The Racing Driver's Wife Page 3

  The sun shone on his skin and the leaves from the nearby trees created dappled shadows that stippled erotic patterns over his back. As beautiful and thought provoking as they seemed, they were going to make it hard to make sure she got every knot and kink out of him.

  Knot and kink? The thoughts those words created were definitely 'x' rated. She cleared her throat and Gael looked over his shoulder.

  "Hi, cara. Will this do?"

  "Not unless you want one side toasted and the other plain. Just there I haven't a chance of seeing what I'm doing. The shadows will muck everything up. You need to be over there." She pointed to the place she thought would be perfect. "And put this towel around your waist to catch any drips."

  He smiled, as he took the length of material from her. The slow, let me undress you and have my wicked way with you smile that sealed her fate appeared on his tanned, handsome face. It had been there both going in and going out of their time together. It was one more thing that made women swoon and have palpitations the world over. The one he could no more not give than breathe.

  Not the one that was especially for her, if there even was one of those. Once she'd thought there was, but…

  "Like this?"

  "Eh? Oh yeah, perfect, thanks." She'd been so deep into her memories she hadn't even noticed Gael had wrapped the towel around his waist, just like a loin cloth, moved the chair and sat down again. He stood up, walked over to her and stroked her cheek. "Why so sad?"

  "I'm not." Liar, liar, pants on fire. "Well not really. I was just thinking." Darcy got the 'oh yeah', one raised eyebrow look. She shrugged, pushed her specs up her nose and nudged him back in the direction of the chair. He moved obligingly and resumed his previous position "In this weather, the wood and seat are most unpleasant."

  "Use the towel then over the wood instead if you want. Or go in and get another one.”

  "This will do." He rolled his shoulder, and the way his muscles rippled and moved from side to side made her body tighten

  Damn, I've been without sex for way too long. Five months way too long. Ever since one chance meeting.

  "Sticky and sweaty," Gael went on, a suspicious gleam in his eye. She mistrusted the pseudo innocent look.

  "Sorry, but what would you rather have?" Darcy asked briskly. "Sweaty and sticky and oil on the towel, or sweaty and sticky and wood and varnish stuck to your body? Either way unless we go inside and you sit under a fan you'll be sweaty and sticky." She pushed him until his bum hit the seat. He sat and didn’t complain any more.

  "Right, let's see what I can do." Darcy moved his hair off his neck "I like it like this. Makes you less hippy and more hip. You know, this is not in bad condition."

  She sounded surprised and he grunted. "I remember your rules, wash, condition, comb, do not tug."

  "Glad you remember someth… sorry. Right, lean forward and try to relax." She began to work the tight muscles in his neck and he sighed and then moaned.

  "Argh, yes oh so painful but oh so good. Magic hands, cara."

  "Good. Remember: relax and let them work their magic then. So, to return to your moan, don't you get all sticky and sweaty at work?" She couldn't phrase it any other way. "How much of this can you stand? You’re as tight as a … well, you know."

  Gael muttered something under his breath that he probably thought she wouldn't understand. Darcy smirked to herself. Of course, he didn't know she'd studied Italian since she'd left him. It was something she felt she needed to do.

  "Stop cussing, or I'll give you a bruise in the shape of a Glasgow kiss." Darcy mentioned the well-known head butt of her home town "You know, you'll need to get your hair cut soon or you'll not be able do that famous shake and smile as your hair flicks back?"

  He roared with laughter. "Ah, you remember?"

  "I'd be hard pressed not to. It's on T.V. every blinking time you win. Have you trademarked it yet?"

  "You wound me. It's just one of those things."

  Darcy dug her thumbs into a knot and his breath came out in a long hiss. "So is the golden arches and that's trademarked," she said with a snap.

  It was lucky she wasn't using the acupuncture needles on him at that moment. He laughed so much he shook, and no doubt she'd have carved her name into his scalp with the ends.

  "I'll try not to do it if you hate it so."

