Prologue

Gloria Heath gaped at her boss, Graeme, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. No, no, she couldn’t have heard him correctly, because she thought he’d said he wanted her to go and cover the first round of the British Superbikes at Donington Park. She shook her head and chuckled. He must have said The Great British Bake Off. That sounded similar, didn’t it?

Graeme frowned. “Something funny, Gloria?”

She snapped her focus back to her editor and smiled. “Sorry. I must be going deaf, or mad, because I thought you said you wanted me to cover some motorbike race.”

His expression was stony. “I did,” he replied coolly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Blinking, she opened her mouth, then closed it again. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “But I’m a lifestyle reporter. I cover—”

“I’m well aware of what you cover, Gloria. I’ve been your boss for three years—don’t you think I’m familiar with what you write by now?” He sighed. “I know it’s not your usual thing, and is way out of your comfort zone, but don’t you think a change would be nice? A bit of a challenge for you?”

Gulping, she replied, “A ch-challenge? Graeme… did I do something wrong?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s an article, Gloria, not a bloody punishment. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your work is exemplary—always has been, and I’m sure it always will be. But I have one of the sports writers off sick, with no one else available to take his place, and not covering the first round of the British Superbikes is tantamount to blasphemy for our motorsport readers.”

A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, making her nauseous. “Do I… have a choice?”

Graeme raised his eyebrows. “I’m an editor, not a dictator. But come on, Gloria, do me a favour here. Like I said, there’s no one else to take his place—you’re the only one with time in your schedule. If I’m not mistaken, the stuff you’re currently working on isn’t time-sensitive. Sunday’s race, however, is.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, then flashed her a smile. “We’ll even put you up in a nice hotel, right near to the track. One little article, Gloria. You’ll be saving my life. Please.”

Gloria knew when she was beaten. Graeme wouldn’t force her, she knew that, but it was clearly very important to him. And he’d never asked her to do something like this before—he was generally very laid back, and let her get on with writing pretty much whatever she wanted to. So one article out of her comfort zone—albeit way out of her comfort zone—was the least she could do. “All right,” she said resignedly. “I’ll do it, for you. But you have to give me a full briefing on what exactly you’re looking for. The last thing I want is to end up writing something where I’ve taken completely the wrong angle.

“And,” she added, “where the hell is Donington Park, anyway?”

Graeme’s expression turned despairing. “In the Midlands, Gloria. Near Derby and Nottingham. North of Watford Gap.”

“Bloody hell, that’s miles away! Have I got to drive? I’ll need a pool car.”

“Drive, get the train, hell, you can even fly. The circuit’s next door to a bloody airport. I don’t care, as long as you go, all right?”

She folded her arms. “The train will be fine. Though a first class ticket wouldn’t go amiss.”

Graeme rolled his eyes. “Done.”

“And about the briefing…”

“Of course! I wouldn’t send you in there unprepared. Right, you go and carry on with whatever you were doing while I get all the arrangements sorted. Come and see me when you get here tomorrow morning, and we’ll go through everything you need to know.” She nodded and stood up, then turned to leave. “Oh, and Gloria?” She turned back. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, boss. Just don’t make a habit of it, all right?” She winked to show she was joking.

Grinning, he waved a hand at her. “Go on, get out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter One

“Do you need help with your bag?” the taxi driver asked when he’d opened her door and helped her out. He strolled to the boot of the car and removed her small wheeled suitcase.

“No, thanks,” she said with a genuine smile. “It’s only little, and not heavy. But thank you for asking.” She was touched he’d offered, because she’d already paid, so it wasn’t like he was angling for a tip. But then, she supposed, that was the difference between London and other places in the UK. In the city, everyone was out for what they could get. Out here, in what looked like the arse end of nowhere, maybe people were actually just… nice.

“No problem.” He handed her a business card. “Here’s the number for my office—feel free to give us a call when you need taking back to the train station.”

She slipped the card into the slot in her phone case, figuring it wouldn’t get lost or damaged there. “Will do, thanks.” Gripping the handle of her suitcase, she began walking towards the front entrance of the hotel. “Bye.”

“Bye. Have a good time.”

Turning her attention to her accommodation, she saw that Graeme had indeed made good on his promise of booking her into a nice hotel. It was a beautiful black and white timber-fronted building; so unlikely to have anything like a gym, swimming pool or sauna, but she wouldn’t have time for any of that, anyway. It was Friday lunchtime now, and she was leaving late on Sunday evening. All she’d be doing in the hotel was eating breakfast and dinner, sleeping and showering.

She’d almost changed her mind when she’d realised she had to be at the event Friday, Saturday and Sunday. She’d originally thought it was just the Sunday. But apparently there were practice rounds on the Friday, then races on Saturday and Sunday, with the latter being the main event. And, according to Graeme, just covering the main event wasn’t enough—it would make for a more exciting, rounded article if she could mention the practice races, who stood out, and so on. Apparently, there were lots of different championships and cups involved in the tournament, but fortunately she only needed to cover the main British Superbike Championship. In the end, she’d just taken the timetable Graeme had printed out for her and made her excuses, her brain whirling with all the information.

