Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) (5 page)

“Were you boys going to invite me to join the fun?” Siena
calls, leaning over the railing of the balcony.

“Hey there, babe!” calls a boisterous, British-accented
voice. “Come on down. The water’s great.”

I peer around Siena, casting my gaze over the poolside
scene. A handsome blonde man is waving up at my new boss, and I recognize him
immediately as Harrison Davies, her husband. Their romance was quite the F1
scandal-turned-fairytale a couple years back. Siena was still Team Ferrelli’s
PR manager when Harrison burst out onto the F1 scene as the lead driver for the
English Team McClain. I remember watching that dramatic World Championship
unfold from my bedroom in Brooklyn, crushing Alec’s hand in my own through most
of it. There was more than one untimely death, several terrible crashes, and
even an incident of sloppy blackmailing. Not to mention the Romeo and
Juliet-style romance of Siena Lazio and Harrison Davies, the star-crossed
lovers turned F1 royal couple. I get all misty just thinking about it.

“Who’s that mountain man next to you, Harrison?” Siena teases,
bringing me back to the present. “He looks downright feral.”

“I’ll give you one guess,” says a rich, measured voice from
below, just out of my range of vision. Call me crazy, but I swear I know that
voice...

Peeping down toward the pool, I spot a second man stretched
out on a lounge chair, wearing nothing but black swim trunks that hang
dangerously low on his tapered waist. His olive skin is unblemished, his torso
the picture of sculpted tone. Good god...I’ve never seen a perfect six pack
before. Not to mention those perfect pecs, the cut biceps, and of course the
muscular v of his hips. His jet black hair is pushed back away from his face,
which sports a full, thick beard.  It’s the facial hair that throws me off at
first, but when he lifts the aviator sunglasses off of his face, it finally
hits me.

That’s
Enzo Lazio.

Like a skittish teenager, I leap backwards, darting out of
sight. My heart is pounding uncontrollably, and my hands begin to shake. A
crashing wave of adrenaline leaves me helpless in its wake. What the hell is
the matter with me?

“I didn’t know you were back already,” Siena calls down to
her brother. “Did you get your fill of tromping around through the mountains?”

“Had to get back for the party, right?” Enzo calls back, his
very voice sending thrills down my spine. “You would have cut me down off the
family tree if I missed it.”

“I still might cut you lose unless you shave that beard,”
Siena laughs. “Hold on, I’ll be right down.” She turns away from the balcony
and spots me huddled behind the door. Her eyebrows shoot up as I smile back
warily. “Do you want to come meet the guys?” she asks, “And whatever girls
Enzo’s carted over here for the afternoon?”

“I...uh...” I sputter, running a hand through my mussed-up
hair.

“Come on, they’ll love you!” she encourages me.

“I’m not feeling too fresh after that flight, to be honest,”
I finally manage to spit out. “Don’t want to make a bad first impression.” What
I really mean is, I don’t want to be wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie the first
time Enzo Lazio sees me.

“Suit yourself,” Siena shrugs, heading for the door. “But if
you get lonely up here, feel free to come join us!”

“Will do,” I tell her. Though I know for a fact that I
won’t. Not until I’ve had a chance to sleep off the bags under my eyes.

Siena leaves me alone in my new bedroom, and I immediately
creep back over to the balcony. From my hiding place, I peer down at the patio
once more. My eyes are drawn immediately to Enzo Lazio’s reclining body. If I
spent the next ten years staring at him, I still don’t think I’d be able to get
my fill. His cut, sculpted form is a work of art. Truly. I feel every bit like
the smitten super fan, star struck before her idol. I blush, remembering the
sexy fantasy that occupied my mind during my recent transatlantic flight.
Seeing Enzo now, in the flesh, I realize how foolish it would be to think he’d
ever want to be with someone like me. Not when he’s got model types at his beck
and call, as seems to be the case.

I watch as Siena appears on the patio and greets Harrison
Davies with a steamy kiss. My heart melts a little, seeing the two of them
together. They’ve always appeared to be the perfect couple in their TV
appearances and the like, it’s nice to see that they’re just as lovely
off-camera.

“Get a room, you two,” Enzo groans from his chair.

Another volley of giggles rings out across the terrace. The
two unfamiliar women in attendance—blonde, leggy beauties, both of them—are
perched at the edge of the pool, practically sitting at Enzo’s feet. He doesn’t
pay them much mind, but I still feel unreasonably jealous. I guess that Enzo’s
playboy reputation is rooted in fact, after all. I can’t help but be a little
disappointed. Not that I have any right to be. I guess I was halfway hoping
that the stories about his hedonistic ways would just be rumors. But that
doesn’t seem to be the case.

