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ChapterOne
Luna
If Devin Flynn, charming egomaniac, sexy playboy, and my boyfriend, thought he was a great driver, he had nothing on Blake Carlton. Carlton thought he was the best to ever live. Better than my father, although I didn’t think even Blake would admit that out loud, no matter how arrogant he was. I couldn’t think of another driver who would send a lackey to summon me for a meeting, yet here stood a nervous intern or mechanic or secretary asking me to go with him to the Roche motorhome.
My brother, Rafe, chuckled and said, “Oh, go see what he wants.”
“I can’t imagine you’d be pleased if any other team invited me to their lair,” I snarked. “You were never this chill when I started hanging out with Devin.” Considering I was part-owner of Rafe’s team, taking a meeting with a competing driver seemed sketchy.
“Yeah, but Carlton’s a good guy,” Rafe said dismissively. Like Devin was not. Rafe and Carlton went way back, along with our friend Erich Riedl. All three of them came from money, and I didn’t think that was a coincidence. And none of them liked my boyfriend. Devin didn’t like them, either, which wasn’t always easy for me.
Still, I was just curious enough to accept Blake’s invitation. How could I refuse? There hadn’t been such a dominant world champion since my father had graced these same tracks. The one difference was that my father wasn’t an asshole.
At the Team Roche area, I took in Carlton’s entourage of managers, sponsors, a bevy of beautiful women, and who knew how many hangers-on. I couldn’t help but think how much his behavior and lifestyle had become the model for most other drivers, including Devin—though Devin would never admit it. He hated the man on principle, but all the drivers on the circuit aspired to be like Blake Carlton.
I did my best not to roll my eyes at the posters of Blake all over the Roche area. Blake accepting a world championship trophy. Blake in his Stars and Stripes helmet. Blake riding a horse? What the hell? Well, he was from Texas, and his family was oil-money rich. While technically Rafe and I were Americans, too, we didn’t have this kind of connection to our country. Especially me, because I’d only lived there until I was ten.
Along with all the Americana and the entourage, there were more photographers and journalists hanging around than I was used to over at Team Perez. “Is it always this busy?” I asked the lackey.
“Oh yeah. Everyone wants a piece of Mr. Carlton.”
The man in question was lounging against the side of the motorhome in his gray Roche overalls, chatting amiably with a mechanic. He was, I had to admit, more than a little handsome with his dark hair and chiseled jaw. He was in his mid-thirties, which was getting up there for a race car driver. His career had peaked as other, younger drivers like Hans Lauder and Erich had stepped in to take over. My brother, and my boyfriend, too, though they weren’t as high up in the rankings. Carlton hadn’t won a championship in a couple of years, and the buzz was that it was less about his declining skills and more about a bad deal his team had made with a subpar engine manufacturer.
Despite all that, he was the main attraction at every race and most definitely the center of attention. He’d even managed to make European racing popular in America again. I’d only met him a few times, and I had no idea what this invitation was about.
Carlton caught my eye and shot me a megawatt smile. “Luna Perez! Come on in.”
He opened the door to the motorhome and ushered me inside. I could tell by the way everyone scurried off that Carlton wanted us to be alone. I nervously sat across from him, wondering what was going on. He leaned back in his seat and stared at me with his piercing blue eyes. His reputation with the women was even more storied than Devin’s, although he seemed to have amicable relationships with most of them even after they broke up. He’d dated several models and had once been engaged to a beautiful American actress. The engagement had been called off weeks before the wedding; though, as far as I knew, the reason had never been revealed.
“Hello, Mr. Carlton,” I said, extending my hand to him.
“Come on now, call me Blake,” he said, shaking it.
Perched on the plush leather chair, I waited for him to speak. For a long moment he just stared at me, those eyes cutting through me like a dagger. I was mentally wringing my hands, wondering what I was doing there. Sure, I’d heard the rumors that he was looking for a new ride next year. Pissed off at driving crappy cars for Roche, it was understandable. But could he potentially have an interest in driving with Perez? It seemed far-fetched. We were an underdog team. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have to woo me to get the seat. Rafe would roll out the red carpet if he needed to.
I figured I’d get the conversation started. Again. “I was surprised you wanted to speak to me.”
He cracked a smile, and I could see why women went wild for him. The way his smile was just a little crooked, teasing but telling me to come hither at the same time, was a tad unnerving. “I thought we could have a little chat,” he said with a glint in his steely-blue eyes.
I tapped my foot on the floor, surprised at my own nervousness, as Carlton’s intense gaze pinned me to the chair. I smoothed out an imaginary crease in my black Perez pants, waiting for him to say something further.
“How do you like the racing world?” he asked at last.
“It’s interesting,” I said, biting my lower lip. Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere else. No other driver had made me feel intimidated like this, and I hated it.
“What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to you?” he asked, leaning closer.
I stumbled a bit on this one. “Nothing terribly interesting hashappenedto me,” I said, leaning back and away. “If I did have to pick something, it would be the attention we got in Los Angeles—well, that Rafe got. They really love him there.”
“I think they probably like you too.”
I made a “psh” noise. “They figure he’ll win a world championship and be a hero one day. Not something I can do.”
Carlton leaned back again and crossed his legs. My gaze followed the movement, and I was surprised to feel my cheeks heat. Something about him intrigued me. He was a handsome man, maybe even more than Devin, and he had that rugged cowboy charm. He was magnetic, someone you couldn’t help but be drawn to.
“I’m sure people mention your father all the time.”
“They certainly do,” I said coolly.
