High Octane: Unleashed

Release date: November 17, 2014
High Octane: UnleashedViv McCloud is back on the Formula One tour with a new career, a new philosophy, and a new haircut. As the former highly visible girlfriend of two rival drivers, she’s now a TV journalist determined to kick some ass in this male-dominated world. Her first assignment is to draw out the secrets behind reclusive Belgian driver Adam Fontaine.

Engineer-turned-driver Adam has always been partial to order and control in his life. The fans call him Mr. Spock and he understands engines much better than he does women. A troubled past has left him untrusting and suspicious, and he’s in no mood to hand over his life story to Viv or anyone—especially not on live TV.

Viv’s job is on the line even as she falls in love with her subject. Can she scratch beyond the Vulcan-like exterior to reveal the red-blooded man underneath? And if she does, will his secrets ruin their chances of finding a happily ever after?

Don’t miss the fast-paced conclusion to this popular F1 series.

BUY NOWby Ashlinn Craven

Sensuality Level: Sensual

Author Bio:
Ashlinn Craven is geek by day, dreamer-upper of hot geeks and feisty heroines by night. She sought adventure beyond Ireland, world traveling until finally settling in a Swiss chalet with her husband and son where she writes in the shadow of the Alps. Her books are a heady mix of corporate shenanigans, tough heroes, and determined-to-succeed heroines, with a dash of realism.

Find Ashlinn Craven at www.ashlinncraven.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @AshlinnCraven.


An excerpt from High Octane: Unleashed:

Abu Dhabi

When he heard a warm, female laugh rise like a delicate butterfly above the buzz of masculine noise, Adam Fontaine did a swift scan of the Formula One crowd for its source. Not many girlfriends or wives hung around for this drinks session after the regulations briefing meeting. Given that the bar was jam-packed, loud and sweaty, any women present had to be desperate to please. Or lonely.

But that laugh didn’t sound like either; there was nothing artificial about it. Her voice exuded confidence and humor, tempered with restraint—the qualities a woman needed if she were to survive this tramping ground of male egos. He put down his beer that tasted of mass production and chemicals—only a slight improvement on two years ago—and twisted the barstool around to get a visual on her.

There she was, over there with Reece Marlowe. A slender blonde with a severe haircut that showed off a beautiful neck held with ballerina poise. No doubt she’d have a cute little pixie face to go with that hair when she turned around. Bloody Marlowe and his women. Couldn’t he have one single night without a conquest?

Adam swiveled back to the bar.

“That’s Vivienne McCloud, the new reporter with the Beeb,” Bruce, his lead chassis engineer, said, pointing a beer mat to the center of the room.

“Serious?” Adam swung around again to get a better look.

“Yeah I’m serious. And with that cropped hair of hers, she looks like she means business. Just watch what you say around her, mate.”

He shot the older man a look.

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, right, no danger of that.”

So this British woman got the BBC F1 reporting slot that Peter Dreyson vacated last season. She’d been the girlfriend of fellow drivers Ronan Hawes and then Maddux Bates, an unlikely progression if ever there was one, but each to his own. Thanks to his mashed leg, Adam had missed all the fun and games of last season, held no opinion of her, and that seemed to put him in the minority around here. His view of her was now obscured by a wall of male bodies.

“Don’t worry, she’ll make it her business to meet you,” Bruce said, still grinning.

“And move on swiftly. My life is uninteresting for the readers of gossip rags.”
“It’s the freaking BBC, not a gossip rag.” Bruce rapped Adam’s knuckles with the edge of his beer mat. “And be sure she’ll want to know all about the Belgian Comeback Kid.”

“Good luck to her.” Adam shoved the empty beer bottle toward the barman. She’d last about two months. If the attentions of Reece Marlowe and his sort didn’t make her want to run screaming, then the politics would.