Chapter 11

 

Harry was back in the racing world, at the peak of his career. There’d been tight races like this one, where his triumphant finishes had been almost inevitable. In a pack of almost equally matched cars, his driving brilliance had tipped the balance time and again.

Remembering the rush of victory made his heart beat faster. Then he frowned, thinking of the emptiness when he left the track at the end of the day. The restlessness.

Just when he had it all, something was missing. In Harry’s early twenties, he was racing better, with an improved car, and a good chance at another championship. The fans loved him.

What more could he want? He had friends among the drivers and pit crews, and more women than he knew what to do with. The track babes that hung around the pits didn’t care much about the sport. They wanted the drivers. Harry’s spectacular driving style and what the press called ‘a look of haunted loneliness in his eyes’ attracted more than his fair share.

Some would do anything to claim his attention. The other drivers jokingly, sometimes jealously, referred to the adoring cluster as Harry’s Harem.

Maybe that was the sour note. The women were too willing, too eager. And he was tired of the same old thing. When Harry confessed his growing boredom to one of his friends in the pit crew, Eddie grinned and invited him back to his hotel room.

“What turns you on? Redheads, brunettes—hey, I never seen you pick up a blonde but there’s no accounting for taste. Singles, groups, mixed, slashing...” Eddie’s words rattled faster than an auctioneer’s as he flipped magazine after magazine onto his bed from a mid-sized suitcase.

Harry headed back to his suite carrying a plastic bag with half-a-dozen magazines and two videos. He poured himself a vodka and orange from the mini-bar and slid a DVD into his laptop. It was definitely higher-octane, but he felt disappointed, as though he’d been hoping for something more.

On the second DVD, he found it. Heat seared his veins even as his brain said the blood was paint, the brutality staged. The violence tore at him, repelled yet fascinated him. It wasn’t the gore. The thought of the power to inflict such pain...

When he met Eddie the next week to return what he’d borrowed, Harry asked where to get his own supply.

Eddie’s lips crept into a knowing grin. “Keep the disks. They’re copies. I’ll connect you with my supplier when we get back to our testing site.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket—probably his lunch receipt—and scribbled on the back. “Check out these places online, too. Just clear your browser cache afterward. And burn everything to a disk or flash drive. Something you can ditch if you have to. It’s not kiddie porn—don’t touch that stuff, they’ll find you—but still, a mouthy customs agent could shoot down your career with some of this.”

Harry slipped the DVD cases into his jacket out of sight. He handed Eddie the bag with the magazines. “Thanks, man.”

“Call it my investment in your career. If you’re happy, we’re all happy.”

Over time, Harry built a select stock of videos and magazines. He and Eddie swapped back and forth, but Harry kept the most powerful ones to himself. Friend or not, Eddie didn’t need to know everything.

Harry thought he’d been at the top of his form before, but Eddie’s investment kicked things up a notch. The hypnotic images off-track fuelled Harry to better performance in the car. If he was less inclined to socialize after-hours now, so what?

Some things were unavoidable. Harry stood in a room of suits and fancy dresses, cocktail glass in hand, enduring his key sponsor’s wife’s gentle flirtation. Gayle was a large woman, a brunette at least fifteen years older than him. Lovely eyes and a pleasant nature.

She rested a hand on his arm and laughed at something he’d said—he forgot it already. He smiled back. They’d played this game before. She didn’t expect to seduce him, nor did she want to jeopardize his relationship with her husband. Harry suspected the glitz around them intimidated her, despite her net worth. If a little attention from a younger man eased her insecurity, he’d give it.

And tonight it kept him from having to fake interest in the hot blonde who’d shadowed him all evening. Somebody’s sister. Harry didn’t know whose, but blondes were trouble. Always had been. Besides... he sought her in his peripheral vision. She had nothing on his latest porn flick.

He smiled into Gayle’s eyes—a sincere smile—part of him wished she were his aunt. “I’ve monopolized you long enough. I need to schmooze—um, circulate.” Harry stepped through the crowd to join a group with another of his sponsors. A few more conversations, maybe half an hour tops. Then he was out of here. He had a hot date with a video.

