by Abby Gaines
“I’ll let Chad know you’re here,” Libby said. “He wants to show you around.” She picked up the phone.
To her left, Amber heard the click of a security lock. The receptionist looked past Amber, and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Her eyes brightened, her cheeks turned pink. “Hi, Ryan,” she said.
“Hey, Libby, you look pretty today.”
The voice was smooth, warm, beguiling—and it sent a tingle of warning down Amber’s spine. She turned to look at the new arrival.
She had to lift her gaze, because the owner of the smooth voice was taller than average. Six feet, probably, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and immediately warmed to cinnamon.
“Hi,” he said. How could one word sound so suggestive?
Amber muttered a hello.
“Ryan, this is Amber Blake, Julie-Anne’s daughter. She’ll be working part-time on reception,” Libby said. “Amber, Ryan Thorne is our NASCAR Nationwide Series driver.”
“Nice to meet you, Amber,” Ryan drawled. His gaze traveled over her, and it was evident from his smile that he liked what he saw. He stuck out a hand and seemed to notice at the same moment she did that he was holding a beer bottle.
Beer? At nine in the morning? Amber pulled her hand back swiftly.
Ryan laughed. “I forgot I had this.” He waved the bottle at her. “We had a camera crew in just now, filming a commercial for my sponsor.”
He tapped his chest, and she noticed his black T-shirt sported an orange-and-green Katzenberg Beer logo. “No other beer makes me feel this good,” he said.
Why on earth did he think she wanted to know about his beer preferences? Or was he just totally self-obsessed? Ryan chuckled at her obvious bemusement. “That’s my line from the commercial,” he explained. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to say it before I nailed it.”
“Taking a swig of that—” she nodded at the near-empty bottle “—each time, I suppose.”
He raised his eyebrows at the disapproval in her tone. “Libby, honey—” he winked at the receptionist “—can you dispose of this bottle for me? You know Dave won’t allow alcohol in the workshop during working hours, not even in the trash.”
“I’ll take it to the recycling bin,” Libby said with alacrity. Amber noticed that when she took the bottle, she held it exactly where Ryan’s fingers had been.
“You’re the best,” he said lightly.
Blushing, Libby hurried out the back, with the promise she’d be only half a minute, which left Amber alone with Ryan. If he hadn’t been obviously younger than she was, she might have felt threatened by such blatant male egotism. Instead, she took the opportunity to let off some of the steam she’d been holding in around her mom. “Something wrong with your legs, that you can’t take out your own trash?” she asked.
He grinned. “I didn’t want to deprive Libby of one of the high points of her day.”
“Doing your bidding?” Amber said, disgusted.
“She has a passion for recycling,” Ryan said, deadpan.
Amber scowled. Add twenty years, a beer belly and a foul temper, and Ryan could pass for Billy Blake. He had all the “right” qualities: inappropriate consumption of alcohol, too aware of his own charms and not afraid to use them to manipulate people into doing what he wanted.
His smile widened in the face of her scowl. “It’s been nice meeting you, Amber. I’m sure you’ll be a real asset to Matheson Racing.”
“I’m sure you will, too,” she said. “When you grow up.”
She held her breath, expecting to check off another of her dad’s traits: an anger problem. But although Ryan’s gaze didn’t hold as much humor as before, he didn’t exhibit any signs of a rage that might turn mean. He probably thought she was kidding. When he smiled slowly, she knew she was right.
“I look forward to getting to know you better,” he drawled. He gave Amber a half salute and said, “Later.”
She watched him disappear through the security door marked Workshop.
Not if I can help it, Amber thought. Giving this place the benefit of the doubt didn’t have to include Ryan, did it? Because she was certain she had him pegged.
THE TRACK AT WATKINS GLEN was one of two road courses used in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series. Zack loved the road courses, this one and the one at Sonoma, California. The Watkins Glen track was never straightforward, never predictable. Zack relished that complexity: it felt as if he was unraveling the race, rather than just driving it.
Midmorning on Saturday, he stepped out of the hauler and scanned the garage area for Gaby once again. He glanced at his watch—she should have been here by now. Unless she was still mad at him over his insensitivity the other day, but he didn’t think that was likely.
The more Zack reflected on that kiss—which he did often—the more he was glad it had happened. If it hadn’t, he and Gaby would still be on tenterhooks over their sizzling attraction. Now they’d brought it out into the open, and agreed it was a bad idea. Which meant they could now ignore it. They’d spent the rest of his day at charm school on role-plays and discussions that had covered just about every situation Zack might find himself in with his family, fans, or the media.
Now, he was keen to put his charming new persona to the test. He just needed Gaby here to remind him to think twice before he said something that might inflame his rivalry with Trent, or something that would push Chad’s stress levels beyond the tipping point. She was helpful when his dad hassled him, too, as he’d discovered at dinner with Amber last week. A sympathetic, knowing look from Gaby had defused the situation, stopping Zack from taking offence when he knew, in his heart, Brady probably hadn’t intended any.
They’d agreed that if things did turn sour with his brothers this weekend, Gaby would make some comment—put a spin on it, was the professional term—that would help the other guys see the problem in a different light. Another reason why Zack needed her here.
Finally he caught sight of her coming through the security check. He waited, taking in her figure in her blue-and-white check blouse and white jeans. On this hot day she looked cool. And tempting.
She spotted Zack, and beamed. His heart did an unexpected somersault. Then he realized Gaby was waving something at him…a magazine?
“Sorry I’m late, I had to wait for this to arrive before I could fly up,” she called as she got closer. “It’s a copy of Now Woman, hot off the press.”
He’d forgotten all about the magazine profile. “How is it?”
