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  It hadn’t been my intention to take a role in Dad’s racing team. I’d rather have cut my teeth with one of the smaller teams where the pressure to perform at the very highest levels wasn’t as great, but Dad had insisted. As soon as he made it clear I’d only be working for one racing team, none of the others would touch me.

  Yeah, I’m pissed off about it, but what’s a girl to do?

  Still, on the upside, working for Dad meant I’d be surrounded by the best, and that, in turn, would make me better. I had a healthy competitive streak, and learning from those who were among the greatest and most talented mechanics in the business would ensure I joined their ranks in the shortest possible time.

  See, I wanted success. I craved it. I knew lots of women who’d grown up with the adage of ‘silver spoon in their mouths’ and were happy to spend their days lounging around on their daddy’s yacht drinking champagne and screwing the crew.

  That wasn’t me.

  The desire to make the grade through my own efforts, rather than the good fortune of being born to the right parents, spurred me on. Motor racing was a man’s world, and women had to work twice as hard to succeed.

  As Jack Nash’s daughter, I’d have to work three times as hard to prove I deserved my spot through merit, not DNA.

  A few people milled about in the pit lane. Winter testing would begin in full force today, the start of the racing season still quite a way off. My dad’s racing team always tested the new car designs in Spain. The temperatures in southern Europe were a lot warmer than England, and therefore more aligned to the temperatures we’d race in.

  Testing gave us the first chance to try out the engine and aerodynamic improvements developed in the factory and make any necessary modifications before the season began. Further testing would take place throughout the year, but this was the crucial time, in preparation for the first race. Once we started racing, we wouldn’t have time to make significant changes to the car.

  I spotted Dad talking with Lewis Hargreaves, one of our drivers. Lewis had driven for Nash Racing for seven years, but this would be his last season with us. He’d decided to retire after fifteen years at the very top of Grand Prix racing. Lewis was like the older brother I never had, and I’d miss him like crazy, but at least I’d be working with him and his mechanics. I hoped that eased me into my first few weeks in a new job. A stressful job. One that many had tried—and failed—to conquer.

  God, what if I’m not up to this… What if I can’t hack the pressure?

  I swallowed past a thick throat. Unscrewing the top on a bottle of water, I sipped, the cool liquid easing the dryness in my mouth.

  Pull yourself together, Paise. You’ve got this!

  I got back in my car and drove to the entrance of the racetrack. I flashed my access badge at the security guard who raised his hand in acknowledgement and granted me access into the compound.

  After parking the car, I headed straight for the pit lane. I found Dad deep in conversation with Lewis, but he broke off the minute he noticed me. He opened his arms wide.

  “There’s my girl.”

  I scuffed a toe on the concrete, suppressing a sigh. “We’re at work, Dad. We spoke about this. I want you to treat me like you would any other employee when we’re at the track.”

  A tinge of hurt crossed his face, and then he nodded. “Okay, my darling.”

  I almost rolled my eyes but let the term of endearment slide. It’d take Dad time to adjust. I expected it’d take everyone a while, actually, but they would. Eventually.

  Maybe.

  “Excited about your first day?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “Hey, Paisley. How’re you doing?” Lewis asked.

  “Peachy keen, jelly queen,” I said, which made him laugh. It had been our standard greeting for years now. Lewis loved the movie Grease. I’d pinched that particular phrase from the film years earlier. “Now listen, you,” I said, waggling my finger at him. “You’d better make sure you’re as hard on me as you are on everyone else. I don’t want any favors.”

  Lewis turned his attention to Dad. “You haven’t told her?”

  “Not yet,” Dad said, looking sheepish.

  I frowned, an uneasy feeling rising inside me. “Told me what?”

  Dad draped an arm around my shoulder. “I’m putting you to work in Jared’s crew.”

