"Something like that," I say.

For some reason, I'm having trouble stepping further into the room. Seeing Harrison here, in the place I slept as a girl, surrounded by my slumbering family...it's odd. After so much struggle to be a part of his life, to make him part of mine, I'm finding it hard to trust now. It's like this whole thing has suddenly become too easy.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," Harrison says, sitting down on my cushy bed, "What's on your mind?"

"Seriously?" I laugh shortly, "Only the whole storm of s.h.i.t swirling all around us."

"Nothing more to be done about that tonight, is there?" he asks.

"I could start calling news outlets. Get a jump on writing out a press release to-"

"Or, you could come over here and let me make you feel better," Harrison suggests, his voice dropping low into his register. A twinge of wanting rings through my core at the sight of him, waiting for me there on my bed. Every time I think of Harrison's body and mine together, a million steamy memories spring up in my mind's eye. It's a miracle the two of us ever get out of bed in the morning.

"You can't use your s.e.xy voice on me right now," I hiss, crossing the room to where he sits so comfortably.

"Why not?" he laughs, pulling me down onto his lap.

"Because...this is my parents' house," I splutter, as he lays a hand on my thigh, "I slept in this bed as a kid. I dreamed about Brad Pitt and George Clooney in this bed. I wrote love letters in my journal and wondered what it might be like to have s.e.x one day. I...I've never actually had a man in this bed with me before."

"Are you serious?" Harrison asks, eyes widening, "Oh man...I'm sorry, but you can't tell me a thing like that and expect me not to get turned on."

"No?" I ask with a grin, "It's so hot for you, knowing that no other man has touched me in this room?"

"I can't help it," he groans, pulling me tighter against him.

His excitement is becoming infectious. I feel my hunger for him eclipse any self-consciousness or nerves that might be tripping me up. Here he is, Harrison Davies-sitting on my bed, having come to make amends with my family like some kind of white knight. He's out of a made for TV movie, right now. And at this point in the movie, the leading lady would probably be giving into her instincts...so, what the h.e.l.l.

"It was very brave of you, coming here," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, "Roaring up in your car like that, like a d.a.m.ned conquering hero."

"Bravery's got nothing to do with it," Harrison says, encircling my waist with his arms, "I just wanted to do right by your family. I want them to trust me."

"And they will," I say, swinging my legs to wrap them around his waist. "They will, because I do. And I'm pretty good at reading people, Harrison."

"What was your read on me, right at the beginning?" He asks, letting his broad hands slide down over my a.s.s.

"I thought you were stupid handsome," I tell him.

"That's not what I asked," he reminds me.

"I could see...that you were confident. And driven," I tell him, smoothing the blonde hair off his forehead. "I could see that you weren't the relationship kind of guy."

"Thanks," he pouts.

"Well you weren't, were you?" I say, "I could see that you were serious. That you could accomplish anything you set your mind on. And I saw...that there was a sadness in you. A loneliness. A s.p.a.ce that needed to be filled up."

"And did you know that we were the perfect fit?" He asks, kissing just below my collarbone. "Did you know we were meant to be?"

"Honestly? No," I say, cupping his stubbly jaw in my palms. "Because I've never believed in 'meant to be'. I never thought I'd meet anyone who'd be my perfect fit."

"And now?" he asks, pressing his full lips against my palm.

"I'm starting to reconsider my stance," I smile.

"How diplomatic of you," he grins. "But hey. I think I know exactly how to change your mind, if I may."

As easy as can be, Harrison stands up, holding me in his arms. He supports my weight effortlessly, as if I were no heavier than a feather. Gently, slowly, he sets me down on my bed and kneels before me on the hardwood floor.

"Harrison," I whisper, "What are you-?"

"Shhh..." he says, popping open the b.u.t.ton of my jeans.

"But this-"

"Tell me to stop," he says, laying his hands on my thighs, "Tell me to quit it, and I'll lay a sword down in the middle of the bed and go to sleep. Or..." he tugs at my plants, easing them down off my hips.

"Don't stop," I tell him, lying back against the bed, "Don't you dare."

Harrison slips my pants down off my legs, and I plant my feet at the edge of the bed, peering up at him in the low light. I can't believe that Harrison Davies, world cla.s.s F1 driver and s.e.xiest man on the planet, is kneeling before me in my bedroom. It's almost too much.

"Take off your shirt," I tell him, propping myself up on my elbows.

"What?" he asks, surprised.

"You heard me, Davies. Take off your shirt," I insist.

Without another word, he draws his black tee shirt up over his head and tosses it across the room. His built, defined muscles stand out in the shimmering moonlight, accented by the shadows, and the tattoos on his chest and arms like dark inky ribbons. I pull myself further back onto the bed and grin at him.