  "Why?" Darcy tried for insouciance and failed miserably. "Look, hold still or I might do you an injury. I haven't felt the need to do that for ages, but deliberate or by accident the result would be the same. You'd swear and I'd get had up by your fans." She rolled his warm skin under her hands. "Actually," she said thoughtfully. "That's a lie. Seeing as no one knows I exist." She stood up and stretched. "There you go. Don't forget to drink plenty of water. How does that feel? Any better?"

  Gael stood up in his loose limbed and darn right sexy manner, and Darcy ignored the way her muscles tightened and her throat went dry.

  "Much better, cara, you are a star. And think back: you're wrong. Don't you remember what I said in that interview?" He shook himself like a dog who had swum across a river and needed to dry itself.

  "My wife is my life. I meant every word." He stretched his arm high above his head and did the doggy shake again. Darcy didn't say what was in her mind. He might not appreciate being compared with a dog.

  Chapter Four

  Gael washed his hands, looked at his reflection in the mirror and wondered how on earth he was going to explain exactly why he was there. It wasn't going to be easy. There again he hadn't thought it would be, but he needed to explain what was in the offing.

  Tam, his manager, had managed to blag him a few days away, to come and speak to Darcy, and with luck without his presence being detected. However, Gael didn't kid himself it would be more than a few days. Apart from anything else he should be preparing for the next race, not chasing a recalcitrant wife.

  That wasn't a fair assessment and Gael knew it. It took two to tango, and two to make a marriage. Theirs had been a marriage that had one and an eighth people working to make it succeed. It hadn't been and would never be enough. He was ready and willing to make that eighth of a person eight eighths, but was Darcy still prepared to be the other, total person? One half of the whole. He snagged the bottle of Champagne he'd brought in a cooler, along with two glasses and some olives, and went back outside.

  He met her in the doorway.

  "I have to run." She moved sideways to go by. "Did you actually say why you came? Apart from to tell me about an interview where you admit to having a wife and sound all sickly lovely dovey yuck? Or is there another reason?"

  "I wanted to tell you that Tam reckons that someone will dig properly and remember the blonde who was at the track and then not. And someone else would remember your name and then boom you're outed. I think you need to come with me. Just to get a few days’ grace to decide what you're going to do."

  "I know what I'm going to do. Sell raffle tickets at the fete, fair whatever it’s called, and then get on with the next b—" She stopped suddenly. "Excuse me I'm in a rush."

  "The next b…?"

  Darcy kept her back to him as she sidled across the kitchen. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late. Shut the door as you go."

  He stopped her by grabbing her arm and spinning her around. "The only place I'm going is with you. The fete or to the plane, your choice."

  "You can't come to the fete." Shock vied with worry in her tone. "Everyone will know you and ask questions."

  He shrugged with an insouciance he didn't have. "Today, tomorrow, next week, what's the difference?"

  "Lots, you moron." She stood still and nibbled her lip. "Is it really going to be like you said?"

  He pulled her closer and hugged her. "Honestly, cara? I don’t know. Best scenario, it dies a death. But worst is you are hounded for your story. Asked if I beat you or abused you in any way. Followed by rag-paparazzi offering you money to take your clothes off or tell the warts and all ‘my life with Lorenzo’ story. I have no ide
a exactly what will happen. But the reporter who published her version of events and I do not have a good relationship. They'll publish what they want and think whatever happens later is worth it for the muck turning they do now."

  "You mean the two line apology buried on page four sort of thing?"

  "Exactly. However it is your choice, cara."

  "Some blooming choice. Where would we go?"

  "I can spare a few days at my villa in Majorca, but I need to be back in Monaco soon."

  She blinked. "Majorca? Where abouts?"

  "Pollensa, why?"

  She grinned. "Do you have Wi-Fi or neighbours?"

  What was she so cheerful about? If he wasn't so intent on getting her away, Gael would have voiced his suspicions. As it was… "Yes to both. Although the first is slow and the second three fields away and is a reclusive author whom I have never met. Probably an elderly lady who writes her books in long hand and never uses the f-word."

  She giggled. "Probably. Okay, I'll buy it. And my own ticket. But we've missed today’s flights and goodness knows when we'll get two seats out."

