like a
ray of sun through the darkest of storm clouds. My legs begin to tremble
beneath me at the sheer proximity of that impeccably sculpted face, that
staggeringly fit body.
“And here you are,” Harrison says, taking my hand and
pulling me into the room.
“As requested,” I reply, looking around the dimly lit space,
“Are you sure no one’s going to happen upon us here?”
“I’m certain that they won’t,” he tells me, lacing his
fingers through mine, “I rented out an extra room for the evening. The rest of
my team is five flights away.”
“Clever man,” I smile, leaning back against the closed door.
Harrison steps toward me, closing the space between our
bodies. He pins my hands over my head, brings those full lips down to mine. I
accept his deep kiss, and a low moan escapes my throat. The moment he touches
me, need begins to pulse between my legs, along every inch of my skin.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Harrison says, kissing down
along my neck, “You’re thinking that I asked you up here to lay you down across
my bed and have my way with you over and over again. Am I right?”
“Didn’t you?” I ask.
“Well...yes and no,” he tells me, nipping lightly at my ear.
“That may very well be how we conclude our evening, but first, I need you to do
something for me.”
“Oh?” I say, arching an eyebrow, “And what might that be?”
He winks in response and takes me by the hand, leading me
into the darkened suite. We step into the living room, and I stop short. A
table is set in the center of the room, with a beautiful dinner spread out
across it. Beyond the table, a gorgeous view of the city sprawls out before us.
Harrison looks at me expectantly.
“Have dinner with me?” he asks. For once, his request isn’t
phrased as a statement. He’s actually asked me on...a date?
“Of course. Sure,” I say, flustered and giddy.
We sit down across from each other, and Harrison produces a
bottle of chilled white wine. Pouring me a generous glass, he says, “I would
have gotten you your signature drink, but I didn’t know how long it would take
for you to skip out on your team.”
“I haven’t skipped out,” I tell him, “I’m just...”
“Visiting?” he suggests.
“Right.”
“It occurred to me this morning that we haven’t had much of
a proper chance to get to know each other,” Harrison says, filling his own
glass.
“Could that be because we spend most of our time doing more
interesting things with our lips than talking?” I ask.
“You keep talking like that, and I’ll have no choice but to
carry you into the next room, Miss Lazio,” he informs me.
“Maybe that was my plan, Mr. Davies.”
“I knew you only wanted me for my body,” he sighs
theatrically. “I’m hurt.”
“You just don’t strike me as the dinner and conversation
type,” I tell him.
“I’m not. With most women,” he says, “But I’m learning very
quickly that you, Siena, are an entirely different matter.”
I can’t help but be excited by the idea that I could be
something more to Harrison than a Grand Prix fling. But still, best to tread
lightly. He’s a bad boy, after all. As connected to him as I feel, it’s
true—there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other.
“So tell me, Harrison,” I say, filling my plate with all
manner of delicious offerings, “How does a rookie driver completely blindside
an entire sport, come out of thin air, and earn himself a chance at winning?”
“It’s a long story,” he says, “The good ones tend to be. But
the short version of it is this. I’m no rookie, Siena. I was scouted by McClain
when I was eleven years old. They’ve been grooming me all my life for this. My
opportunity to get on the track came about a bit unexpectedly, to be sure, but
I intend to make the most of it.”
“You’ve been training since you were eleven?” I ask
wondrously, “Didn’t your parents have any qualms about that?”
“One thing we
ray of sun through the darkest of storm clouds. My legs begin to tremble
beneath me at the sheer proximity of that impeccably sculpted face, that
staggeringly fit body.
“And here you are,” Harrison says, taking my hand and
pulling me into the room.
“As requested,” I reply, looking around the dimly lit space,
“Are you sure no one’s going to happen upon us here?”
“I’m certain that they won’t,” he tells me, lacing his
fingers through mine, “I rented out an extra room for the evening. The rest of
my team is five flights away.”
“Clever man,” I smile, leaning back against the closed door.
Harrison steps toward me, closing the space between our
bodies. He pins my hands over my head, brings those full lips down to mine. I
accept his deep kiss, and a low moan escapes my throat. The moment he touches
me, need begins to pulse between my legs, along every inch of my skin.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Harrison says, kissing down
along my neck, “You’re thinking that I asked you up here to lay you down across
my bed and have my way with you over and over again. Am I right?”
“Didn’t you?” I ask.
“Well...yes and no,” he tells me, nipping lightly at my ear.
“That may very well be how we conclude our evening, but first, I need you to do
something for me.”
“Oh?” I say, arching an eyebrow, “And what might that be?”
He winks in response and takes me by the hand, leading me
into the darkened suite. We step into the living room, and I stop short. A
table is set in the center of the room, with a beautiful dinner spread out
across it. Beyond the table, a gorgeous view of the city sprawls out before us.
Harrison looks at me expectantly.
“Have dinner with me?” he asks. For once, his request isn’t
phrased as a statement. He’s actually asked me on...a date?
“Of course. Sure,” I say, flustered and giddy.
We sit down across from each other, and Harrison produces a
bottle of chilled white wine. Pouring me a generous glass, he says, “I would
have gotten you your signature drink, but I didn’t know how long it would take
for you to skip out on your team.”
“I haven’t skipped out,” I tell him, “I’m just...”
“Visiting?” he suggests.
“Right.”
“It occurred to me this morning that we haven’t had much of
a proper chance to get to know each other,” Harrison says, filling his own
glass.
“Could that be because we spend most of our time doing more
interesting things with our lips than talking?” I ask.
“You keep talking like that, and I’ll have no choice but to
carry you into the next room, Miss Lazio,” he informs me.
“Maybe that was my plan, Mr. Davies.”
“I knew you only wanted me for my body,” he sighs
theatrically. “I’m hurt.”
“You just don’t strike me as the dinner and conversation
type,” I tell him.
“I’m not. With most women,” he says, “But I’m learning very
quickly that you, Siena, are an entirely different matter.”
I can’t help but be excited by the idea that I could be
something more to Harrison than a Grand Prix fling. But still, best to tread
lightly. He’s a bad boy, after all. As connected to him as I feel, it’s
true—there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other.
“So tell me, Harrison,” I say, filling my plate with all
manner of delicious offerings, “How does a rookie driver completely blindside
an entire sport, come out of thin air, and earn himself a chance at winning?”
“It’s a long story,” he says, “The good ones tend to be. But
the short version of it is this. I’m no rookie, Siena. I was scouted by McClain
when I was eleven years old. They’ve been grooming me all my life for this. My
opportunity to get on the track came about a bit unexpectedly, to be sure, but
I intend to make the most of it.”
“You’ve been training since you were eleven?” I ask
wondrously, “Didn’t your parents have any qualms about that?”
“One thing we
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