"Now the pants," I whisper.

"You want me to strip for you, Siena?" he asks, his voice gleeful.

"Oh, I do," I tell him.

Harrison pulls himself to standing and takes a step toward me. I have to stifle a giggle as he rips open his belt buckle and slowly, deliberately, slips out of his jeans. They crumple on the floor at his feet, and only a pair of black briefs remain between me and his fully naked, gorgeous form.

"The briefs," I say, pulling myself onto my knees.

"Whatever you'd like," he replies.

Harrison hooks his fingers into the elastic of his underwear and pulls them swiftly down, revealing the full length of his desire for me. I suck in a little gasp as I take in the sight of him, standing fully naked before me. All my schemes and ideas flee my mind in the face of such beauty. All I want is him, no games, no conditions.

I lean forward, taking his thick rod between my hands. Harrison's fingers work themselves into my curls as I lower my lips to his swollen head. I take him into my mouth, letting my tongue dance against the sensitive underside of his c.o.c.k. His fingers tighten in my hair as I work up and down his shaft, bringing a hand down to cup his b.a.l.l.s, ever-so-gently. It takes both hands and my mouth to take all of him at once, but I do. And G.o.d, it feels so good to please him that way.

That place between my legs grows wet with want as I suck Harrison stiffer. I'm aching to feel him slip inside of me, fill me up. It's my favorite place to be, right here with him, racing ahead together toward unknown heights of bliss. It's where we belong, in each other's arms. It always will be.

I lay back on the bed, pulling Harrison on top of me. My tongue traces a slow circle around the very tip of him, and he swallows a groan. Gently, he presses himself away from me, kneeling above my sprawled-out body. His hands work quickly to pull my tee shirt up over my head, unclasp my bra, tug my panties down my legs. We're naked together, not a st.i.tch between us. Harrison's eyes are glinting with the spark of an idea.

"Will you take me in your mouth again?" he asks, his voice husky, "I want to show you something."

Happily, I wrap my lips once more around him, working my hands up and down his slick shaft. In one swift motion, Harrison's pivots miraculously on the bed, swinging himself around as I get drunker and drunker on the taste of him. I wonder what the h.e.l.l he could be up to...

Until I feel his tongue parting my slick, pink slit. He licks along the length of me as I bring him further into my mouth, frenzied with the feel of him between my legs. He flicks his tongue against my hard c.l.i.t as I bear down, sucking hard along the length of him. A sharp new taste dances along my tongue as he zeroes in on that throbbing, raw, bundle of nerves. I know that I'm a goner, now.

I tighten my fingers around his shaft, swirling my tongue around him, pulling him deeper into the back of my throat as he masterfully teases my c.l.i.t with his lips, sucking me and ravishing me with abandon. The floodgates break inside me, and my legs begin to quake in the face of ecstasy. I come at the same moment he does, warm gushes of him spilling into my mouth. We feel ourselves release together, giving up any control we might have once had. I swallow him down, every last drop, loving how he tastes going down my throat.

When we're totally spent, Harrison rolls off me onto the bed. I struggle to right myself, crawling toward him. Without a word, I burrow into his side and feel sleep rush in to claim me. I'm no good at sleeping with Harrison, but tonight I don't have to.

"Told you I'd change your mind," he says sleepily, wrapping a strong arm around me.

"Yeah, yeah," I yawn, "Don't brag, Davies. It's unbecoming of a gentleman such as yourself."

We laugh lightly together as we drift off to sleep. Tomorrow's going to put us through the ringer, but at least we're finally going to tackle this thing together. As a team. Who knows? It might not even be so bad.

Chapter Five.

The Gauntlet

All it takes is a couple of strategic emails and phone calls to bring the press running to our front door. In no time at all, the front steps of our home are swarming with photographers and reporters, all hoping to snag a quote from our exclusive press conference. It's time for me to do what I do best and shape this story. As long as no one throws a wrench in the works, this should be our saving grace.

We gather in the foyer early in the morning, everyone who's about to face the flashing cameras and shouted questions. It's going to be me, Enzo, Harrison, and my Dad versus a whole mob of media types, but I'm not worried. The rest of the group will be right behind us, offering their support. And at the end of the day, the press will be much more thrilled with a story of unlikely partnership than they will with stony silence and animosity. At least, that's what I'm banking on.

"You can't be serious," Harrison grumbles, as I hold up two neckties for his appraisal.

"You have to wear something other than a black tee shirt," I tell him sternly.

"We like to dress like adults in this house," Enzo says, crossing his arms, "Not teenage delinquents."

Harrison scowls at my brother and s.n.a.t.c.hes the redder of the two ties. "For my team," he says pointedly. I feel my heart sink a little. As united as we may be in life, Harrison and I are still part of separate teams in the F1 universe. I know it shouldn't bother me, that it doesn't really matter, but I've been raised to care so much about Ferrelli that it's hard to shake my discontent.