  Jared Kane—an American who’d driven on the IndyCar racing circuit, the US version of Formula One—had been hired as our new driver after Kenzo Tanaka retired at the grand old age of thirty-seven last year. The rules of IndyCar were significantly different, and this would be Kane’s first year driving in Formula One. I’d assumed—wrongly as it turned out—Dad wouldn’t want a rookie mechanic on the same team as a rookie driver. I hadn’t even met the guy yet.

  I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Why?” I said, the word spilling out harsher than I intended. “He’s a newbie, and so am I. I don’t understand why you’d do that, Dad.”

  “Because I’m moving Angus over to Jared’s crew, too, and I want my little girl learning from the best head mechanic in the business.”

  I ground my teeth at the ‘little girl’ comment, making a mental note to have another conversation with Dad over dinner this evening while simultaneously widening my eyes at his unexpected news. Angus had been Lewis’s mechanic for the last seven years. I scanned Lewis’s face, looking for signs he felt betrayed, but instead he responded to my questioning gaze with a broad smile.

  “And you’re okay with this?” I asked.

  Lewis laughed. “Well, firstly, your dad’s the boss, so if he says it’s happening then it’s happening. And secondly, yeah, I’m cool. It’s my last season, kiddo. Jared, and whoever your dad brings in to replace me, are the future. He has to do what’s best for Nash Racing, and moving Angus over to work with Jared is the right decision.”

  Hmm. I wasn’t convinced, but experience had taught me that once Dad made up his mind, there was more chance of moving a mountain by blowing on it than getting him to reverse his decision.

  Unless you were me.

  And that was why Dad hadn’t mentioned it until today. He’d worried that I’d find a way to talk him out of it. Being an only child had its advantages and disadvantages, and I admit, in the past, I hadn’t shied away from practicing the art of manipulation to further my own ends.

  “Cheer up, kiddo,” Lewis said, correctly reading my chagrin. He playfully flicked the end of my nose. “You’ll still see plenty of me. I’ve got your back. Always.”

  I repressed a sigh at the flick on the nose. Affectionate, sure, but just another example of the ton of work I had ahead of me to convince this rabble I was a grown woman, not a bloody five-year-old. But now wasn’t the right time to go into battle on that particular front.

  “So when do I get to meet the new driver?” I asked Dad.

  He chuckled. “Soon. Why don’t you go grab some breakfast? I bet you haven’t eaten this morning.”

  Correct. I hadn’t. I’d been too nervous, my stomach all churned up since I’d opened my eyes at five a.m. And now with the news that Dad had decided to pair me with the new guy, I felt even more bent out of shape. I wished Dad had told me earlier. If I’d known Jared and I would be working together, I’d have researched the hell out of him. IndyCar racing wasn’t something I’d ever paid that much attention to, and as it didn’t get a lot of airtime in Europe, my knowledge on this guy could be described as sketchy at best.

  For sketchy, read zero, nada. Diddly squat.

  I just hoped he wasn’t an egotistical prick. Formula One drivers tended to have sizable egos, and I wasn’t the most proficient when it came to biting my tongue, a personal growth issue that had caused me some problems in the past. If pushed, I tended to push back, and I didn’t want to start my career butting heads with the new driver. If he did come across as a bit of a dickhead, I’d have to try to curb my natural tendencies. Getting into verbal sparring matches with Dad’s new golden boy wouldn�
��t help me prove my point that I was a professional.

  I smiled at Dad and bumped fists with Lewis, then headed off toward the canteen. It took me an age to get there because I kept meeting up with people I hadn’t seen for a few months and stopping to say hello.

  My stomach growled as I neared the catering hut, the smell of crispy bacon wafting toward me, filling my mouth with saliva.

  I walked inside, my toe catching the lip of the step. The next thing I knew, I hit the floor, literally sprawled, facedown.

  “Ow.”

  I banged my funny bone—nothing funny about it—and scraped my knee. I wasn’t badly hurt, but my pride had taken a battering. I started to clamber to my feet, my face hot with embarrassment, when strong hands tucked under my armpits and helped me to stand.

