“Hi, yes, it was a good day, like I said.” His tone had changed slightly, more serious somehow. “And tomorrow will be, too. We’ll have fun. Whatever we decided to do.”

God, that was it. He was involved with two women? A ménage a trois? That was why he was being secretive about it?

She rolled her eyes. Dean Cudditch would hardly be embarrassed about bedding two women at the same time. Would he?

“I’ll see you in the morning. Same time and, you know…thanks, for everything.”

The call ended.

Frankie quickly scooted to her door and opened it.

“Hey, Frankie. How’d it go today?”

She turned. Dean was right behind her.

“Er, good thanks. All according to plan. How about you? Get scratched by your tiger?” She’d tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice but wasn’t sure how successful she’d been.

He laughed. “Thankfully, no scratch marks. She slept the whole time we were there.”

Slept the whole time? Wow, not the swinging from the chandeliers scenario she’d imagined then.

“You coming for a drink?”

“Shower first.” She held up her grubby, oil-stained palms. “I need to feel human again.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He smiled then wandered down the stairs.

She went into her room. Dean didn’t get oily and engine dirty. Not these days. Perhaps when he’d started out, but not anymore. He had minions to do that for him.

Not that she’d change what she did for anything. She adored her job. She’d sacrificed a lot for it. Romance, family, and getting on the property ladder. But she had what so few others had. She was a top Formula One mechanic. She got to share the highs and lows of the drivers. Celebrate. Commiserate. She worked with engineering masterpieces, creatures whose blood was oil and whose heartbeat was a piston. No, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

She stripped and stepped into a hot shower. Held her face up to the stream of water.

She’d have to put thoughts of Dean from her mind. He was clearly into someone else, in love with someone else, or possibly two other people. Not that she wanted him for herself, well, her mind didn’t, but her body had other ideas.

Her shower gel was vanilla-scented, and as she rubbed it over her breasts, she found herself imagining it was Dean touching her. Almost immediately, her nipples hardened. She tweaked them, tugged and pulled. Her soapy skin was smooth, and a current of awareness went from her breasts down to her clit.

“Damn it.” She wished she had a vibrator, but it had given up several months ago. She’d yet to buy another one. Perhaps that’s why she was fixating on Dean. Maybe if she got another Rampant Rabbit, she’d be able to self-pleasure with better results, and she’d stop these crazy fantasies.

And a crazy fantasy was attacking her now. Imagine if Dean stepped naked into the shower with her this very moment. His cock hard and needy, his expression one of grim determination. Fucking the only thing on his mind.

She slipped one hand to her pussy and rubbed over her clit. “Mmm…” He’d back her up, the way he had in the office. But this time his mouth would claim hers as he slid his hands to her ass and hoisted her into the air.

The first tugs of pressure grew in her clit, and she upped the pressure and speed.

She’d cling to him. Wrap her legs around his waist and watch as he fed his cock into her pussy.

Her moan vibrated around the shower cubicle. “Oh, yeah.”

And it would be a tight fit. He’d stretch her wide, fill her completely, seat her right to his root.

Then it would start. The pounding. The desperate urgent climb to release. They’d cling to each other. The water would continue to rain down, perhaps grow cold, but they wouldn’t notice. They’d be so lost in each other, so consumed by the moment.

Her knees weakened, and she released her nipple and pressed her palm flat on the cool tiles for support. An orgasm was growing. Her wrist ached, but she ignored it. Satisfaction was the only goal.

She thought of his lips on hers. The sharp scratch of stubble as he slid his jaw over her cheek and panted against her ear.

“Oh, yes, come, come.”

She imagined she was speaking into his ear. Her words toppling him into ecstasy.

She came. A pussy-clenching orgasm that had her gasping for breath in the steamy cubicle. Her toes curled, and she clenched her fist against the wall.

“Damn it,” she muttered breathlessly. “I have to stop masturbating and thinking of him. Intentionally or in my sleep. It’s got to stop.”

She’d find a sex shop as soon as she could. Get another vibrator so she could get control of this ridiculous obsession with her playboy driver.

Dean and his car were gone when Frankie came down for breakfast the next morning.

Another day with his tiger, or should that be
tigers
, and making them purr for more.

