Faster Harder (3 page)

“Small world,” Harrison smiles, “So what are you, some kind
of racing superstar?”

“Hardly,” I grin, “I’m guessing you’re not either. I’d know
if you were.”

“That hurts, darling,” he says, clutching his hard stomach
as if stabbed.

“I’m just saying,” I tell him, laying a comforting hand on
his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a superstar at...whatever it is you do. Pit
crew?”

“Something like that,” he tells me. “But enough shop talk,
yeah? Why don’t you come dance with me?”

“Oh...I don’t know,” I demure, sipping my margarita, “I was
planning on taking it pretty easy tonight.”

“I can go easy, if you’d like,” he says, “I can go just
about any way you like.”

“Oh god,” I laugh, “Please spare me the game-spitting.”

“Fair enough,” he says, “If you dance with me, I promise not
to utter one more pickup line for the rest of the night.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Hope to die.”

I take one last sip of my drink and place it back down on
the bar. “Fine then,” I say to Harrison, “One dance won’t kill me, I’m sure.”

He threads his fingers through mine and draws me out into
the pulsing, swaying crowd. The tightly-packed bodies part before him, and soon
we’re engulfed in the teeming sea of beautiful people. Two drinks in, I’m
starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy, just loose enough to see what this guy is
all about.

The crowd closes in around us as the starry sky whirls
overhead. Harrison turns to face me, placing his strong hands on my hips. I let
my hands fall on his broad shoulders, swaying to the quick, lively music
pulsing through the courtyard. The air is warm, but a cool breeze of the sea
feels delightful against my heated skin. I peer up into Harrison’s intense
eyes, those blue discs that have held me so entranced all night. There’s the smallest
sliver of air between our gyrating bodies, just enough to keep the other
guessing.

“You look pretty pensive for a lady in the middle of the
dance floor,” Harrison says above the music.

“Just trying to figure you out, Harrison,” I say, tucking a
strand of loose hair behind my ear. “There’s something about you that seems
so...familiar.”

“That so?” he laughs, “I promise, there’s not much about me
to figure out. I live fast, go hard, and will probably die young.”

“How optimistic,” I say sarcastically.

“Nothing wrong with going out early if you’ve made the most
of your time,” Harrison says, “I try and live every day at the highest speed I
can.”

“Don’t you miss a lot, moving that fast?” I ask.

“Maybe,” Harrison shrugs, “But anything I’ve missed probably
wasn’t worth having in the first place.”

“Guess you’ll never know, huh?”

“Are you trying to tell me I move too fast to have you,
Siena?” he asks, his breath warm against my neck.

My pulse picks up the pace through my veins as Harrison
pulls me against him. All at once, I’m at a loss for any words I may have once
known. This complete stranger has me tongue-tied and stumbling. And I have a
feeling he hasn’t even gotten started yet.

“However fast you move,” I tell him finally, “I’m sure I can
keep up.”

“And that has yet to be seen?” he asks.

“That’s right,” I tell him, letting my hands clasp lightly
behind his neck. In heels, I’m about five foot eight—but he’s still got a good
five inches on me. I’m so used to being at eye level with the guys I date, this
is a nice change. Not that this is a date, or that Harrison and I would ever
date per se...God, even my
thoughts
are flustered.

“I get the feeling that I’m not the type of man you usually
spend time with,” Harrison says, letting his hands slip around the small of my
back.

Jesus, can he read my mind now?

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

“I can just tell this isn’t the game you usually play,” he
says, “You’re too present, too honest, to be going through the motions.”

“Is that what you’re doing, going through the motions?” I
ask.

“Not at all,” he says, “You’re not the kind of woman I
usually spend time with either.”

It’s a good thing that we’re dancing in the half-light,
because I’m sure that I’m blushing up a storm. Why do I feel so satisfied in
knowing that I’m somehow different from the women that Harrison usually
pursues?

“And what kind of a woman do you think I am?” I ask
Harrison, cocking my head ever-so-slightly to the side.

“I think that you’re driven,” he says, “And smart as hell,
and incredibly smitten with me.”

I’m about to retort when the tempo of the music picks up
once again. An energetic beat blasts through the club, and I’m suddenly feeling
a little out of my league.

