Fast Lane: A Turbocharged Romance Page 2

  I catch hold of myself, questioning the depth of my concern for a man I don’t even know. A frantic knot is forming in my chest and is nearly suffocating me. It dawns on me that this fear consuming me is more than the normal concern being expressed by the others watching the race around me. It’s personal.

  Running now, Tracy and I make our way to a place where we can join the other onlookers to see what had happened. Coville’s Porsche had just come to a halt in the grass around the final turn in a tumult of smoke, flying dirt and upturned sod.

  Lane is screaming down the straightaway at breakneck speed and crosses the finish line first. Deep relief sweeps over me as breath once again fills my lungs.

  Chapter 5

  LANE

  Another day, another victory. Coville’s alright, I’m sure. I cut inside him just before the last turn and left him with nowhere to go. That’s racing.

  Exiting my car now, I stride down the track toward the final turn between the West Bend and the downhill section of the track. I can see Coville getting out of his car and waving his hand in a gesture to the crowd that indicates he is not injured. He had been responsible for many of those same types of wrecks with other drivers and he understands it’s just part of racing. We’ll have a beer later and forget about it.

  "Good driving, Lane!” It is Tracy’s brother, Tom, and he speaks in his usual raspy voice that makes it sound like he has laryngitis. He finished fourth. He has the same sandy-blonde hair as Tracy, just one of several telltale features that make the two look so much alike. Whenever I look at her, I see him, and that’s probably one of the reasons I never pursued her even though she is very attractive.

  “You can let one of us win every once in a while, you know, to keep us interested in racing.”

  Lane laughs. “Sorry, brother. I only know one speed and that is ‘fastest.’ Do you want to get a beer? I have a lady in mind who I’d like to bring along, too, if that’s okay.”

  Tom’s face lights up in a knowing grin when he answers. “What else is new? Who’s your lady friend?”

  “I don’t know her name yet. I’ll meet you in the parking lot in twenty minutes.”

  Something catches my attention and causes me to shift my gaze to the right. There she is, coming down the hill right toward me. Beautiful. Look at those legs. Long and smooth, just like I like them.

  The way she moves makes me think about how much I want her. She seems to glide with no effort at all.

  Smooth.

  I make a beeline straight toward them with my trophy in hand, and decide I’m going to make an impression on the beauty.

  “Hello ladies…Tracy, right?” I use an old trick. Pay attention to the friend and the real object of your affection gets jealous. “Tom ran a good race. I thought he might win it at one point, but I was a little too fast today.”

  I make sure to keep my eyes focused on Tracy for now. It’s difficult with that red-haired goddess making it nearly impossible for me to pay attention. I can sense her eyes affixed squarely on me, and I like it.

  “You know full well you’re too much for him, Lane. You’re too much for anyone out there, for that matter. When are you going to take that talent to the next level?”

  “Which talent would that be, as a lover or as a driver?” I smile and finally look over at Red.

  “Jesus, you are something! Can you have one conversation without a sexual overtone?” Tracy continues. “This is my good friend Celia. I believe you two have met. That is, if staring at her ass for five minutes qualifies”

  Celia gives Tracy a look that says, ‘why’d you give this guy my name and talk about my ass?’

  I am undeterred. “Ahh, Celia…what a beautiful name! So, what did you think of the race?”

  Celia shifts uncomfortably, and I can’t help but let my eyes roll down her face, past her collarbone and then settle on her cleavage. I think about what it would feel like to be licking and kissing her neck until she moans with pleasure before moving on to those perfect breasts.

  “Very impressive. I’m not sure if you’re more aggressive on or off the race track.” Her mouth remains open ever so slightly, and I imagine myself tugging on that bottom lip with my teeth. There is a definite flirtatious tone in her voice.

  “I am equal to the task no matter what the venue. I find that being aggressive gets me what I want. And now it’s you I desire. Tom and I are going for a drink after we pack up. Would you ladies like to join us?”

  Studying her face, I can see she wants to go but is hesitant to say yes. I tousle my hair a bit and shoot her my most charismatic smile. Tracy speaks first. “Sure we’ll go. We’ll follow Tom there.”

  “It’s a date ladies.” The sun is lowering in the sky now, and it frames Celia’s head almost like an angel’s halo. My angel in white with the fiery red hair and the spunk to match.

  Chapter 6

  CELIA

  Standing there listening to Lane’s sexual innuendo and banter triggers a number of impure thoughts to dance through my mind. My body tingles when he speaks, and for the life of me, I can’t recall anyone ever having that effect on me before.

  I don’t know exactly what emotion it is that I’m feeling, but it’s good. Lane Astor has a reputation as a lady killer and he is set on claiming me as his next victim. I picture Count Dracula moving in for his next taste of blood. The Lord of Darkness is sensual, though never violent. His victims can’t resist him. They are held captive under his spell, and in a way, they want what comes next, even if it changes them. The parallel is there, though, no doubt about it.

  Now I was meeting him for drinks, and then what? His place? He is magnetic and gorgeous. Charming as hell and I feel weak against it. Would I be just another conquest, or was he feeling whatever it was that I was feeling? Open and willing, yet slightly reluctant.