"How are we doing over here?" my mom asks, bustling over to where I stand between Harrison and Enzo.

"Just fine, Mrs. Lazio," Harrison smiles.

"Oh please," she laughs, "It's Camilla, dear. I'd tell you to call me Mom, but I guess that's a little presumptuous, yes?"

"Mother!" I groan, feeling my cheeks flame red.

"Mom, for the love of G.o.d," Enzo mutters.

"What?" she says, feigning innocence, "You can't blame me for hoping."

Harrison grins at our discomfort, which I suppose is preferable to him blanching in horror. The truth is, we've never even come close to discussing marriage, or kids, or anything normal like that. With our careers, there's no way we're headed in the white picket fence, two kids and a dog direction. And I'm OK with that, really. I've never been attached to the idea of being a wife or a mother...but I can't pretend that I haven't at least thought about what our future together might look like. But first things first-it's time to deal with our present.

"Alright everyone," I say, smoothing down the front of my silk blouse, "Are we ready to do this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Enzo grumbles.

"Quit being petulant," Dad replies, "We need to put on a good show for those animals out there."

"I'm ready to go, Siena," Harrison says, taking hold of my hand.

A little thrill runs up my arm as he tightens his grip just a hair. I'm suddenly unaccountably nervous. Not anxious, in a bad way, but excited. After so much time keeping our affair a secret, Harrison and I can finally come out to the world as a couple.

"OK," I say, swallowing my b.u.t.terflies, "Let's do this."

Bex flashes me a quick thumbs up as Gus and Charlie yank open our heavy front doors. A wall of sound slams into the four of us as we blink out into the daylight. I flash my best smile and make my way forward with Harrison in tow. There are four microphones waiting for us, and we each find our place. I glance over at my dad and brother and see that they're holding their own. Enzo has his cool, collected smile on and Dad looks as proud and strong as ever, even if his body seems to grow slighter by the day. A twinge of worry pa.s.ses through me as Dad turns to cough away from the camera, but the roar of the press drowns out the horrible, ragged sound. No, I tell myself, No time to think about that now. You have a job to do.

"h.e.l.lo everyone," I say, stepping up to my mic, "Thank you all so much for coming out to talk to us. We're very happy to be holding this press conference together to try and dispel some rumors that have recently come out about our teams and family. Now. Who would like to start with-"

A roar goes up among the press as dozens of hands shoot into the air. But I don't feel panicked, in the face of their frenzy. This is what I'm good at. This is what they pay me the big bucks to do. I calmly point to a nearby reporter, an olive-skinned woman in her late thirties.

"Thank you, Ms. Lazio," she says primly, "Can you confirm or deny for us that you and Harrison Davies are romantically involved, for the record?"

"I can," I tell her, sneaking a glance at Harrison. He nods encouragingly, and I barrel on ahead. "Harrison and I have begun seeing each other romantically over the course of the current F1 season. Next question. You."

"Ms. Lazio," says the next reporter, a slim fellow in his fifties, "Why did you and Mr. Davies feel you had to be secretive about your affair?"

"First of all," I begin, "I'd like to point out that an affair is not exactly possible when neither party is involved romantically with someone else. I'm pretty sure the correct term for what Harrison and I have been up to is dating. Or at least, that's what the kids call it these days."

The crowd lets out an appreciative laugh, and I continue.

"But on that note, Harrison and I decided not to make any sort of statement and air on the side of discretion because we didn't know what the outcome of our spending time together would be. We wanted to get to know each other, see how we enjoyed each other's company, before we made any sort of grand p.r.o.nouncement. We were, in fact, intending to make a joint statement before the London Grand Prix. Unfortunately, the news was broken for us by the as-yet unnamed journalist behind the recent news story. You, do you have a follow up question?"

"What was your reaction to that story?" asks a red headed young man, "Were you hurt? Angry? Embarra.s.sed?"

"All of the above," I confirm, "We were hurt to have our privacy invaded, angry at the false rumors printed, and embarra.s.sed for the shoddy writing."

Another laugh rises up from the crowd. That's good-it means I'm keeping things light.

"Harrison and I would have preferred to be in control of letting the world know about our relationship. We're both very dedicated to our teams' fans, and we want them to feel taken care of. We hope that no supporters of Ferrelli or McClain feel hurt or left out in the cold. Would you like to ask the next question?"

"What has the reaction been from your teams?" asks an older woman in front.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. This is where the white lies begin, after all.

"Our teams were surprised by our news," I say diplomatically, "And of course, the idea took a little getting used to. But overall, there has been overwhelming support and mutual respect between both-"