“I’m just going to take a second—” I begin.

“Good idea,” Harrison says, leading the way off the floor,
“I could use another drink.”

He escorts me back to the bar, where his posse has already
gathered. We meld into the group, and in an instant I’m furnished with another
margarita. And even though I know that I need to be awake at six in the
morning, even though I’ve never met these people in my life, even though
Harrison is giving me fuck-me eyes like I’ve never seen before, I have no
desire to leave. I haven’t felt this reckless, this alive, in years. Maybe even
ever.

“You’re a bad influence,” I tell Harrison, threading my arm
through his.

“You love it,” he winks.

“Are you here for the Grand Prix too?” Sara asks me, leaning
around Harrison to get a better look at me.

“I am,” I tell her, “I do PR for one of the drivers.”

“Oh, who?” Shelby exclaims, “We’re all big fans of F1.”

“Enzo Lazio, team Ferrelli,” I reply, “Ever heard of him?”

A collective gasp goes up among the three women, and even
the men look at me in awe. I guess they’ve heard of my brother, alright.

“You work for Enzo Lazio?” Cora breathes, “He’s so...
fine
.”

“Hey!” Andy protests.

“Even you’d have to admit you think so too,” Cora tells him.

“That’s true...” Andy sighs, “He’s a dreamboat.”

“What’s he like in real life?” Sara asks, sounding like a
little girl at a sleepover.

“He’s the best,” I smile, thinking of my big brother.

I decide to keep the fact that I’m a Lazio as well to
myself. These people are obviously F1 buffs, I don’t want them treating me any
differently because they know my last name.

“I’m so incredibly jealous,” Shelby pouts, “I wish I got to
work for a team like Ferrelli. We’re all stuck slogging away for McClain.”

“What do you mean slogging?” Harrison says defensively, “We
came in third overall during last year’s tournament.”

“Third is a long way from first,” Shelby says pointedly,
“Which is, I believe, where Ferrelli placed?”

“That’s right,” I grin, “Three world champion teams in the
last ten years. Not too shabby.”

“I’ll say,” Shelby sighs, “How did you get an awesome job
like that? You can’t be older than twenty-three.”

“I’m twenty-five,” I correct her. I can’t help but be a bit
annoyed with Shelby’s lack of tact and none too subtle competitive streak.

“See? You’re still a baby!” she cries dramatically.

“Leave off, Shell,” Harrison says, “We’ve got a fine team of
our own, don’t we?”

“What do you all do for McClain?” I ask.

“I’m just a pit wife,” Cora sighs, “Sara and Shelby are on
the social media and marketing team. And Harrison—”

“Good lord, these go down smooth!” Harrison says, polishing
off the last of his tequila. “Nothing like Barcelona, am I right?”

“You know what we need?” Sara says mischievously, “A round
of shots.”

A cry of agreement goes up through the party. Harrison turns
toward me, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

“You game, Miss Siena?” he asks.

“Hell yes,” I say, “Bring it on.”

The bartender quickly supplies us with a round of shots, and
Andy raises his glass.

“To the Grand Prix,” he says, “And the grand old shit show
that is Formula One!”

“I’ll drink to that!” Harrison shouts.

We knock back our shots, and I’m amazed at how fine the
liquor is. This is the kind of stuff that goes down like silk, so that you
don’t even know until you’re stumbling into bed just how drunk you’ve gotten.

“I love this music,” I exclaim, swaying in time on my
barstool.

“The Spanish know how to stack a playlist,” Harrison says,
“Fancy another turn?”

“Are you asking me to dance?” I say, charmed by his accent
despite myself.

“Absolutely,” he replies.

“Then yes,” I say, hopping down from my perch.

The colors and lights that sear through my range of vision
begin to melt together as the tequila courses through my system. I see Cora and
Andy make their way onto the dance floor, while Sara and Shelby are eagerly
snatched up by a couple of Norse-looking guys and drawn out to bust a move. But
as soon as Harrison and I are on our own again, it’s only him that I have eyes
for. How can it be possible to feel so alone, so private, while dancing in a
sea of people?