Without warning, Enzo springs up from his lounge chair and
cannonballs into the pool, sending a huge splash of water up in his wake. The
two mystery women screech delightedly as their lithe bodies are soaked, and
Harrison Davies cackles with glee. Even Siena seems amused by Enzo’s antics.

“You seem a bit more chipper after your little spirit
quest,” Siena observes of her brother. “Glad to see that some time off did you
good.”

“Did me better than good,” Enzo grins, rivulets of water
coursing down over his smoking hot body.

“I can see that,” I whisper from my hiding place, my eyes
transfixed by his every impeccably shaped muscle. I can’t help but wonder about
that other muscle that’s hidden beneath his trunks. One little slip of that
bathing suit, and he’d be on full display. Good god, my dirty thoughts
refuse
to be scrubbed away.

I maintain my post as Siena and Harrison settle down on
lounge chairs themselves, making polite conversation with Enzo’s “friends.”
From the open doors of the Lazio villa, Alfie comes running out onto the patio
with a stunning, silver-haired woman on his heels. Though well into her
sixties, she’s as graceful and poised as any woman I’ve seen up close. I can only
guess that this is Camilla Lazio, wife of the late Alfonso, mother of Siena and
Enzo. She nods with cool cordiality at the women that Enzo’s been halfheartedly
entertaining, and they promptly say their farewells. I can’t say that I’m not a
bit relieved to see them go.

Now it’s just the Lazio-Davies family hanging out down
below. I could easily step out into their midst, make my introductions. But
something stops me from doing so. I’m mesmerized by the sight of them—three
generations of the same loving family. My heart twists painfully as I think of
my brother Alec, all alone in New York, and of my parents, who never got to
watch us grow up and start families of our own. I feel, suddenly, like an
interloper. An intruder.

“It’s probably just the jet lag talking,” I assure myself,
stepping away from the window at last. I undress, taking a moment to examine
myself in the full-length mirror that stands against the wall.

My petite form, with its well-placed curves, is still a far
cry from those of the women Enzo seems to go for. At least, if those willowy
ladies from before were any indication of his type. But still, I’ve always
liked my build. I may not be tall and statuesque, but my athletic body is lean
and flexible, like a gymnast’s or a diver’s. I’ve had my fair share of
boyfriends and hookups, and have always felt great in my skin when it comes to
sex. I know how to please myself, how to get what I want in bed. I’ve been
happy with my love life, or my sex life, anyway. Can’t say that I’ve ever
really been in love myself.

But maybe that could change with a man like Enzo Lazio
around?

You’ve
just been asked to join one of the best F1 teams in the world
, I remind
myself, shucking on some comfy sweats.
You should be thrilled, not jonesing for your future mentor. Get a grip
already, would you?

It’s still early in the evening, but I can’t force my eyes
to stay open for another minute. I crawl into the fluffy, welcoming queen bed
and curl up into a tiny ball under the covers. I can’t bring myself to close
the doors to the balcony and block out the sounds of happy voices below. Maybe,
if I listen to the Lazio-Davies clan as I fall asleep, I’ll dream about being a
part of their beautiful family. Instead of dreaming about Enzo hoisting me up
onto the hood of a car and having his way with me.

“We shall see,” I murmur sleepily. “We shall see.”

Chapter Six

I sleep like a rock the whole night through, and wake up
feeling a thousand times more refreshed. Since the sun has barely risen when I
roll out of bed, I decide to break in my spa-like bathroom. I run myself a
steaming hot bath, scenting it with lavender bath salts, and let the water
caress my travel-sore muscles. I nearly fall asleep in the water, the soak is
so relaxing. I still can’t believe that this is my life now, as a member of
Team Ferrelli. The whole lap of luxury thing will take some getting used to,
that’s for sure.

Knowing that I have a couple of hours to kill before the
rest of the family even wakes up, I take my time making a cup of rich espresso
on the stovetop. Wrapped up in my dad’s professor sweater and some black
leggings, I take my coffee out onto the back porch, the cool morning air
kissing my face. Settling onto a white wooden rocking chair, I treasure this
moment of solitude. Living in Brooklyn, silence isn’t something I come across
very often—so I intend to treasure whatever little slice of it I can get here.

Watching the sun come up over the hills, I try and quiet my
mounting nerves. Tonight is the big bash for the whole of Team Ferrelli. In a
few short hours, my new status as an affiliated driver will be announced to the
world. My days of relative anonymity will be over. I have no idea what to
expect from the rest of the F1 community. Will I be welcomed by my teammates,
the media, the world at large? Or will people simply roll their eyes at the little
girl playing dress up in her F1 racing jumpsuit?

Well, if
they can’t take me seriously because I’m a woman, that’s their problem,
I remind myself, draining the last of my coffee.
I
know I’m a good driver. And that’s what really matters.

