Becoming The Boss

And how could she have forgotten Tom? The part this man had played in her brother’s death?

Guilt climbed into her chest and sat behind her ribs like a heavy weight. It crushed her lungs, making her breath shallow, her voice high-pitched. ‘Answer me, Finn! What was that about?’

His lips parting to speak, he faltered yet again.

Why did she feel as if he wanted to tell her something? Something vital. Something she desperately wanted to hear. Nothing but the truth.

Rightly or wrongly—more than the next race, more than his success or the victory of Team Scott Lansing—the promise of that truth was the only thing tempting her to hover in his orbit.

Hold on…

‘Are you trying to get rid of me? Is that your game?’

Wow, it seemed the heights of her humiliation knew no bounds.

Finn blinked several times in rapid succession and with every flutter of those ridiculously gorgeous thick lashes his expression smoothed into unreadable impassivity, until once more she was looking at Lothario.

‘Is it working?’ he drawled.

‘Yes!’

‘Good,’ he said, those legendary dimples winking at her. ‘Then you’ll be pleased to know the door is that way.’

With a swift finger towards said exit, he pushed open a panel to her left. One he strolled through before it closed behind him, leaving her standing there, jaw slack, twitching in temper. The nerve of the man!

Fury grounded her flight instinct.

He wanted rid of her? He could go to the devil! This was her family, her life, and she was staying put. Her team was in trouble because of him and he needed to pay his dues. Not forgetting the fact he was hiding something and she wanted to know exactly what. Maybe then she could start to repair her broken heart and let Tom go. Move on. Find some peace. Remember what it was like to enjoy life—although she often wondered if she ever had.

Two steps forward, she pushed at the panel of what appeared to be a secret doorway. If it hadn’t budged an inch and then rebounded back with a slam she would have thought it locked. Was he leaning on the other side, trying to regulate his breathing like she was? Don’t be a gullible fool, Serena. He’d be grinning like the feckless charmer he was, delighted that he’d got the better of her.

The second time she put all her weight behind the oak, pushed and stumbled into a room, tripping over her feet with as much elegance as a battering ram.

A zillion things hit her at once—mainly gratitude for the fact that her ungainly entrance was witnessed only by Finn’s back as he swaggered towards the bed and the sheer extravagance of the room.

‘Wow.’

Infinite shades of midnight blue, the decor was a pulse-revving epitome of dark sensuality and masculine drama, and about the only thing on this floating bordello that fitted the man himself. As if, after purchasing the mega-yacht, Finn had only stamped ownership on this one room.

‘Did you run out of money before the renovations were complete?’ she asked, tongue in cheek, knowing full well he was one of the highest earning sportsmen in the world.

For a beat he paused at the side of the bed. ‘Let’s just say I decided the yacht didn’t suit. She’s on the market.’

‘Now, that is a shame.’ If he restored the rest of the yacht in the same vein it promised to be spectacular.

‘Do you like my bedroom, Seraphina?’

His voice was a pleasured, suggestive moan as he flung himself atop a gargantuan carved bed covered in black silk sheets and propped his back against a huge mound of textured pillows.

‘I love it,’ she said, unable to hide her awe and trying her hardest to look anywhere but at him. ‘Present company excluded.’

Black wood furniture lined walls of the deepest red, with the spaces in between splashed with priceless evocative art to create a picture of virile potency and sophisticated class. It was visually breathtaking. Until the intimacy of the dim lighting set her right back on edge.

Searching the darkened shadows behind her, she cleared her throat, ‘Lights?’ she said, and hoped she didn’t sound as jittery as she felt.

Bending at the waist, he leaned sideways to press a button on the tall glass nightstand and the opaque ceiling flickered for one, two, three beats of her thundering heart before the night sky shone down upon the room, ablaze with a million twinkling stars.

The sheer magnificence pulled her eyes wide. ‘Seriously?’

He plucked a large red apple from the colourful mound of ripe delicacies toppling from a crystal bowl, then straightened up and raised one of his heart-stopping smiles.

Just like that her unease drifted, melted like a chilled snowflake on a new spring breeze.