  "You make your apologies to the fete." He pronounced it fet. "I'll ring my pilot. How long do you need?"

  "Your pilot? Oh my god, you came private jet like?"

  Darcy let go of the phone she'd just picked up and Gael caught it and handed it back to her with a wink.

  "Ring who you need. And yes, for how else to travel at a moment’s notice? Shall I say an hour to be picked up? Is that enough time to pack?"

  She sighed, swallowed several times and ran her fingers through her hair, adding more layers of spikiness. That showed how agitated she was, but in all truth what else could he do? The next weeks could be messy and he wanted her with him—if he were honest and not just for that reason. It was a lot easier to woo someone on a one-to-one basis and not over the phone, net, or on paper.

  "It'll do. What I don't take I can get. Right, let me say I've been called away and then we can get this show on the road."

  A show was what he hoped it wasn't.

  ****

  "So, so far so good then?" Gael stretched his legs out as he fastened his seatbelt and checked Darcy had done the same. Do you have everything you need?"

  "I think so." Darcy looked up to the roof of the plane, and thought hard. "Everything I can't get hold of anyway. You know the essentials."

  "Knickers, bikinis, books, and UK chocolate?"

  Lap top, Spanish cell phone, tablet eReader, and chargers more like.

  "Sort of. Boy, this is the life, eh?" She changed the subject and looked around the plane with appreciation. The last thing she needed was to explain why she was technology heavy. "What happens when we get there?"

  "My car will be waiting, and we'll head off to Villa Flores. The fridge should be full, and we can have a couple of days to plan what next." Gael stopped speaking as the steward went though the safety drill and the plane began to move.

  Darcy sat back and sipped her champagne. The plane was definitely luxurious, and more than a few notches up from the usual commuter planes she used to move around Europe. She waited until they'd levelled out and asked the question that had been uppermost in her mind, on and off for months.

  "What were you doing at the Christmas Market?"

  "Like I said Giuseppe, the stall holder, is an old friend. Jacinta, his wife went into labour ten weeks early, and I helped out. They now have a little girl named after me. December is the one month of the year I have time to draw breath. And no one recognised me."

  "I did." Oh did she ever. And had spent the next months with vivid dreams of a sexual nature. "But you know? It was fun pretending I didn't. That we were just two people meeting by chance and enjoying ourselves."

  Gael leered, and twirled an imaginary moustache. "Define enjoying."

  The steward approached them and politely said that they could remove their seatbelts.

  "Are you hungry, cara?" Gael undid his seatbelt and stood up to reach for his briefcase. "I just asked for nibbles and not a full meal, but there's things like lasagne if you want?"

  "I've got stuff with me." Darcy rummaged in her carry on bag, and took out her eReader and a cool bag. "G-f goodies."

  "G-f?" Gael said in a puzzled voce. "What on earth?"

  "Oh, I forgot you wouldn't know. I was diagnosed Coeliac a few months ago so I'm gluten free. No wheat, rye, or barley for me. I've got my basics in here." She patted the cool bag. "Oatcakes, pate and salad are a great snack. Want some?"

  "Er no, it's okay, I'll get Leo to bring me the on board snack. Can you eat olives?"

  Darcy looked at him in incredulity. "Are you having me on?"

  He shrugged. "Hey it's all new to me." A tell-tale reddish hue began to colour his face. "Yes, I know, I'm clueless, but I'm a fast learner."

  Darcy shook her head in amazement. "It's just as well. And before you ask, yes I drink wine, yes I drink champagne and why yes I'd love another glass, thank you."

  Gael laughed so loudly, the steward poked his head through the galley door. Gael waved him away and he vanished smartly. The door closed behind him with a definite click.

  "Phew, thank goodness for that." Gael rolled his eyes. "Promise not to tell on me."

  "Cross my heart and all that," Darcy said solemnly. "What am I not telling about?"

  "My gaffe about gluten. I'll do a search for it when we land."

  "No need, either physically or on the net. I can tell you." Darcy opened her cool bag and showed him the contents. "I figured you'd have coffee and fruit." She coughed theatrically. "And champagne."

