Free Faster Hotter by Colleen Masters, Hearts Collective

saying. Harrison and I are meeting up just after I leave here to discuss our plans going forward.”
    “Oh, wonderful,” Carlo says, clearly relieved, “I’m sure that his employers at McClain will be similarly minded.”
    “No doubt,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, “Is there anything else we need to go over, gentlemen? I hope you don’t mind my rushing away, but I do still have a grieving family to tend to.”
    “Of course,” Bruno says, standing, “It’s important to tie up loose ends, isn’t it?”
    I have to fight to keep a scowl from overtaking my features. Since when are life-changing milestones nothing more than “loose ends”? Is this what being on the corporate side of F1 is all about? And if so, do I really want to be wrapped up in all of this?
    I part from the owners and let the gilded elevator carry me back down to solid ground. So many things have been thrown at me in the last two weeks. And while I’m usually pretty good under pressure, this is beyond the pale. I step out onto the sidewalk, blinking in the bright sun, and hurry back to my idling ride.
    “Where to?” my driver asks.
    “The airport please,” I tell him.
    We take off through the city streets, zipping toward the airport. My hands and clasped tightly in my lap and I count the seconds until I’m back in London with Harrison once again.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN

     
     
    As soon as the heavy wooden door swings open, I let my bags fall and throw my arms around Harrison’s broad shoulders.
    “It’s good to see you too,” he laughs, planting kiss after kiss on every part of me he can reach, “Get your gorgeous self in here, would you?”
    I step into the modern London townhouse in a travel-weary daze. The last time I was here, Harrison and I were embroiled in the first wave of our media fiasco. Photographers were camping on the front steps as we tried to sort through the gossip and rumors that were swirling around us both. But even with those unsavory memories, I realize that I still feel more at home here than anywhere in the world.
    Harrison steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I grin, turning my face toward his. Maybe it’s not the place that makes me feel at home—maybe it’s just these arms I’ve come to know so well.
    “How are you doing, baby?” Harrison asks, “Do you want to rest? Are you hungry?”
    “I’m starving,” I tell him.
    “Let’s order in,” he suggests, “What are you in the mood for?”
    Everything, I want to reply. Ever since I took those first pregnancy tests, I’ve been catching myself craving the most insane things. I try and think of the most innocuous choice. WE can’t get sushi—raw fish and wasabi won’t do for the bun in the oven. The only pizza I’m craving is covered with anchovies and pineapple. Good lord, if it’s this hard to keep my secret from Harrison while choosing takeout, what’s going to happen when the pressure is really on? Maybe I should just tell him outright. Bite the bullet.
    “Let’s just go with Chinese,” I finally say.
    “You got it,” Harrison smiles, whipping out his cell.
    Our feast arrives in no time at all. I look at the spread I requested, a bit alarmed by the ferocity of my appetite. I’m a lady who enjoys a good meal, and normally I’m not preoccupied with how much I eat, but right now my stomach feels bottomless.
    “Dig in,” Harrison says, sitting down beside me at the kitchen island. We’ve pulled our stools right up to the cartons upon cartons of takeout. I try to act natural as I load my plate up with MSG-laden goodness.
    “Tell me how training’s been going,” I say, “What’s it like, being the lead driver now?”
    “It’s, uh, a little bit intense,” Harrison admits.
    “Are they working you harder now?” I ask.
    “It’s not really the work,” he goes on, “It’s everything that happens off the track.”
    “Like what?” I ask, lifting a mouthful of General Tso’s to my lips.
    “Well...let’s just say I