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a mention.

      Matteo finally decided to call Abby but effusive wasn’t a word that had sprung to mind when she told him that no, they couldn’t meet, given that she was on her way to Dubai.

      ‘So am I,’ he, on impulse, had replied.

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘I’ve got a couple of racehorses that I want to look at and my sister Allegra is holding a charity event in May... Hold on.’ Matteo checked his calendar. ‘Yes, that’s on Saturday the seventh. How about lunch on the Friday?’

      ‘I won’t be able to get away for lunch.’

      ‘Dinner, then?’ Matteo persisted and she returned his offer with a long stretch of silence. ‘Breakfast?’

      ‘Just stop by the track.’

      ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward...’

      She had already rung off.

      * * *

      The heat was fierce in Dubai.

      And as for the humidity!

      Suffice to say, with the hangover Matteo had, he would far rather be in the airconditioned comfort of his hotel than in the goldfish bowl of a racetrack. The sun seemed to be coming at him from all angles as he made his way to the Boucher sheds.

      Matteo had been in Dubai for three days and what an amazing three days they had been. The first had consisted of a wild welcome on board his friend Sheikh Kedah’s yacht.

      Kedah seemed hell-bent on returning the wild week Matteo had given him on a recent trip to New York City. The second day had been spent galloping at breakneck speed with his friend along a beach. Matteo had taken a tumble and dislocated his shoulder. The sheikh had called for his private physician to put it back. With Matteo’s arm strapped and a little out of action they had hit the racetracks and placed a few bets on a camel race. The potential two years’ jail time for illegal betting had only served to give Matteo an extra high!

      It had been a giddy introduction to Dubai but now he had crashed back to earth—the smell of oil was nauseating and the sound from the track had his molars aching. He’d lost the sling that the physician had provided and so his shoulder was killing him.

      And Abby Ellison was nowhere to be seen.

      It was after four and he wondered if she might have finished for the day. A group of guys were watching as Pedro, the Boucher driver, put the car through its paces. He knew it was Pedro because Matteo recognised the deep green of the Boucher car.

      Matteo had done some further research on the team, of course.

      They had entered in the prestigious Henley Cup. A series of three races—Dubai, Milan and Monte Carlo. The final race took place in July a week before Ellison’s fundraiser.

      As newcomers the Boucher team wasn’t being taken seriously, especially because the owner was a woman. Just a little rich girl playing with her daddy’s money seemed to be the general consensus.

      Pedro Sanchez, their driver, was someone who was being watched seriously though, and there were a couple of other teams who had their eye on him.

      The group of men all ignored him and that suited Matteo just fine. He just drank from a large bottle of cola and idly watched.

      Or rather, at first, he idly watched.

      Matteo had never really been in to cars and not just because his parents had died in a crash. His father had once taken a five-year-old Matteo for a joy-ride.

      There was no joy in that memory!

      Still, this was different—Pedro was really putting the car through its paces now, hugging the bend, belting it down the straight, and the roar of the motor was, as it flew past him, a bit of a turn-on.

      ‘Whoa!’ one of the guys shouted as the car lost traction, but then Pedro skilfully righted it and Matteo watched as the car again sped down the straight and then slowed down as it came towards them.

      ‘Hey...’

      Matteo turned as someone greeted him and blinked in vague surprise. ‘Pedro...’ Matteo shook his hand; he recognised the young man himself from his research. ‘Sorry for the double take. I thought that I was watching you out there. I didn’t realise there were two drivers.’

      ‘No, no...’ Pedro said. ‘Soon you’ll get to see me drive. That’s Abby—she’s just checking out some adjustments that she has made.’

      Matteo looked back at the car and, sure enough, climbing out from it, dressed in tight leather, was no man, and the vague turn-on Matteo had felt before was rather less vague now.

      He hadn’t known that he was in to leather either!

      The racing world was looking up, he decided as she took off her helmet and the fire guard and then shook her long dark hair out.

      She was tall enough to wear her curves well, and if she only smiled he would return it with the best of his. And Matteo’s smile could melt. But then he remembered he was not here to seduce and so he kept his business expression on.

      ‘So,’ Pedro said, ‘I hear that you have a meeting with Abby.’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘Good,’ Pedro responded and he could hear the slight edge to the man’s voice. ‘Then I guess it’s time for me to show you a little of what I can do.’ He looked over to Abby, who had reached them now. ‘How is she?’

      ‘Oh, she’s running like silk now.’

      They spoke as if the car was a person!

      ‘I’ve warmed her up for you,’ Abby said and then, as Pedro headed off towards the car, she finally acknowledged Matteo. ‘Di Sione?’

      ‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘But you can call me Matteo.’

      Abby didn’t return the smile.

      Instead she blanked him and turned her attention to Pedro, who was climbing into the car.

      Was she always this polite with investors? Matteo pondered.

      ‘How long has Pedro been out here?’ Matteo enquired, wondering how long he’d had to acclimatise to the hot and humid conditions.

      ‘Long enough,’ Abby said and then carried on ignoring him as Pedro started to do some laps.

      ‘Why don’t we...?’ Matteo started but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the engine and he had to wait till Pedro had passed before continuing. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk?’

      Still she ignored him and watched the track intently and then, when Pedro had finished a few laps, she turned and finally answered him.

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘I don’t need an investor who wants to pull me away.’

      ‘But Pedro’s finished.’

      ‘I’m watching the competition,’ she said.

      ‘And you do need an investor,’ Matteo said.

      Not this one, Abby thought.

      She knew the Di Sione name, of course she did, and she had looked Matteo up.

      Of course she had.

      Reckless, wild and debauched, she had read, but looking at the photos of him and finding out a little more about her potential sponsor, it didn’t take long for her to work out that he was also as sexy as all hell.

      And Abby didn’t like sexy.

      It terrified her, in fact.

      Abby had seen and recognised Matteo the second she had stepped out of the car. He was even better in the flesh and her stomach had curled in a way she would prefer it did not.

      She

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