  The jokey cheerful banter set the mood for the trip. Darcy explained gluten and her reaction to it, and at her prompting Gael talked about the season's races so far.

  "That's rubbish," Darcy said at one point, as Gael moaned about one of his rivals. "Pull your big boy boxers up and grow a pair. He overtook you fair and square. And why are you moaning anyway? You got the lead back and won. Seriously, listen to yourself. ‘Muuum, it's not fair. I wanted that racing line and he beat me to it’."

  Gael laughed somewhat sheepishly. "Okay, cara, I give in. I was being a baby, and throwing my dummy out." He popped an olive in his mouth and speared a grape from the bunch on the table. "I hate when I make a stupid schoolboy error. If I'm honest, though I'd deny it to anyone else, I was lucky to get the lead back. I'd made the first error, but it was the other team boxing so late in the race that got me back there and enabled me to stay. Anyway, we got maximum points and I kept my run of top spots so all was good. Now all I need is to carry on, and that is easier said than done."

  "Mmm, I guess so." Darcy looked out of the window just as they were advised to fasten their seatbelts once more and the steward cleared their feast away. "You can do it. The car looks good."

  "What do you know about it?" Gael asked slowly and tilted her chin up with his index finger. "Why, cara! Do you follow the sport?"

  "I glance at stuff, that's all." Darcy studied her nails and ignored his snort of derision. There was no way she was going to own up to her avid interest that kept her glued to the set with her coffee in a thermos at whatever time on a Sunday the race was viewable.

  "Ha, so you say. How many points clear am I of my nearest rival?"

  "Fifty three," Darcy said promptly and then groaned. "Busted, but after all I guess I need to know you're alive and kicking."

  "Of course you do. It's not as if my solicitor would have no idea how to find you, eh? Pull the other one. You can't not watch, because you love the sport." Gael patted her hand and took her fingers in his as the plane taxied to a halt. "I'll keep your secret, cara."

  "Oh good, and I'll not clype and tell everyone you didn't know about gluten free olives."

  "Clype?"

  "Tell on you, spill the beans."

  "Harsh."

  "You better believe it." Darcy checked her laptop was safe and stood up as the steward opened the door. Before they had a chance to exit the plane a short bald man came thro
ugh the door, like a bullet out of a gun. He nodded at Darcy and turned his attention to Gael.

  "Someone knows you're here. Your car will be a red rag to a bull. And I've got it on good authority, they've staked out your villa."

  "Shit, Tam." Gael ran his fingers through his hair. "That's the last thing we need. Any ideas?"

  Tam shook his head. "Not really, unless you come back to Monaco now, with me."

  Gael glanced at Darcy. "What do you think?"

  She bit her lip. Was she ready to come clean? She had no option really. "Can you get me off this plane as a crew member?"

  Gael stared at her. "What good will that do?"

  "If I can get away and into the terminal without it being seen that I'm with you, I can hire a car. If Tam…?" She looked at the other man who nodded.

  "Aye, Tam will do fine."

  "If Tam can work out how to transport you to somewhere I can pick you up, we'll get away clear."

  "To where, though? That's the problem."

  She took a deep breath. "No, not really."

  Darcy stuck her hand out and Gael took it, probably without thinking.

  "Hi there. I'm your neighbour over the back."

  But that's where the…"

  "Old dear, techno challenged, reclusive writer lives?" She nodded. "Exactly close enough to see what’s going on, far enough away, and up a different road not to be seen. Perfect I reckon."

  Chapter Five

  As a way to stop both he and Tam in their tracks it was perfect. Gael started to laugh.

  "Oh my, misconceptions rule, eh?"

  Darcy shrugged. "Can I help it if you have a weird view of romance writers?"

  "Erotic romance writers," Gael corrected her with a sheepish grin.

  "And those. Excuse me whilst I get my knitting out and find my quill and ink."

  He resisted the urge to put his tongue out as she licked her finger and drew a vertical line in the air.

  "Don't forget the parchment, oh and your tartan slippers."