Before I know it, the sun has crested over the horizon. A
knock on the front door of the guest house takes me by surprise, and I hurry to
answer it. It’s scarcely ten in the morning, Italian time, but I open the door
to see Siena Davies, looking fresh and bright in a pencil skirt and white silk
blouse. And she’s not alone, either. Beside her stands a tiny, pixie-like
blonde with bright green eyes and a wicked half-smile. She’s rocking a cropped
leather jacket, tight skinny jeans, and two-inch pumps. I’m suddenly quite a
bit bashful about my chunky sweater.

“Morning, sunshine!” Siena greets me happily. “Hope we
didn’t wake you.”

“No! Not at all,” I say quickly, embarrassed to be caught
still nursing my cup of morning joe. “I think I managed to sleep off most of
the jet lag. That bed is my new best friend, I think.”

“Oh. My. God,” says the blonde woman on my doorstep, green
eyes sparkling with delight. “You are absolutely adorable! I love everything
about you. Are those freckles year-round? Is that your natural hair color?”

“Ainsley, this is Bex Spano,” Siena says, nodding at the
tiny spitfire. “She’s Team Ferrelli’s resident PR guru. And my best friend on
the planet.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Spano,” I smile, extending my
hand.

“Sorry, honey. I’m a hugger!” she exclaims, wrapping her
slender arms around my sweater-clad torso. “I am going to have so much fun with
you. And please, call me Bex.”

I look up at Siena for some clue as to how I might respond,
but she just shakes her head with a loving smile. “We thought we’d start your
media training bright and early, since the party is tonight,” she explains to
me.

“Media training?” I ask, as Bex releases me from her bear
hug.

“Oh god yes,” Bex replies, “You don’t think we’re going to
thrust you out in front of the entire world of F1 without a few talking points,
do you? Come on. Let’s get cracking.”

The two women bustle past me into the guest house, sweeping
me along with their excited energy. I have to say, their enthusiasm is
infectious. As overwhelming as this day is sure to be, I know I’m in good
hands. I’ve never had too many close girlfriends, preferring the company of my
brother and the rough-and-tumble neighborhood boys. But hanging out with Siena
and Bex has me wishing I’d grown up with sisters, too.

“I have one very important question before we get into the
nitty gritty stuff,” Bex says, planting her hands on her slender hips. “What
are you going to wear tonight?”

“Oh,” I say, tugging on the sleeves of my sweater.
“I...uh...have no idea.”

Bex stares at me blankly, trying to figure out whether or
not I’m kidding. When it becomes clear that I’m dead serious, she takes a deep,
steadying breath. “That’s cool,” she says, “That’s what I’m here for.” In a
flash, she races out to her car and comes back laden with several garment bags.
Siena intercepts her as she flies back in, ready to dress me up like a
life-sized Barbie Doll.

“Whoa there, Tiger,” Siena laughs. “Let’s get Ainsley up to
speed with what we have in mind, publicity-wise. Then we can talk outfits.”

“Oh, fine,” Bex pouts, gingerly setting down the selection
of clothes. “Guess you have to eat your vegetables before you get dessert,
huh?”

The three of us settle down in the cozy living room, and
Siena gives me the rundown about her ideas for my place on Team Ferrelli. She
wants to push the mentoring angle hard, which means I’ll be making all kinds of
press appearances with Enzo before the season begins. I try to swallow my
schoolgirl grin as I learn just how much time I’ll get to spend with my hunky
teammate. But inside, I’m screaming with very unprofessional glee.

Siena goes on to emphasize just how important my role on
Team Ferrelli will be, as a young woman. She’s the first female shareholder
Ferrelli has ever had, and she takes her responsibilities very seriously. Siena
is counting on me to pull my weight, not only as a team member, but as a fellow
woman looking to make F1 a more inclusive sport.

“Trust me,” I assure her, “I’ve been dealing with sexist
nonsense for over a decade as a driver. I’ll do anything I can to make it a
little easier for all the other girls out there.”

“That’s the spirit,” Siena smiles.

“That’s a
soundbite
,
is what it is,” Bex puts in. “You’re going to be such a natural talking to the
press.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I say nervously, “I don’t really
have much practice minding my p’s and q’s.”

“Just try not to curse anyone out in front of the cameras,
and you’ll be just fine,” Bex tells me. “And hell, if you slip up, don’t even
worry about it. Siena punched a photographer one time, and the world still
loves her.”

“To be fair, I was carrying the heir to the Lazio
and
Davies racing dynasties
at the time,” Siena laughs.

“Still,” Bex presses on. “The media’s love can be won back
in a heartbeat. Especially for a pretty girl like you, Ainsley.”

