The Woman Sent to Tame Him

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 fa?ade. He schooled his expression with ruthless speed as his guts twisted in anger. One false move with this woman and he’d be finished.

‘Look, Finn....’ She sighed softly. ‘I know you want to win this race and you’ve held the title for four years, but positioned at the back...? It’s too risky an endeavour for even you to try and take the lead. I don’t think anyone has ever done it before.’

If that wasn’t a red rag to a bull he didn’t know what was. He was also pretty sure being careful wasn’t the name of the game.

‘So just try and get a decent finish and come back here with the car in one piece, okay?’

For a second he thought he saw fear blanch her flawless complexion. Fear for him. And something warm and heavenly unfurled in his guts. Until he realised she merely wanted the car back in one piece. Idiot.

‘Yes, boss,’ he said, with a cheeky salute as he sealed up the front of his suit.

‘Good,’ she said, and the word belied the cynicism in her eyes. ‘Now, get your backside in that car and let’s see some St George magic.’

Walk away. Finn. Walk away and stop playing with her like this. You cannot have her!

‘You think I’m magic?’

‘I think you display a certain amount of talent on the track, yes.’

‘My talents—

‘If what is about to come about of your mouth has any reference to bedroom antics I will knock your block off.’

Finn cocked a mocking brow. ‘I wasn’t about to say anything of the sort. My, my—haven’t we got a dirty mind?’

‘Liar,’ she growled, long and low, like a little tigress, and he almost lost his footing as he backed out of the garage.

How did the woman do it? Make him feel alive for the first time in months. Make his smile feel mischievous and his body raw and sexual when no other woman could.

Narrowing her glare, she lifted one finger and shook it. ‘I don’t like that smile, Finn. I really don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever stunt you’re about to pull...’

The scorching rays hit his nape, the crowds chanted his name and he unloaded his charismatic arsenal and licked his lips. ‘Trust me, baby.’ Slanting her a wink that made her blink, he veered towards the Scott Lansing race car. ‘Trust me.’

Finn was sure she muttered something like, Not in this millennia, and he smiled ruefully. If she had any sense she’d remember that.

Inhaling long and deep, he infused his mind with the addictive scents of hot rubber and potent fumes that stroked the air—as addictive and scintillating as the warm, delicious redhead he’d left back at the garage.

Within ten minutes he was packed tight behind the wheel, the circuit a dribble of glistening molasses ahead of him, pushing his foot to the floor until the groans and grunts of the powerful machine electrified his flesh. Oh, yeah, he was a predator, with a thirst for the high-octane side of life, the thrill of the chase. One goal—to win.

Pole position. Middle or back. Dangerous or not. Didn’t matter to him.

This race was his.

* * *

Trust him. Trust him?

‘What the blazes is he doing?’ It was, quite literally, like waiting for the inevitable car crash.

One of the engineers whistled through his teeth. ‘Look at that guy go. Phenomenal, isn’t he?’

‘Crazy, more like,’ she muttered. Zero self-preservation. Zero!

More than once she heard the pit-lane channel go silent and probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it—if she hadn’t noticed him do that thing last night and this morning. Almost phasing out as some kind of darkness haunted his gaze. It was disturbing since he was renowned for his awesome ability to concentrate with such focus that nothing else existed but his car hugging the tarmac.

A battalion of bugs crawled up her spine and she glanced back at the shaded screen hanging in the garage.

‘Grand Hotel Hairpin. Just ahead of him. Holy Toledo! It’s a pile-up.’

Her heart careening into cardiac arrest, she held her breath, waiting for the iconic red Scott Lansing car to clear the haze of dust and debris. Come on, come on. Stuff the car. Don’t you dare kill yourself. I will never forgive you.

Serena wondered at that. Decided it was because she hadn’t managed to coax the truth about Tom’s death out of him yet. Tom, who should be here. Racing in this race. Doing what he’d loved best.

A fist of sorrow gripped her heart. Too young. He’d been just too young to die. And despite everything Finn was too young to be chasing death too.

She had to swallow in order to speak. ‘Where is Jake?’ With a bit of luck he had more sense.

‘Still holding fifth.’

A cackle of relieved laughter hit her eardrum as Finn’s car flew past the devastation to take third place.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, breathless and more than a bit dizzy.

‘I do.’ Her dad stood alongside her now, his attention fixed on the same screen. ‘Whatever you said to him has obviously worked, Serena. What did you say?’

‘That I was his new boss.’

Michael Scott’s head whipped round with comical speed. ‘What?’

‘Worked, hasn’t it?’ she said, knowing full well that her impulsive mouth had nothing to do with it.

Finn danced to his own tune, had his own agenda front and foremost. Moreover, just watching him race like this—with the ultimate skill and talent—made her even more certain there was more to his crashes and sporadic losses than met the eye. But for some reason today he was mostly focused.


‘He’s taking second place with one lap to go! It’s gonna be tight, though.’

She snorted. ‘He doesn’t want to lose the Monaco title.’ Then she squeezed her eyes shut as he almost rammed into the Nemesis Hart driver, swerved to avoid a crash and clipped his front wing off instead.

‘Whoa—there goes the car coming back in one piece.’