  I peeked through my fringe into a pair of the darkest, most delicious brown eyes I’d ever seen. They were like rich chocolate, the eighty-five percent cocoa stuff you reached for when you needed something really decadent. And the face they were set into… this guy was beautiful, like off-the-charts catwalk model gorgeous. High defined cheekbones, a strong jaw graced with exactly the right amount of designer stubble, square chin, thick dark hair cut by someone who knew what they were doing, and a mouth made for kissing.

  My lungs emptied of air, a sizzle of electricity singeing my skin. I tried to stop my mouth falling open but failed miserably.

  Wow.

  Yep, three letters forming the only word that came to mind.

  I raked my gaze over the rest of him. He was tall, a lot taller than me, and lean, without an ounce of fat on him, which accentuated the taut, sinewy muscles of his forearms and biceps. That was all I could see because the rest of him was covered in clothes—damn shame—but the way they clung to his body… My ovaries literally wept. My mum would say he was fit as a butcher’s dog.

  And a girl knows, her mother is always right.

  I lifted my chin to find him smirking at me. I took it as a positive sign he found me amusing, especially as I’d spent the last few seconds hungrily eye-fucking him. With looks like that, I’d bet he was used to this kind of a reaction, and to women falling at his feet, albeit not literally.

  No, that treat was all mine.

  His lips were so close to me, the bottom one slightly more prominent. Suckable. My heart raced. Surely he must be able to hear it? I could, loud and thundering in my ears. Warmth circled my belly, my hormones running riot. It had been ages—too long—since I’d felt the deliciously addictive fluttering sensation that signaled attraction.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  I frowned. The tone of his voice, bordering on patronizing, sent irritation flushing through me. Sweetheart?

  Maybe Dad’s ‘little girl’ comment still grazed the forefront of my mind, or Lewis’s nose flick had a too-prominent position, or maybe I just wanted this beautiful man to see me as a desirable woman and not a child. Regardless of my reasoning, I did something very stupid, and very unlike me.

  I kissed him.

  Our lips only touched for a few seconds, and yeah, okay, I might have tasted him with the tip of my tongue. Mints and coffee. Delicious. And he smelled amazing. Manly with a hint of expensive cologne.

  He smelled like sex on legs.

  Shocked at my huge faux pas, I tore myself away, even though my body screamed at me to carry on. To slip my tongue inside the warmth of his mouth and see where my inappropriate pass led us. I wasn’t exactly the shy and retiring type, but equally, I didn’t usually go around locking lips with complete strangers. The nerves of today must have gotten to me and, combined with his condescending attitude, that stunning face, the firm body, the fact that it had been six months since I’d had sex, all of those things had collided. That was why I’d done it.

  Yeah, yeah, weak excuses for snogging a gorgeous stranger.

  Heat rushed to my face, and I went to take a step back. His hands tightened on me, and then, slowly, he inched them down the sides of my body until his large palms clasped my hips. I risked another peek up at that incredible face, unsure what I’d find. Phew, thank God. His eyes were twinkling, and the lips I’d just touched with my own were lifted on one side in a crooked smile.

  “Well, that was an unexpected surprise,” he drawled.

  I dusted myself off and tried to ignore how good it felt to be standing this close to the hottest guy I’d seen in, well, forever. The warmth from his hands had left an indelible mark on me. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He chuckled. “A pretty girl kissing me first thing on a Monday morning? I think I’ll cope. Same time next week?”

  I didn’t think my face could get any hotter. Turned out I was wrong, because it burned as though I’d been sitting in the sun for hours without sunscreen.

  Someone pass me the aloe vera.

  “Thanks for helping me up.” I turned to walk away.

  He tightened his grip.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding at my knee. “Here, take a seat. I’ll get something to clean you up with.”

  “No need.” I dug into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out a torn tissue which I dabbed onto my knee. I winced. “Ow. That hurts.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I hate to say I told you so.” Taking my elbow—the one I didn’t bang—he led me to a seat.

  I hobbled along next to him and gratefully fell into the chair.

  “Wait there,” he ordered.