  It is impossible to tell. My better judgment kicks in and I promise myself I won’t sleep with him, not tonight. Yet I want to. I can’t remember ever wanting to feel someone’s strong, muscled thighs pressing me down, his rock-hard thickness pounding into me relentlessly, as much as I want to feel him. Thrusting…filling me…pure pleasure. I feel wet and heated in my core at the thought of it.

  Can it be possible that he wants more than a one-night stand? Maybe there is more. Maybe he likes all of me. Body, mind and spirit.

  There is the physical attraction, for sure, but there is more. I can feel it. I bet he can too.

  Is it wrong to want a man this badly? Especially a man who has been intimate with so many women? Tracy warned me about his reputation. She knows him, and so does her brother Tom.

  According to Tracy, he always shows up for races with a bimbo hanging on his arm and that’s the way he likes it. Drive fast and have his way, win. Victory lane. Take the bimbo home and have his way all over again.

  Victory.

  Would I be just another victory?

  “Why don’t we ride together? I’ll drop you off back here at the end of the night.” Tracy was speaking to me, although she seems distant somehow, as if she isn’t standing right next to me. It has nothing to do with her. I am the distant one, completely lost in another world.

  “Sure, that sounds good.”

  She looks at me a second time. “What’s gotten into you? You have Lane on the brain?”

  I take a minute to answer as I search my thoughts for an answer. “Something like that. He’s in my head and a part of me likes it. Is that strange?”

  Tracy takes her time to come up with the right response. “This doesn’t sound like you, that’s all. I’ve never seen you so flustered. You’re into him, aren’t you?”

  I don’t answer. I just sigh and look the other way, falling deeply again into my thoughts, searching for clarity.

  It take a few minutes heading down some back country roads, taking a couple lefts and then a right, before we arrive at the bar. It is a half-dive type of place called Freebird’s. In rural northwest Connecticut, Limeroc
k Racetrack is the only major attraction other than nature, and there aren’t many hangouts to pick from. This watering hole will have to do.

  Several of the drivers are already there drinking and carousing, either sidled up to the bar, seated at private tables, or congregating in a small lounge area that seems to be the VIP hangout for this place.

  License plates from every state and representing all eras adorn a thick wood-paneled wall that shows the evidence of having been a dart-board backstop in prior years. Old gas station signs for Mobil, Sunoco and Gulf hang haphazardly in dark corners. An old barn-red glass-encased gas pump has been re-purposed as a giant lamp in the center of the room. Outfitted with an old-fashioned bulb, it casts a soft yellow light in all directions. The old Texaco logo, the one with a red star and green letter T, is affixed to the top on a bulbous white translucent piece of glass.

  Then I spot him. Lane is seated at a table in the corner. As soon as he sees me, he immediately waves me over. I don’t know if I feel nervous or excited by the way his gaze rakes me up and down. I can tell that he is undressing me with his eyes.

  Damn, he looks good.

  He has changed into dark jeans with a short-sleeved black polo shirt that shows off every inch of his impressive biceps. I’m an arm junkie, and this guy is giving me more than my fix.

  He never once takes his eyes off me as I make my way over to his table. I have already lost Tracy, but don’t care at this point. She is probably going to find her brother.

  I stand there not knowing what to do.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I ask. He smiles, and it is then that I notice his dimples for the first time. I am finished.

  “Actually, I’m saving this spot for the most beautiful redhead I’ve ever met. You seem to fit the bill.” He stands up and pulls out the chair for me. “What are you drinking?”

  I thought about all the wine I drank this afternoon, and then figure, what the heck? “I’ll have a white wine, please.”

  “Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

  I watch him walk over to the bar, and then scanning the room, I spot Tracy all the way across the bar. When we make eye contact, she gives me a dorky wave. Lane, it seems, is by far the grand prize in this place tonight. He looks casually around, and even though there are some good-looking women at the bar, he doesn’t give them a second glance. Good sign.

  I enjoy watching him stroll lazily back to our table. He smiles and maintains eye contact with me the whole way. “Here you go, doll. Now we can relax.”

  He is drinking a Stella Artois. I love the way he holds the bottle right near the top and motions with it while he talks. I think he must have a bit of Italian in him as I watch his animated arm gestures as he speaks with curiosity.

  “So, angel, what do you say we have a couple of drinks and I bring you home. I can undress you very slowly, and then, we can take it from there at any pace you want.”

  “You’re used to getting what you want. Does it matter what I want?” I can play his game.

  He leans in closer to me and he smells really good. The scent is a mixture of pungent sweat and musky guy goodness. Christ. This guy had sweated all afternoon in a fire suit cooped up in a hot race car and he still smells good. I can’t explain it, but it’s driving me crazy.

  “I’ve been into you since the moment we met. I’m attracted to you, really attracted. I’m going to do everything I can to get you into my bed. Everything.”

  Lane seems sincere, but naturally, I’m skeptical. Leaning in even closer, “If you’re not ready, that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but you will sleep with me eventually.”

  I can’t help but laugh outright, and then I say, “You’re unbelievable, do you know that?” That line breaks any sexual tension I may have inadvertently created between us.