Moonlight frosted his body, from the open white linen draping his sides to the wide bronzed strip of naked torso in between, taking his powerful beauty from angelic to supernatural. Otherworldly. Dazzling, magical and utterly surreal.

And she forgot all about not looking at him, suddenly entranced.

He tucked one hand beneath his head, tossed the glistening red fruit up into the air with the other and his honed six-pack flexed and bunched—the sight bringing a mist of perspiration to her skin.

‘So. Come back for more, Miss Scott?’

His sinful rasp shattered the spell he wove so effortlessly and she gave herself a good shake. The man was lethal.

‘I have heard my mouth is highly addictive.’

Serena raised a brow and hoped she looked suitably unimpressed. She had no desire to stroke his ego or any other part of him ever again. ‘Such a…tempting offer, Mr St George, but I think I’ll pass. Your reputation has been highly exaggerated.’

Apple to his lips, he sank his teeth into the crisp flesh with a loud crunch and she dredged the taste of tart flesh from her memory banks, making her mouth water.

‘Ah. Must have been the champagne, then.’

‘What must have been the champagne?’ she murmured, distracted by the rhythmic working of his lean jaw. It truly was not good form to be so sexy even when eating. ‘The champagne, incidentally, that I did not drink.’

‘The weakening of your knees,’ he drawled, with a wicked satisfaction that rolled over her in hot waves before he let loose an irrepressible grin that seared her nerves.

One day… She thought. One day she was going to wipe that smirk off his face once and for all. The thought that today was as good a day as any made her let loose a smile of her very own.

Strangely, he froze mid-bite. As if her smile affected him just as much as his did her. The mere notion that he had the power to make her believe such a thing made her temper spike.

‘Speaking of knees—I’m going to bring you down on yours, pretty boy.’

A curious tension drew the magnificent lines of his body taut, precisely as before, and she racked her brain to figure out the trigger. All she could think was that there was more to this man than met the eye.

In the next instant he relaxed. ‘I do hope that’s a promise, Seraphina. I’d be more than happy to oblige.’

Blowing out a pent-up breath, she deliberated over how long she could ride this roller coaster of emotion with Finn at the helm before she plunged to her doom.

Especially when he licked his lips hungrily and dropped his feral blue eyes to the seam of her jeans, to the zipper leading down to the tight curve of her femininity. From nowhere an image of Finn on his knees before her as she stood bathed in moonlight slammed into her mind’s eye. Oh, God.

Ribbons of heat spun in her veins, moving through her blood in an erotic dance. Her skin was suddenly super-sensitive, and her nipples chafed seductively against the soft fabric of her plain white bra. The shockingly carnal expression on his face made her wonder if he’d visualised the very same.

As if. He’s just trying to distract you again and you’re letting him!

She stiffened her spine and ordered her voice to sweet. ‘Oh, I’m so glad. In that case, let me be the first to tell you the good news.’

Crossing one bare foot over the other, he leaned back with more of the insolence he’d doubtless been born with. ‘Somehow I don’t believe you mean good in the literal sense.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. We could learn a lot from each other, you and I.’

The true meaning of that statement lay between them, gathering momentum with every passing second. It would take time, of course. To get him to talk. To unearth his secrets. To make him crack. Thankfully she had all the time in the world.

Another flash of perfect teeth sinking into white flesh. Another lazy crunch. Another sexy swallow gliding down his throat. ‘I doubt that.’

The lack of innuendo suffused her with pleasure and a heady sense of power. It seemed she was finally getting somewhere.

‘Why don’t you enlighten me, Miss Scott? Your excitement is palpable and I find I can barely stand the suspense.’

She deflected that sarcasm with a breezy flick of her hair off her shoulder. ‘I would love to enlighten you, Mr St. George. Me and you? We’re about to be stuck like glue.’

A shadow of trepidation passed over his face before he cocked an arrogant brow. ‘And the punchline is…?’

Musing that the word babysitter didn’t quite have the right ring to it, she let her impetuous mouth stretch the truth, not really giving a stuff.

‘You’re looking at your new boss.’