“Oh please,” I scoff, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I’m
not that pretty.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Bex and Siena gasp in unison.

“You’ve got the scrappy-sexy thing down to a science. Just
look at you!” Bex crows. “With those tight curves, and that amazing hair—”

“Easy does it, Bex,” Siena cuts in. “You’re making her
blush.”

“To be fair, everything makes me blush,” I reply, though all
this praise is boosting my confidence a bit.

“I’m just saying,” Bex goes on. “You’re super hot. So own
that shit. Now, are we done talking about civic responsibility and all that
jazz? I’ve got, like, twelve pairs of shoes I need you to try on.”

The game of dress up is on. Bex herds me upstairs and has me
try on gown after gown for tonight’s affair. Short dresses, long dresses,
bodycon numbers, and flowing bohemian robes, we try everything. I’ve never seen
so many fine pieces of clothing up close. I’m halfway afraid to touch anything
this nice. But reluctance is not something that Bex is willing to humor, so I
soldier on anyway. Siena shakes her head at every single outfit I try on, not
ready to settle for anything less than perfect.

“Wait. I have an idea,” she breathes, after what feels like
hours. “Bex, do you have anything in emerald?”

“I’m sure I do,” Bex mutters, digging through the heap of
garment bags splayed across my bed. “Aha! Here we go,” he exclaims, carefully
excavating a floor-length gown from the pile. My eyes go wide as they alight on
the garment.

“That’s gorgeous,” I murmur, as afternoon sunlight glances
off the fine golden beading on the neckline of the strapless, deep green dress.
“Do you think I can pull it off?”

“Only one way to find out,” Bex smiles, handing the gown to
me.

Holding the piece reverently to my chest, I hurry into the
bathroom to try it on. My pulse starts to race as I shrug out of my robe and
slip into the elegant emerald gown. The light, silky fabric caresses my skin,
fitting itself to my every curve. I’ve never worn anything half as elegant as this
dress. Hell, I didn’t even go to my senior prom (I had a race in another state
the next morning), so this whole glamor thing is pretty unprecedented. I run
the zipper of the dress up my side and smile when I find that it fits me like a
glove.

“Let us see, let us see!” Bex cries from the other room.

Walking as daintily as I can—which is still not very—I make
my way back into the bedroom. The second I appear in the doorway, Siena and Bex
go dead silent.

“Is it...OK?” I ask, looking back and forth between them.

“It’s...perfect,” Siena breathes, staring at me in wonder.

“Just wait until we get you into hair and makeup!” Bex
gushes.

“I have to admit, when I agreed to come be a driver for
Ferrelli...I wasn’t expecting anything this fancy,” I tell them. “I don’t have
much practice doing the whole...girly thing.”

“That’s even better,” Siena tells me. “You don’t have to
pretend to be anyone you’re not, Ainsley. Hell, that’s why the world is going
to fall in love with you. You’re real.”

“Just like that killer rack of yours,” Bex grins, eyeing my
chest.

“Good lord, Bex,” Siena groans, giving her friend a playful
shove. “You’re gonna give the girl a complex.”

“I’m just speaking the truth,” Bex shoots back. “We’ve got a
grade-A babe on our hands.”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but this grade-A babe is
gonna pass out if she doesn’t get her hands on a sandwich soon. I’m starved,” I
tell them.

“A girl after my own heart,” Siena smiles. “Lunchtime it
is.”

We take a break from dressing up and debriefing about strategy
to whip up an easy lunch. Cheese, fruit, and some excellent Italian bread hit
the spot, not to mention a delicious glass of white wine. I could certainly get
used to this lifestyle, that’s for sure. And if all goes according to plan, it
seems like I’ll get the chance to.

After a bit more chatting and planning, Bex and Siena head
back to the main house to get the party all set up. I decide to soak up a bit
of alone time before setting off to meet a whole new slew of people tonight.
It’s already early evening as I pad back up to my bedroom, brushing my fingers
along the length of the emerald green gown that hangs in my otherwise barren
closet.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I step out onto the
balcony. The pool area is deserted now, as everyone prepares for the party.
Strands of string lights hang suspended over the terrace, reflected in the
crystal clear water. A live band and DJ are booked for tonight’s festivities,
and a team of caterers and bartenders are on hand to make sure everyone
eats—and imbibes—to their hearts’ content.

My nerves crackle with anticipation. I’m so excited to meet
the rest of the team. Well, excited and incredibly nervous. Siena and Bex are
the only people I’ll know at the party—unless you count Alfie. What if everyone
just thinks I’m a strange little American girl and wants nothing to do with me?

“Well, too bad,” I mutter aloud. “Because I’m here now. And
I intend to stay.”