She munched on a bowl of cereal and enjoyed two cups of tea while Jake, Paul, and Enrique got themselves organized.

By nine-fifteen, they were at the track.

The car and support systems had arrived overnight, still tucked safely in the transportation vehicle. As always, Frankie’s heart gave a little flip of excitement that it was here. She also sent a quick thank you up to the heavens that it had arrived safely.

It was maneuvered off the ramp and before long jacked up. The mechanics moved with smooth efficiency. The atmosphere was light, the men knew the score, understood their jobs, and were looking forward to getting ready for the big race.

She worked with Enrique for a while, going through some electrics. Then she caught up with Paul about a problem with the air intake. Nothing major, just the usual gremlins.

The other teams were also arriving, and several mechanics, friends, friends of friends, called by the workshop. The banter was steady and came in a stream of different languages.

There were several phone calls for her to make, including one to Eric. He spoke for so long she missed going to lunch with her colleagues. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to contain the rumble.

“I really should be getting on, Eric,” she said, knowing if she didn’t bring the conversation to an end, she’d be there until nightfall.

“Yes, of course. I should never have kept you all this time. You go and get cracking, and I’ll see you next week. Don’t forget about—”

“I won’t forget about anything. I’ve got it all written down.” She looked at the list of things they’d discussed, all of which would need attention.

“Great. Give my best to Paul. Tell him I’ll catch up with him when I’m trackside.”

“I will. Enjoy the rest of your day.” She put the phone down.

A knock at the door caught her attention. It was Enrique holding up a wrapped package.

“
Hola
,” he said.

“Hi.”

“You missed lunch.”

“I know.” She groaned. “And I’m starving.”

“I thought you would be so I brought you a chicken salad sandwich.”

“You did.” She stood. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

He handed it over.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. My treat.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. “This, too.”

She laughed. “You want me to get fat?”

“No. Yes. I mean no.” A slight tinge of color bloomed on his cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows.

“One bar will not make you fat. One chocolate bar will not stop you being perfect.” He turned and quickly left the room.

Frankie stared after him. Whoa. What was that all about? Was he saying he liked her? She hadn’t seen that brewing. Enrique was cute, handsome even, but he was young, boy-like, not her type at all.

She sighed and unwrapped the sandwich. She’d have to make sure she didn’t make him think there could ever be anything between them. Not least because she was his boss.

As she ate her lunch, she admonished herself. She was reading too much into it. Enrique was just being nice. Nothing more. Hell, she was hardly crush material. She didn’t wear make-up unless it was a very special occasion. Her hair, though long, was a no-nonsense style. The majority of the time, she was in the same masculine T-shirt and jeans as the team wore. Heck, she’d never even worn nail varnish.

The afternoon sped by. A rush of jobs to be done, and all the time, she was getting to know the team better. They were a jovial lot, but equally had an air of seriousness about them. Frankie had a good feeling about the race, even though it was the one she dreaded the most when Hockenheim was on the schedule because of the evil hairpin bends.

On the way home, she sat in the front of the car with Paul. Enrique and Jake were in the back. Paul put on some funky German music, and they laughed and teased each other. This part of the scene was always fun, before the tension started to mount as race day came nearer. Soon nerves would begin to fray, tempers would be shorter, and the pressure of being spot-on with every move would build.

Once again, Dean’s car was at the house when they arrived back. Though this time it was in the garage with the door still open. Frankie was surprised. She’d thought he’d be out for the day, doing all the things rich, famous super-star drivers did.

Her throat was dry. The car had been hot, and she’d been laughing, so she went straight into the kitchen in search of a can of cola.

Dean was sitting at the table overlooking the pool. He had a laptop open in front of him.

“Hey,” she said.

He looked up. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Only a couple of us. The others headed into town for food.”

“And you didn’t want to?”

“No. I want a shower before I relax for the evening.” She pulled open the fridge. There was a joint of ham and plenty of salad. “I’ll eat here.”

“Good plan.”

She popped the can and took a slug. He was watching her. “You want to eat here, too? I’m can prepare extra.” Why had she offered that? Just because she was female didn’t mean she had to take on the role of housekeeper and cook.

He smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve already eaten.”

“Something nice?” Caviar, Chateaubriand?

“Well, if you call a Big Mac nice then, yeah, I guess.” He chuckled.