Chapter Four

FANS DESCENDED ON Monaco in their droves and celebrities flocked to the world’s most glamorous sporting event of the year for the exhilarating rush of lethal speed and intoxicating danger. So it didn’t bode well that Finn stood in the shade of the Scott Lansing garage, his temples thudding with a messy blend of sleep-deprivation and toxic emotional clatter.

He had to get it together. Get that little minx out of his head.

Hauling in air, he rolled his neck, searching for the equilibrium he needed, knowing full well the smallest of errors in these narrow streets were fatal. Overtaking almost impossible… And didn’t that just make him smile? Feel infinitely better as a fuel injection of hazardous adrenaline shot through his bloodstream?

Monaco was hands down his favourite circuit in the world: the greatest challenge on the racing calendar. It never failed to feed his wildness and remind him that life was for living. A master at shutting off fear and anxiety, he was a man who existed in the moment. Life was too short.

Seize the day.

Finn closed his eyes, tried to block the memory those words always evoked. But of late, since he’d touched hell itself, his past refused to stay buried.

Thirteen years old and he’d watched his Glamma—the woman who’d been a second mother to him—die a slow, agonising death. ‘Glamma, because I’m far too young and vivacious to be Gran,’ the award-winning actress would declare.

Even when she’d been sick and he’d sworn his heart was breaking—‘Carpe diem, Finn, seize the day,’ she’d say theatrically, with a glint in her eye that had never failed to make him smile. ‘That’s better. Always remember: frown and you frown alone, smile and the whole world smiles with you.’

Yeah, he remembered. How could he possibly forget a legend who had been far too young and vibrant for her passage to the heavens. Then, when the cancer had seeped into the next generation and his mother’s time had come—spreading more grief and heartache through his family, much like the stain of her disease, destroying her beauty, her vitality, her life—he’d vowed to live every day as if it were his last. And, considering the way Finn had handled her demise, he owed his mother nothing less.

His heart achingly heavy, he left the technical chatter of the engineers behind and stepped towards the slash of sunlight cutting across the tarmac, shoving the pain and guilt back down inside him.

Enthusiasts spilled over balconies and crammed rooftops as far as the eye could reach. The grandstands were chock-full, the area where the die-hard fans had camped from the night before roared with impatience, and huge TV screens placed for optimal viewing flickered to life. It was a scene that usually enthralled him, excited his blood. And it would. Any second now. It had to.

His attention veered to the starting grid, cluttered with pit crew and paddock girls flaunting their wares, and then muttered a curse when not one of them managed to catch his eye. No, no. The only woman who monopolised his thoughts was his ruby red-headed boss!

Talk about a simple meeting of mouths backfiring with stunning ferocity. Instead of pushing her away, he’d stoked her curiosity—and how the devil he’d managed to step away, not to devour her, he’d never know.

Good thing he was an expert at disposing of the opposite sex. He’d just have to try harder, wouldn’t he? With a touch of St George luck, Serena would make herself scarce today.

He snorted in self-irritation. Now he was lying to himself. He might need her at the far ends of the earth but he wanted her here, didn’t he? Why was that? She was sarcastic, she had a sharp, spiky temper, and she was beautiful but not that beautiful—he’d dated catwalk models, for God’s sake. Yeah, and found them dull as dishwater. And on top of all that just looking at her made him feel guilty.

Self-castigation, he decided. Penitence dictating that he had to make himself suffer by hanging around with a woman who wanted him dead.

He rubbed at his temple and thrust the same hand through his damp hair. Where on earth was she? Some boss she was turning out to be—

He chuffed out a breath. Boss? Doubtful. Babysitter, more like. She had spunk—he’d give her that.

Suddenly the crowd erupted and in the nick of time he realised he’d stepped into the blazing sunlight. Up came his arm in the customary St George wave as the pandemonium reached fever pitch. On cue, he whipped out his legendary smile, even as the movement of his torso pulled his driver’s suit to chafe against his scarred back and black despair churned in his stomach with a sickening revolt.

Keep it together, Finn.

‘There you are. Playing to your adoring audience, I see.’

Whoa—instantaneous body meltdown. The woman held more firepower than the midday sun.