When she’d settled into her seat on the northbound train, she’d logged onto the complimentary WiFi and tried to swot up. This might not be her area of expertise—or even interest—but she had professional pride and wanted to make a good job of the write-up. Also, if she was armed with some knowledge, she wouldn’t look like such a useless girl in front of all the leather-clad petrol heads.

Hmm… leather-clad men. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

With a sudden spring in her step, she crossed the threshold into the hotel and approached the reception desk with a smile.

A pretty brunette woman in her forties returned the smile. “Hello, welcome to Donington Park Farmhouse Hotel. How can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m here to check in for two nights. I’m Gloria Heath.”

“Ah, yes. From the newspaper?”

Gloria frowned. “Er, yes. How did you know?” Surely the woman hadn’t remembered her byline from an article?

The woman chuckled. “We’re only a small team here—I was the one that took the booking. I spoke to the gentleman who made the reservation for you. He was asking me about the race circuit and how to get there from here, and we got chatting.”

“Oh, I see.” So Graeme had made the booking himself, rather than getting one of the office juniors to do it? Interesting. He’d obviously been determined to keep her on side. “So, how do I get to the circuit from here? Is there a local taxi service? I just got the number from the guy that dropped me off from the train station, so I could call his company…” She looked at her watch. “I need to head there pretty soon, though, once I’ve checked in and dropped off my bags.”

The woman nodded. “No problem. And no, you won’t need a taxi. It’s quicker to walk.”

“Walk? Where is the circuit, exactly?”

With a smile, the woman said, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear it as you came in. It’s just behind us, across a field.” She jerked her thumb towards the rear of the building. “Maybe there was a break in the practice races as you came in.”

“Er… maybe.” She hadn’t memorised the whole timetable, just the parts that applied to her article, so she didn’t have a clue. She still didn’t understand why there were so many different races. Graeme had tried to explain, but it wasn’t really his area of expertise either, so he hadn’t done a particularly good job. All she’d picked up was that it was something to do with different types of bikes, different engine sizes and whatnot.

The receptionist turned her attention to the computer monitor in front of her and pressed some buttons on the keyboard. “Right, let’s get you checked in. Two nights, breakfast and dinner.” She typed away, murmuring to herself for a minute, then, “Okay, done! You’re in room three.” Reaching beneath the desk, she then produced a large key on an old-fashioned fob and handed it to Gloria. “Here you go. It’s just along there—you’ll find it easily, we’re only a small place. I think boutique is the fashionable phrase, isn’t it?” She winked. “Meals are through there,” she indicated another door, “and the circuit is literally a two-minute walk along our private pathway, and will take you directly to the pits and paddocks, which is where I’m guessing you need to be.”

“Yep.” Gloria nodded. “At least to start with.”

“The path is just out the back door and across the car park. You can’t miss it.”

“Great. Thank you so much. Right,” she checked her watch, “I’d better get going, then, if I want to see the one o’clock practice.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay. And if you need anything, or have any questions, feel free to ask, either here at the desk, or by pressing ‘one’ on your room phone.”

“Will do. Thanks!”

A moment later, she was outside room three. Wow, the receptionist hadn’t been kidding—this was a small place. But insanely convenient for her needs. When she was done for the day, all she had to do was take a two-minute walk back here. Which gave her pause—would the path be lit up if it was dark when she returned? Then she remembered the torch function on her phone—she could use that if need be. And she had her battery booster pack with her.

It seemed that, in spite of her inexperience, she was pretty well prepared for everything Donington Park Circuit and the British Superbikes had to throw at her.

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Two

Gloria walked in the direction of the pits, impressed by the speed at which she’d both arrived at the circuit, and been admitted. It was only just over five minutes since she’d left her hotel room. Nodding to herself, she gave Graeme some mental Brownie points. But then, she didn’t really want to be here anyway, so perhaps it just made them even.

Now she was here, she wasn’t entirely sure where to start. She had full pit access, plus entry to the VIP areas. For her, this usually meant cordoned-off areas of high-class London clubs, free meals, complimentary spa treatments, exclusive interviews, behind-the-scenes access to filmings of TV shows and films… the list went on. It was little wonder she enjoyed her job so much—the variety was amazing. Plus she got to see some really cool stuff, and get freebies, samples and exclusives.

Here, the most she was likely to get was drinks and nibbles—though she was sure she could buy something more substantial if she wanted to—and maybe oil stains on her shoes. She’d deliberately dressed down for the occasion, knowing she’d stand out like a sore thumb if she turned up in her usual high-fashion attire. She’d gone for skinny jeans, a tight black T-shirt and cute, flat ankle boots, also in black. At least if she did get oil on her footwear, it wouldn’t be visible. Plus the boots were sensible enough for her to be able to explore the circuit without ending up going arse over tit or getting blisters or a twisted ankle. The bright, sunny weather and the absence of anything but the merest wisp of cloud in the sky meant she didn’t have to worry about a jacket or umbrella. Perfect racing conditions, too.