I spin around and press my back against Harrison’s firm
chest. His hands fall to my waist, lingering there as I grind my hips against
him. I raise my hands into the hair, closing my eyes and savoring the feel of
Harrison’s body against mine. The music is too loud for us to hear each other,
but I feel like we’re communicating all the same. I turn to face him, draping
my arms over his shoulders. His face is mere inches from mine, those full, firm
lips within kissing distance at last. I move my hips deliberately, enticingly,
as Harrison’s hands slide ever further down along my body. I haven’t felt this
free with any other man I’ve danced with, not ever.

“I’m in love with the way you move,” Harrison growls, close
to my ear. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“There’s a lot about me that you couldn’t guess from
looking,” I reply, locking my eyes with his, “I’m sure I could say the same
about you.”

“You may be right,” he says, “But I guess you’ll just have
to find out for yourself.”

“How might I do that?”

“Stick around,” he smiles, “I might just surprise you. And
even if I don’t, I can guarantee that you’ll have a hell of a time.”

He presses his hips back against mine, and I gasp as I feel
a sudden, throbbing urge fire up in the very core of me. As crazy as it may be
to admit, I want this man. The question is...will I let myself have him?

We dance through the next two songs, not speaking a word.
Our bodies do plenty of talking on their own. I’m losing myself to the pulsing
music, the intoxicating feel of Harrison’s body, the incredible energy of
Barcelona after dark. I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow—all I can do
is live for this single moment in time.

“Buy me another shot?” I ask Harrison, as the music fades
for the briefest of moments.

“Why sure,” he says, and I lead the way back to the bar.

The bartender spots us coming and produces a pair of shots.
“Here you are Mr. Davies,” the man says warmly.

“Davies...” I mutter, “Harrison Davies. Your name sounds
familiar.”

“No reason why it should,” Harrison tells me, “Unless you’ve
been vacationing in Birmingham of late.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other plenty, if
you’ll be around for the tournament,” he says, “You will be around for the
tournament, won’t you?”

“Sure will,” I say, raising my shot glass, “To new friends?”

“Indeed,” he says.

We gulp down our shots and slam them back onto the bar. I’m
hovering right on the perfect line of tipsiness. The world around me is loose
and full of color, but I’m still completely in control. I swing my gaze toward
my handsome companion, drinking in his perfectly balanced features, those
strong, sculpted muscles. What if this is the only time we’ll run into each
other during the entire tournament? What if this is the only night I’ll ever
get to spend in his dashing company?

He may be a bit more red-blooded than the men I usually go
for, but I’m starting to think that might not be such a terrible thing. What’s
the worst that I could happen if I actually went for him tonight? I’ve never
let myself chase down a guy I’ve actually been attracted to, and I’ve never
felt more drawn to anyone than this Harrison Davies. Come what may, I make my
decision. It’s time to throw caution to the wind, for once in my life. It’s
time to have a spot of fun.

Without saying a word, I lower myself onto the ground and
take Harrison’s hand in mine. He looks at me, happily surprised.

“Back to the dance floor?” he asks.

“Not quite,” I reply, tugging him down off his bar stool.

“Are you trying to kill me with suspense, Miss Siena?” he
asks.

“Something like that,” I say, and head off into the
throbbing crowd. I have no idea where I’m going, or what I even have in mind.
All I know is that I want to get this man alone as soon as humanly possible.

Harrison catches my drift and draws up beside me, weaving
through the crowd. His hand makes its way to the small of my back, then slides
lightly over the swell of my ass. My heart slams against my ribcage at that
slightest touch, my body straining with want of his hands all over me.

We duck around a corner and all but sprint down a dimly lit
hallway. The corridor is lined with heavy doors, two dozen at least. Harrison
chooses one at random, and the door swings open into the hallway. A small, posh
bathroom stall is revealed there, and I dart inside, pulling Harrison along
behind me. He presses my shoulders up against the plush wall, and I have to
fight to keep from purring with contentment.

“I’m guessing this is a pretty regular thing for you?” I
ask.

He locks the door behind us. “You seem pretty comfortable
yourself, Siena,”

“Blame it on the tequila,” I say, every cell in my body
calling out for him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Harrison?”