‘How nice of you to turn up, Miss Scott,’ he drawled, keeping his focus on the crowd for a few seconds longer. Let her think he was inflating his ego—the worse she thought of him the better—but Finn knew how far his fans had travelled, the huge expense. He’d spoken to hundreds of them over time after all.

‘I would’ve been here sooner if I hadn’t detoured to that floating bordello of yours, looking for you. I much prefer today’s security man, by the way. New shift?’

He shrugged. Made it indolent, couldn’t-care-less. ‘Probably.’

Alternatively Finn might have shown the other man the error of his ways the minute Miss Scott had stepped off his… What did she call it? Oh, yes—his floating bordello. Naturally Finn would have used his most amiable, charming voice. The one he used to express how tedious a situation had become, how boredom had set in. The very one which ensured that people made the terrible mistake of underestimating him. Shame, that.

If that had happened the man in question might have been escorted from the premises in a not so dignified manner, with a reference that not so subtly informed the world that he’d never work in the industry again. Together with the unequivocal, downright irrefutable notion that to meet Finn in a dark alley any time soon would be a very, very bad idea.

Would he tell her any of this highly amusing tale? God, no.

Why ruin a perfectly good reputation as a callous, no-good heartbreaker when it was security money couldn’t buy. Women had more sense than to expect more than he could give, so there was no fear of broken hearts or letting anyone down. What you saw was what you got.

And Miss Scott was no exception. Not now. Not ever.

Rousing a nonchalance he really didn’t feel, he glanced to where she stood beside him; hands stuffed into the back pockets of her skin-tight jeans, the action up-tilting her perky breasts, and his pulse thrashed against his cuffs.

Then his heart turned over, roaring to life as he checked out her white T-shirt, embellished with a woman clad in a slinky black catsuit and the words ‘This Kitty Has Claws’ stroking across her perfect C’s.

How beautifully apt.

‘Lucky kitty,’ he drawled, stretching the word as if it had six syllables. ‘Can I stroke it?’

A shiver rustled over her sweet body and his smile warmed, became bona fide, as she slicked her lips with moisture. ‘If you need all ten fingers to drive I wouldn’t advise it.’

‘I love it when you get all mean and tough. It turns me on.’ It was that survivor air about her. Did strange things to him.

‘Forgive me if I don’t take that as a compliment. Seems to me that anything with the necessary appendage flicks your switch.’

‘You’d be amazed at how discerning my sexual palate is, Miss Scott.’

Very true, that. After a few disturbing front-page splashes in his misbegotten youth he’d vowed to take more care in his liaisons. Absolute honesty with women who read from the same manual. Short, sweet interludes. No emotions. No commitment. Ever.

The mere word relationship caused a grave distress to his respiratory rate.

Not only had he started to see himself as some kind of bad luck charm—a grim reaper for those he cared for—but he was also inherently selfish. Driving was his entire life. Women were simply the spice that flavoured it.

Existing in the moment wasn’t exactly conducive to family ties when he travelled endlessly, partied hard, and there was every possibility there would be no tomorrow.

She snorted. ‘Discerning? Yeah, right.’ And she brought those incredible grey eyes his way, arching one brow derisively. ‘Let’s take this conversation in a safer and more honest direction, shall we? Where’s your helmet and gloves?’

‘Not sure. Be a good little girl and go get them for me, would you?’ he drawled, his amusement now wholly legit.

She puckered those luscious lips at him and a layer of sweat dampened his nape.

‘Don’t push it, Finn. I promise you, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me today.’

He dipped his head closer to her ear and relished the way her breathing hitched. ‘I would love to get on any side of you, Seraphina. Especially now I’ve tasted that delicious mouth of yours.’

Easing back, he licked his lips to taunt her with the memory. It certainly wasn’t to try and remember her unique flavour—that tart strawberry bite sparking his taste buds to life. Incredible.

‘In your dreams.’

‘Always,’ he said, knowing she wouldn’t believe him. Odd that it made him feel safe enough to drop his guard, tell her the unvarnished truth—which was a danger in itself.

With an elaborate sigh she stormed into the shadows of the garage, her voice trailing off to a murmur as she spoke to the mechanics and engineers. Yes, go—get as far away from me as you can.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a news crew focusing on him with the ferocity of an eagle spotting its prey and his chest grew tight. No chance.