Coat over his arm, two paces from the exit, a hand clamped Harry’s shoulder. He bit back a curse and stuck on a smile before he turned around. Nielson, top driver for one of the other teams.

The man looked at Harry’s coat and back to his face. “What’s your hurry?”

“You know. Things to do, people to see.”

Nielson swept a hand to encompass the room. “We used to be those people, Silver. Are you too far above us now?”

Harry shrugged. “I never liked these formal affairs.”

Nielson stepped nearer and lowered his voice. “How does three days on a yacht sound? I’ve booked one for next week. Can’t get much more informal than string bikinis—on deck, anyway. Just a few of us guys, and at least as many adoring females. Come on, Harry, you know you want in.”

Cold prickled down Harry’s back. He looked at his feet as if they’d shifted—like a ship’s deck in high seas. Looked back at Nielson’s grinning face. “I can’t. Thanks. Boats—I can’t. I have to go.”

He spun and headed for the door, Nielson’s insults sliding off his back. Let them think he was afraid of boats. Harry didn’t care. But he could not face three days of non-stop companionship—three days cut off from his porn. Man, he had it bad.

Nielson and crew boasted about their high-seas frolics. Others on Harry’s team went clubbing or out on the town. Did they even miss him in the endless social whirl?

Harry left the track one day after practice to find a gorgeous redhead draped across the hood of his car. Low-cut tank top, skin-tight shorts—his temperature rose just looking at her. She peeled herself off the car, holding his gaze, and strolled toward him. One hand slid around his neck. The other tugged at his collar. “I’m free tonight, Harry. For whatever turns you on.”

Her breath caressed his throat. Whatever turns you on. That was the problem.

Harry trapped her hands with his and pushed them away. Remember your image. He put on his most attractive smile—the one that made them weak-kneed—and did his best to look regretful. “I can’t. But I’m deeply honoured.”

Her tongue traced the full curve of her lips. “I could make you forget her.”

Her? The celebrity gossip machine attributed his new solitude to a broken heart. Harry eyed her up and down and paid her with another smile. “I almost think you could, sweetheart. But I’m not looking for love just now. Or for anything else.”

He stepped around her to the car, unlocked the driver’s door and locked himself in before she could climb onto his lap. Where was security when you needed them? Yeah, she was hot, but candle hot. An inferno waited at home, for his private viewing pleasure.

Harry started the car and shifted into drive. She pouted, shrugged, and stepped back. He rolled the car forward and out of the lot. Let the girls dream of making him forget a lost love. He had a thrilling career and a mind full of x-rated fantasies. Who could ask for more?

Later in the season, fresh from a sizzling win at his home race in Toronto, Harry anticipated another busy week when the team moved to Vancouver in mid-July. Canadian racing fans idolized him. His face smiled from billboards all over the city. Interviews, autograph sessions, and special events took almost every minute not spent behind the wheel. A dangerous lull that could cost him the mental edge he needed on the track.

Harry dragged out of bed early on his first Vancouver morning, downed the light breakfast he’d ordered from room service and threw on his running gear. The best part of his fitness regimen—no stale gym air, just open sky. He didn’t even mind the rain, although today would be clear once the sun burned away the haze.

He aimed his rental car for a stretch of beach forty-five minutes south of the city. Lots of people ran the Stanley Park seawall, or in the park near his hotel, but too many knew his face.

This was his time, with no fans, no public smiles.

The sand-and-gravel path skirting Crescent Beach was usually deserted in the early mornings. The few other joggers he met this morning either didn’t recognize him or didn’t care. By the time he left the beach, he was energized and ready for anything.

Before joining the commuters on their way into the city, he stopped at a 24-hour donut shop to grab juice and a muffin. He checked out the little blond coffee clerk’s figure while she bent to bag some muffins for the customer ahead of him. The man left, holding the paper bag and balancing a travel tray with three coffee cups.

Harry stepped up to the counter.

“May I take your order?” Her eyes were the clear blue of a mountain lake.

Harry’s breath caught. He turned it into a cough. “Sorry—could I get an apple juice, please, and a blueberry fiber muffin? For here.” His heart rate was up. Must have overdone the run.