Stomach turning over, she shoved her hands into her back pockets to watch the last minute on screen.

Heck’s teeth, he was going to do it...

Admiration and awe prised their way through the hate locked in her chest. The man was amazing.

‘Half a second. Unbelievable!’ someone yelled.

A warm shower of relief rained down from her nape and her entire body went lax.

The crowd erupted with a tremendous roar and chanted his name: ‘Fi-in Fi-in Fi-in.’ Every mechanic and engineer ran out into the scorching rays and Michael Scott—who hadn’t hugged her since she was fourteen years old, when she’d been broken and torn and his face had been etched with fury and pain—turned round, picked her up and spun her around the floor.

She imagined it was how a ballerina felt—spinning, twirling, dancing on air. Her beauty delicate, feminine. Nothing like her.

Before she even had a chance to wrap her arms around his neck, to bask in this inconceivable show of affection, to actually feel his love, he abruptly let go and jogged into the pit lane.

Swaying on her feet, she swallowed hard—told herself for the millionth time in her life not to be upset. That she mustn’t be angry with him for not wanting to be close to her. It was just the way he was. He only knew how to deal with boys.

‘Come on, Serena, get a grip, get busy, move on,’ he’d say. ‘Boys don’t cry.’

Okay, then. Get busy. Move on.

Except alone now, with the dark shadows creeping over her skin like poison ivy, she felt...lost. Grappling with the annoying sense that she was forgetting something.

Oh.

This was the part where she ran out to Tom.

Cupping her hand, she covered her mouth, gritted her teeth and tensed her midriff to stop the sob threatening to rip past her throat. No. No!

She should never have come back here. Should have stayed away—

Footsteps bounded from the pit lane and she sucked great, humongous lungfuls of air through her nose, then blew out quick breaths. Over and over.

It was a good job too, because Finn strode into the shadows—and the intense magnetism he exuded was a tangible, vibrant combination of devil-may-care and decadent sin.

Blond hair now dark with sweat tumbled over his brow and he wore an indecipherable expression on his over-warm face, almost as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Impossible.

Bolstering her reserves, she stood tall as he drew near and threw his arms wide.

‘What did you think, baby?’

‘I think that by the end of the season I’ll be on a whole lot of medication. Good God, you’re a liability.’ A very expensive, scorching hot, stunning liability.

‘So you don’t wanna hang around with me any more?’ He clapped a hand over his left pec. ‘I think my heart’s broken.’

‘Come on, Finn, you and I both know you don’t have one. You take direction from another body part entirely.’

Standing there, smouldering with testosterone, he sneaked his tongue out to moisten his lips. When it came, his voice was a low groan. ‘You think about my body parts?’

That was it. Later she’d have no idea how she could veer from abject misery to munching on the inside of her cheek to stifle a snort of laughter. He was incorrigible. She hated him. Hated him!

‘I think about many of your body parts. Your neck, especially—the very one I’d like to wrap my hands around.’

She reminded herself that to be turned on by that cocksure smile was a gross dereliction of self-preservation.

‘Did you need something?’ she asked, thoroughly confused. ‘You’ve left your fans wailing for your return.’

‘No, I just wanted...’ He lifted his hand and scratched the side of his jaw in an uneasy, somewhat boyish manner.

‘What?’ she murmured, distracted by a small scar she’d never noticed before—a thin white slash scoring his hairline. How on earth had he got that?

‘I wanted you to say how awesome I am.’

‘Don’t be silly. You can barely fit your head through the open cockpit as it is. Keep dreaming.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I will,’ he drawled suggestively. And just like that she was transported back to his yacht, his kiss. Then came the heat, curling low in her abdomen, licking her insides, making her shiver.

Honestly, she was certifiable. Without a doubt.

Much as earlier, he began to back out of the garage, taking his dizzying pheromones with him, and within a nanosecond fury overtook her. For the playful banter. For the way she’d allowed him to affect her so utterly.

‘By the way, I want to speak to you tonight,’ she said sharply.

Before he hit the bright light his feet froze mid-step. ‘Saying goodbye already?’

Tilting her head, Serena frowned. ‘Now, why would I do that?’

‘I won the race. I’ll charm the sponsors at dinner. Disaster averted.’

That was why he was so focused on winning? To get rid of her? Surely not. His need to win overruled all else. Unless what he was hiding was of far more importance.

Her heart flapping like a bird’s wings against a cage, she said, ‘I’m not going anywhere, Finn. I promise you that.’

Gazes locked, they engaged in some sort of battle of wills—one she had no intention of losing. She was here to stay.

‘Unfortunately, Miss Scott, I have a date this evening. With my good friend Black Jack. Unless you’d care to join us...?’

‘The Casino? I wouldn’t be seen dead there.’

And the smirk on his face told her he knew it!

‘Then I guess you’ll just have to catch me some other time, beautiful.’

Not if she could help it. The man had to get dressed on that den of iniquity, so she’d just have to corner him before he stepped foot on the harbour. There was no way on this earth she was going up to that swanky Casino, where the dress code pronounced that all women had to dress as if they were for sale. Not for love nor money. She didn’t even own a dress, for heaven’s sake.

Nope. She’d just have to catch him first.