Feigning ignorance, he ducked his head and strode back into the shade. Where he ran smack-bang into a helmet.

‘Here,’ Serena said, slapping a pair of gloves in his other hand.

A shaft of shock rendered him speechless. She used to bring Tom his helmet and gloves. She used to murmur something too. At one time Finn had tried to eavesdrop, but he’d quickly decided he was being ridiculous and didn’t care what she’d said.

Then she’d always run to meet her brother after the finish, whether he’d won or not. She’d run out and hug him warmly, affectionately, with admiration in her smile and trust in her heart.

Instead of the usual envy the memory evoked, he battled with another surge of guilt that she couldn’t run to Tom any longer. Then called himself fifty kinds of fool for toying with the idea that she could run to him if she needed to. As if.

‘Hey, are you with me?’ She clicked her fingers in front of his face. ‘You’re phasing out, there. Something I should be worried about?’

Out came his signature smile. ‘You worried about me, baby?’

‘No. I’m worried about the multimillion-pound car you’re likely to crash to lose the championship! Did you get some sleep?’

Strangely enough, the couple of hours he’d managed had been demon-free, with his new boss the star of the show. Which was typical of him—wanting something he could never have just to make the challenge more interesting. The win more gratifying. Because, let’s face it, while he fed off the rush of success, it never seemed to be enough. He was always restless. Always wanting something elusive, out of reach.

So, no, he did not trust himself around her. ‘I did catch a few hours, thank you. It’s amazing what the presence of a sexy spitfire can achieve.’

Her delicate jaw dropped as she grimaced. ‘You mean after I left you actually…?’

Finn shook his head in disbelief. She thought he was talking about someone else.

Why was it that she’d grown up surrounded by men and yet had no conception of her unique brand of sexuality? It was as if she lacked self-confidence. If so, he wished she’d start believing him. Wished he could show her what she did to him.

Too dangerous, Finn. Just get in the car, win the race, show her you’re a fixed man and get her back off to London out of harm’s way.

The pep talk didn’t work a jot. And, come on, she might fancy the pants off him but it wasn’t as if she would ever answer to this overwhelming burn of desire. One, she was an intelligent little thing and she had more sense. And, two, she hated his guts.

‘After you—sexy spitfire that you are—left, I slept. Alone.’

Her mouth a pensive moue, she simply stared at him.

Finn watched the soft shimmer of daylight dance through the shadows to cast the lustre of her skin with a golden radiance, enriching the heavy swathe of her hair until the strands glittered with the brilliance of rubies. A shudder pinballed off every vertebra in his spine.

‘Why do you do that?’ she asked, more than a little frustrated.

‘What?’ Shudder?

‘Say things you don’t mean.’

‘Who says I don’t mean them?’

She gave a little huff. ‘Past experience. You’ve always delighted in ensuring I know you see me as nothing more than a tomboy.’

‘Tomboys can’t be sexy?’ She was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And that was before she wrapped that incredible body in leathers to straddle her motorbike or—give him mercy—put on a driver’s suit. Then it was, Hello, hard-on; bye-bye sanity.

He had no right to slide his gaze over her body in a slow, seductive caress, trying to remember the sight.

The boots moulded to her calves shuffled uneasily. ‘Stop it!’

‘You don’t like it.’

Statement. Fact.

‘No. I don’t.’

Why? Because the extraordinary chemistry bothered her? Or because she was experiencing it with the man who’d stolen her happiness?

While the reminder punched him in the heart, it didn’t stop him from saying, ‘So why don’t you take the compliment for what it is, baby? The truth.’

Crossing her arms over her chest, she hiked her chin up. ‘But I don’t want practised compliments from your repertoire. They mean nothing to me. I merely want you to do your job.’

Knife to his gut. Fully deserved. For the first time in his life he rued his reputation.

The smooth skin of her brow nipped and he realised his emotions must be seeping through the cracks in his façade. He schooled his expression with ruthless speed as his guts twisted in anger. One false move with this woman and he’d be finished.