Her fingertips brushed his palm as she gave him his change. His skin tingled from the contact. He jammed the coins into the pocket of his running shorts and tried to look casual. Glanced at her nametag. “Thanks, Gina.” A pretty name. It suited her.

She smiled at him. “I’ll just be a second.” She took a few steps to the clerk at the other till. She couldn’t be more than seventeen, perky and blue-eyed. Her slender form under the plain brown apron invited a closer look. Her blond hair shone. If she let it free of the hairnet and ponytail, it would cascade halfway down her back. The image sent a tingle up his spine.

He didn’t get it. Beautiful women were part of his lifestyle. What was there about this girl that captured him?

If she noticed him staring, she didn’t seem to mind. She whispered with her co-worker and nodded in his direction. He was used to being recognized. It went with the territory. This time, he hoped it would score him some points.

She hurried back with a bottle of apple juice—small hands, short nails with clear polish—and set a large muffin on a plate. “Heated?”

“Yeah—uh, no, thanks. Cold is fine. No butter. Do you have jam?”

“Strawberry okay?” She dipped below the counter, then placed two packets on the plate and slid his order across the counter. “Um, we were wondering... Are you Harry Silver?”

Grinning, he dropped his voice. “You’re sworn to secrecy. I don’t want the press seeing me after a run. Not that I want lovely ladies seeing me this way, either...”

Man, he hoped he didn’t stink.

She turned a delicious shade of rose. Before he could say anything else, she greeted the next customer in line. Harry kicked his brain back in gear and picked up his tray. He chose a corner table and settled back to enjoy the scenery.

He watched Gina put on a fresh pot of coffee. Maybe he needed some caffeine, to get him thinking straight. What did it matter if some kid working a minimum wage job found him attractive? They were free for the picking at the track, and he rarely noticed them.

He folded his paper napkin in half, then folded it again. It was a long time since he’d had a woman. This one was young, fresh. Why not?

Gina smiled as she handed a take-out tray of coffee to a man in a ball cap and painter’s overalls. Harry studied her face, neck, arms. She was slight enough to look delicate. Would she let him get rough?

She couldn’t stop him.

The thought aroused him. Surprised, he looked away. It turned him on to watch the violent stuff, to fantasize about it, but he’d never considered acting on it.

He swallowed the last of his muffin. No woman was going to give him what he wanted... what his imagination thrived on. And if he took it—took anything, for that matter, his career would be shattered.

His gaze flicked back to Gina. If he could play her like the porn flicks...

Harry gulped the rest of his juice, flung his garbage in the trash and fled.

Once he reached his hotel, a long, cold shower doused most of the fire. Still, the idea tingled on the edge of his thoughts all day. It energized him to a stunning performance testing the race car, but made it hard to focus during the afternoon autograph session.

He sat behind a table in the middle of a sporting goods store, a stack of promotional photos at hand, signing them and joking with his fans. It might not give him the rush that racing did, but it was part of the job. These were the people who drove the sport, and for that he appreciated them. If they thought he was a hero, well, that was a perk, too.

Today he had trouble concentrating, and his gaze darted to the door every time it opened. Would Gina come? His appearance schedule was everywhere, including online. If not today, would she show up at one of his other signings?

He couldn’t tell if the shiver inside him was longing or fear. He’d never felt this way before. Instinct said it was dangerous, maybe more than he could handle.

Session over, he left the store feeling vaguely depressed. She hadn’t come.

Next on the schedule was a black-tie gala fundraiser. Harry barely had time to change at the hotel, but he stole a few minutes to flip through the succulent magazines he’d brought. He studied the models’ bodies, their faces, hoping to push the little blond coffee clerk from his mind.

The suite phone rang. Harry answered, his eyes lingering on a particularly provocative pose.

“Harry, the limo’s waiting. We’re going to be late.”

He’d lost ten minutes. “I’ll be right there.” He shoved the magazines into his suitcase and snapped the lock. As he stepped into the hallway, his rebellious imagination flashed him pose after pose from the magazines... all wearing Gina’s face.

His step faltered. The elevator pinged and the door opened. He summoned his professional smile as a middle-aged couple stepped out. Suck it up, Silver. You can beat this.