As she reached the pits and entered—having flashed her badge at a member of circuit staff—she was immediately hit by two things: the smell, and the noise. The place was a hive of activity—hardly surprising, given there was a race about to start. The scents of petrol, burning rubber, oil, leather and other stuff she couldn’t begin to distinguish filled the air. Her eardrums vibrated with the racket of revving engines, clanking tools and shouting. It was just as well all she’d planned to do to start with was observe, because there was no way she’d be able to have a conversation amongst all this noise, never mind try to interview someone.

She drank in the sights—the bikes, the mechanics and support teams, the racers—naturally paying particular attention to the latter. It was obvious that a rider’s success depended just as much on his—or her—support team, mechanics and bike as it did on their own skill and talent, but, as Graeme had told her in the briefing, that wasn’t what their readers wanted to know about. They were interested in the human interest angle—how the racers ended up doing what they were doing, their journeys, their results, their sacrifices, and so on. Generally, her boss had said, the more hardship they’d experienced, the better. Once he’d explained all that, it made sense why he’d felt the need to send her to the event—if all the readers wanted was race results and current standings, they could look online. But they wanted more. By the sounds of it, they wanted scandal, or at the very least dirt on the racers.

Gloria thought it all sounded a bit vulgar and a tad sensationalist, but she’d kept those sentiments to herself. She supposed it was a bit like the talent shows that were currently all the rage—the more unlikely a candidate, the more the public wanted them to win. Rooting for the underdog, so to speak.

So that was what she was on the lookout for—an unlikely racer, maybe someone who didn’t quite fit in, for whatever reason.

Gloria immediately discounted the solitary female racer—that angle was way too obvious. Not to mention the fact that, her gender aside, the woman looked thoroughly as if she belonged and had a team around her that looked just as good—if not better—than the male racers. There was no reason whatsoever that she couldn’t give her opponents a run for their money. Or should that be a ride?

Deciding to keep an eye on the female racer out of her own interest—she still had to have it tough in such a male-dominated sport and environment—Gloria moved on. There were only a few minutes to go until the race was due to begin, and the noise was increasing, the atmosphere ramping up to fever pitch. She could practically taste the testosterone.

Looking around to find a safe spot from which to watch the race, where she’d be out of the way but still get a good view, Gloria continued through the pits. It was then she saw him. Tucked away at the end of the row, his height and his dirty-blond hair caught her eye, and that was before she realised he was probably a good candidate for an interview. He had a tiny team of just two men, who on further inspection were likely family members—there was a definite resemblance.

The racer, clad in black and white leathers which had only one logo on them—compared to all the others, who had more logos than leather visible—was clearly happy to get his hands dirty as he performed what her untrained eye assumed were final checks on his bike. The lurid green and black Kawasaki was also noticeably devoid of sponsorship badges. So he didn’t have companies throwing their marketing budgets at him, and his team was… compact, to say the least. Was he the underdog she’d been looking for?

Casually moving closer, she pasted a neutral smile on her face as she hovered nearby, hoping to pick up a snippet of chatter that might come in useful later when she tried to engage the racer in conversation. Despite the small team, however, they were all business, and soon the racer—whom she’d internally dubbed as ‘19’, taken from the number emblazoned onto his motorbike—had thrown one long leg over the bike, pulled on his helmet and gloves, and was ready to go.

An unintelligible announcement rang out on the PA system, but understanding it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone that mattered knew what it meant. Engines revved and tyres squealed as the racers made their way out onto the track.

In spite of her previous disinterest, a frisson of excitement ran through Gloria’s body. Maybe the reason she’d never been interested in sport before was because she’d never attended a live event. Watching this sort of thing on the television just didn’t do anything for her—she never found herself rooting for anyone, or caring about results, so it all seemed pretty pointless. But maybe the remove of watching on screen was the reason for her dispassion.

Being here, in the thick of it all, seeing the preparation—albeit briefly—and taking in the sights, sounds and atmosphere, had already piqued her interest, and they hadn’t even started the race yet.

But it was imminent, so she scurried over to the barriers and slipped out to find the safe, out-of-the-way spot she’d been seeking when she’d been distracted by 19. Her exclusive access to all areas meant that didn’t take long, and moments later she was sequestered in an elevated viewing box, with a front row seat, and a handsome barman had scurried off to get her a glass of sparkling water.

The noise had deadened considerably now that she wasn’t in the midst of the action, but the excitement hadn’t. It had invaded her veins and she perched on the edge of her seat—literally—her eyes glued to the scene before her, the bikes all lined up in their places on the grid, ready and raring to go.

And then, following the signal, they did—in an overwhelming flurry of activity and noise. They’d hardly gotten any speed up, but already Gloria could barely keep up, could barely work out what was going on. She was sure she’d get used to it, as time went on. And, she reminded herself, this was just one of the practice races—she didn’t have to pay massively close attention. For her human interest piece, though, she was already leaning towards following 19’s journey, and, fortunately for her, with his almost logo-free—for she’d now realised the logo he did have was that of the manufacturer of the gear—leathers and bike, he stood out. She kept her gaze fixed on him as best she could through the smoke left behind from the spinning tyres as he zoomed along the straight and eventually went out of sight.

𓆩♡𓆪

Fast Lust