  Despite what I said, he reaches out and brushes the top of my hand ever so slightly. I feel the electric charge of his touch tingling all over my body and I shiver. Goosebumps form all over my back, shoulders and arms, and I instinctively pull them in so he can’t see. Lane must have noticed my reaction because he looks deeply into my eyes and smiles.

  The rest of the night is great. We talk about everything and anything, and every five minutes he drops in a line about how beautiful I am and how I’d look great lying sprawled out naked on his bed. He is growing on me, and although he is cocky as hell, he has a sweet side to him, too.

  Cocky, but nice. I can work with that.

  Chapter 7

  CELIA

  Monday morning, I am back to work at the horse farm at Acadia National Park. Working on a horse farm may seem boring to some people, but I’ve always loved horses, actually to the point of wanting to be surrounded by them all the time. They can calm me like nothing else.

  I have a special talent for breaking them, so this job suits me well. Working steadily with horses for over fifteen years has had its benefits. After a few years, you really learn how to connect with them and read their body language. All of it.

  Alice, one of our handlers, leads the horses out of the few white clapboard horse barns that adorn the idyllic property. Dusty dirty roads connect the buildings and chipmunks dart playfully in and out of the century-old rock walls dotting the landscape. A few old oaks, ancient and wise, provide shade for both animals and people.

  My mind wanders back to Lane. He had certainly given off some strong body language this past weekend for me to absorb. The way he leaned into me when he spoke, as if I was the only person in the world. It made me feel special even if he had done it dozens, if not hundreds, of times before with other women.

  Tracy was spot on. I had Lane on the brain, all right. When I last saw him two nights ago, he had walked me to my car and pecked me on the cheek. He would have preferred to peck me in other places, he said, but this was all he was going to get from me on a first date. Did I say date?

  The last thing he said to me was, “We can do it fast or slow. Your choice. Just say yes.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Not tonight.” Despite the blatant rejection, he still looked hopeful, almost like a puppy whose master is debating whether or not to continue playing with him.

  He had read my body language well. Had Lane tried to kiss me on the lips, I may have let him, but I also may have slapped him. I rarely if ever knew exactly how I was going to respond in a situation like that, so if it was tough for me to figure out, it would be nearly impossible for Lane to guess.

  A guy like Lane would probably enjoy a challenge. Women could be so predictable under most circumstances, and a guy who had been with a lot of women would be bored with the status quo. He would like a challenge, right?

  As soon as I got home, I plopped down on my bed and opened up the Facebook app on my phone. I find his personal profile, and up pops a picture of him in a tight, deep navy-colored Speedo swimsuit after just coming out of the water. The color of his suit makes his honey-colored eyes stand out that much more. My eyes immediately trail down to his significant bulge. Shit, he’s hot. His pectoral muscles protrude out with strength and manliness, and he is totally hairless, which I like.

  Then, there are the tattoos of what looks like tribal symbols, a dragon on his right shoulder, and a large compass on his left pectoral. I guess he always knew where he was going. Following the trail of water dripping off his abs was about all I could take. He has restricted what guests can view about his profile, so I wasn’t able to access any other pictures or information about him. This one picture said it all for me, though.

  Lane has over 1,500 Facebook friends, and after thumbing through the list a bit, I realize most of them were women. Of course.

  What the hell am I doing? I am into this guy, but I can’t help but assume that he had probably slept with half of them. Was I jealous, or perhaps nervous, that I wouldn’t measure up with all the rest?

  There is a positive here, Celia, don’t you see it? A voice in my head echoes.

  Lane obvious
ly had tons of experience with women. He would know what women wanted and be able to deliver. It’s just like anything, practice makes perfect. Practice with licking, sucking and fucking would make him a very skilled lover. And he had picked me – me – to be his.

  Thinking back, I can’t remember ever having what I would consider a “good” lover. No one has ever excited me the way Lane does, and all we have done so far is flirt. Sex can be great and you can overlook a lot if you’re really into a guy, but it has the potential to be absolutely mind-blowing with a guy who knows what he’s doing—or so I’ve heard– and hell, Lane drives me crazy with a simple wink or the slightest touch. I can only imagine how good we could be together. I shiver at the thought.

  My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Old Blue who is whinnying in my ear. He is getting more needy for attention in his old age and is looking for a little love.

  “We all need a little love, don’t we, Blue?”

  I grab a brush and stroke Big Blue’s coat over and over in a soothing pattern. It’s meditative. Something to take my mind off Lane.

  Chapter 8

  LANE

  I look out at the harbor from my office window in downtown Portland, Maine. There are big yachts and small sailing vessels, old boats and new ones, and I never get tired of soaking in that view. The bobbing boats calm my mind and always seem to put me in a daydream-like trance. Transfixed on a small sailing ship now, orange sails furled, the wind whipping strong, my mind wanders.

  Celia. What is it about her? I feel like I want to spend every minute of the day with her, holding her hand and looking into her beautiful eyes. I’ve never felt this way before about a woman. And there have been a lot of them.

  I need to do something. I grab my phone and look at it, rub the smooth edges with my thumb, tracing its curves.