  He strolled over to the counter, and I heard him talking to one of the staff members. She glanced over, nodded, then disappeared into the back, returning a few seconds later with a damp cloth and a packet of plasters. He ambled toward me, his gait so sure, edging on cocky. I could understand why. If I looked like that, I’d saunter around like I owned the place, too.

  Who are you, gorgeous? One thing was certain: I’d never seen him around here before. Believe me, I’d have remembered.

  And then a stray thought nudged at me. An American, a stranger… No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

  I shook my head. Don’t be daft, Paise. He was probably a journalist, or someone from ESPN, or Fox Sports. Formula One didn’t garner a huge following in the United States, but it had a growing fanbase that meant the press were interested enough to attend the race weekends.

  My savior returned and crouched in front of me, dabbing the cloth to my knee. I flinched and hissed, and he glanced up with an apologetic smile before tending to me once more.

  I stared at the top of his head, my fingers itching to burrow into his thick, straight hair. I squeezed my eyes closed to knock out the visuals. Didn’t need to make another ill-advised pass. One might just about be explainable. A second… Definitely not.

  A minute later, he set the cloth on the floor and tore open a plaster. He carefully placed it over the cut on my leg, then stood back to admire his handiwork.

  “There,” he said with a white-toothed grin that sent my belly all a flutter. “You’re all fixed up.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You missed your calling, Mr?”

  “Kane,” he said. “Jared Kane.”

  Oh hell.

  It was him. Our new driver…

  I sat there, dumbfounded. This was the man I’d be expected to spend a huge amount of time with. This… sex-on-legs god.

  And I’d kissed him.

  An unsolicited kiss.

  Shit, shit, shit. I. Am. Screwed.

  I could kill Dad right now. My lack of knowledge meant that Jared’s first impressions were of me falling at his feet, eating him with my eyes, and then giving him a smacker on the lips—with tongue. Not to mention he’d had to play nursemaid, so probably thought I was some clumsy female who couldn’t even stay upright. Not exactly the desired qualities in a mechanic. I mean, one loose bolt and bam! See ya later, Kane.

  I only realized I hadn’t spoken when he patted me on the shoulder and said, “Well, take care, sweetheart. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  And with that, he sauntered off bef
ore I could properly introduce myself.

  Jared

  With my mind far from where it should have been, I left the catering hut and headed to the pits. That girl, with her elfin face, pointy little chin, aqua eyes, and warm, soft body had me thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts—that I couldn’t follow through on. I’d promised myself—and Dan—that for the next few months girls were strictly off the menu until I fully mastered the differences between a Formula One car and an IndyCar. To the uneducated, all racing cars were the same, right?

  Nope. Dead wrong.

  Driving an F1 car was completely different from the car I’d become proficient in, and if I didn’t give it my full attention, I’d likely get myself into all sorts of hot water. Hence the self-imposed—and keenly supported by my manager—no female rule.

  But that accent… I’d always been a sucker for the clipped English dialect. It sounded so authoritative, which brought out my dominant side. The way she’d skirted those hungry eyes over my face and body, unashamedly fearless and challenging… Fuck knows, I liked a challenge.

  Maybe one quick roll in the hay wouldn’t hurt? And what Dan didn’t know… He couldn’t give me grief over. Yeah, I’d see how today went, and if my first run out in the car didn’t end in a complete disaster, I’d go in search of my perfect little pixie and have some fun.

  As I neared the pit lane, I recognized Jack in conversation with my teammate, Lewis, who I’d already met. He seemed like a good guy, but one thing I had to remember... In this sport, your teammate wasn’t, well, your teammate. He was the competition, the one you wanted to beat more than any other driver on the track. He’d throw you under the bus or run you off the road as soon as look at you if it meant getting ahead. Whereas, in IndyCar, your teammate would help you win—where necessary—but in F1, it was every man for himself.

  Jack glanced up as I moved closer and smiled.

  “Hey, Jared. There you are.” He held out his hand, and we shook. “Ready to work your backside off?”