She thrust the magazine into his hands. “They loved you.” Beneath the headline—Comeback Zack: Our Man of the Week—Zack saw his own face looking out from the cover. He wasn’t used to that. Trent was the cover model in this family. Occasionally Chad made it to a cover, too. But the only place Zack was comfortable being “out there” was on the track.
The photo—huh, when had they taken that? His eyes were…soulful. Ugh. Sappy. He looked like a lost puppy, dammit, pleading take me home.
“They airbrushed this picture,” he said, outraged. “No way did I look this pathetic.”
“Are you kidding?” She grabbed the magazine back. “This photo is stunning. You look amazing. When this hits the stands next week, every woman in the U.S.A. is going to want you for her very own.” Gaby stared down at the cover as if she wanted to take him home herself, and some of Zack’s discomfort vanished.
“Amazing, huh?” he said.
“Yeah.” She was still looking at the picture. Was it his imagination, or did her mouth soften? Damn, it had been so long since that kiss—two whole days. He needed to do it again, almost as badly as he needed to win a race.
Hell.
Zack slammed the brakes on that line of thought. He was getting way too serious.
She glanced up, caught him looking, and her cheeks pinkened. Muttering something about congratulating the journalist on a great story, she pulled out her cell phone and began scrolling through the numbers.
He reached a finger and touched her cheek. Her head whipped around. “What was that for?”
“Instinct.” As in, he couldn’t resist.
“Don’t act on your instincts,” she ordered, then blushed deeper.
Zack chuckled. “Come into the hauler, we’ll celebrate the article with a soda.”
Inside, they both reached for the door of the chiller cabinet at the same time; their fingers brushed.
“Will you stop that?” she snapped.
“If I wanted to get my hands on you,” he said, “I wouldn’t resort to sneaky touches.”
She frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to get your hands on me?”
He’d offended her again? He cursed, and Gaby laughed as she flipped the tab on her soda. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?” she said. “Even after all our hard work.”
“Depends what you’re talking about.” Zack ran his thumb across the seam of her lips…which had the gratifying result of softening them, parting them. The pink tip of Gaby’s tongue emerged, flicked against Zack’s thumb.
“Make yourselves comfortable, you two,” an amused voice said from behind Zack.
Hell. Zack turned, slowly to show he wasn’t embarrassed. “Butt out, Trent,” he said, more relaxed than he felt.
Trent chuckled.
Gaby wasn’t quite so relaxed. Her color turned beet-red, and she chugged back her drink as if she’d just wandered in out of a desert.
“Ready for practice?” Zack asked Trent.
Trent nodded. “Sure.” He helped himself to a soda. “I like the Glen. Not many people I can’t beat here.”
“You might have to work for it tomorrow.” Zack had qualified sixth yesterday, one of his better qualifying laps this year. And for once, better than Trent, who would start the race in tenth position.
“I’m not worried,” Trent said. Zack knew it was true, his little brother always had a surfeit of confidence. “I figure you benefited from the warmer track surface yesterday, qualifying later in the day than I did,” Trent continued.
“You don’t think I just drove better than you?” Zack suggested.
“No way.” Trent smirked.
Zack caught Gaby’s eye. She made a winding motion with her hand, and, far from losing his temper, Zack found himself struggling not to laugh at his brother’s blatant attempt to undermine his confidence.
“You’re absolutely right,” he told Trent. “When we get into that race, chances are you’ll pass me before our first pit stop.”
“Damn right.” Trent snickered…then it clicked that he hadn’t gotten the response he’d expected. Suspicious, he said, “Whaddya mean?”
“Just what I said.” Zack grinned.
“You’re seriously saying I’m going to pass you early on, and stay that way.”
Zack shrugged. “History suggests it.”
Trent shoved his hands in his pockets. “What are you playing at?”
Zack patted his brother on the shoulder, pretending a superiority he seldom felt with his younger sibling. “Good luck out there, man.”
Trent practically ran out of the hauler. Zack would bet money he was off to find Kelly and get some psychological analysis of what just happened. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Zack had resisted falling into a negative behavior pattern that would keep the rift growing between him and his family.
“You did great,” Gaby said.
“Thanks.” Zack looked down at her face—that fair skin, her raspberry-pink mouth—and felt a pang of regret because despite the little game they’d just been playing, he couldn’t kiss her.
CHAPTER TEN
SUNDAY, RACE DAY, WAS fine and clear, beating the weather forecasters’ prediction of showers. Zack took it as a good sign, but he knew forty-two other drivers would be doing the same. He couldn’t put his confidence in signs and superstitions—he had to get out on the track and build on his sixthplace start. Without losing the plot, or control of his car.
Gaby had somehow convinced a motorsports correspondent from a New York paper to talk to Zack. They’d had a brief interview that Zack thought went all right. “Maybe a little bland,” he suggested to Gaby as they crossed from the media center to the garage.
“Bland is good if the alternative is you losing your cool,” she said. “But, yeah, you could afford to be a little more quotable.”
“Maybe something along the lines of ‘mistakes I’ve made at Watkins Glen’?”
“That works,” she said. The vibe between them was companionable, easy.
Zack registered a shriek in the distance, but it wasn’t until they were nearer the garage that he realized a posse of young women were screaming his name.
“It is him,” a tall blonde wearing microscopic cutoffs said. “I told you.”
“Zack!” A curly-haired brunette waved. “You can be butter in my hands anytime.”
“That’s what you told Now Woman about your dad and Julie-Anne,” Gaby murmured.
“You said it wasn’t out until next week.”
“I think electronic subscribers get it early.”
The women reached them. “We saw you in Now Woman,” one of them said breathlessly.
“Great,” Zack said. He’d skimmed the article, and no way did the softhearted, mushy guy it talked about bear any resemblance to him. Not to mention the guy in the article apparently had chiseled cheekbones. What the hell were chiseled cheekbones? They sounded damn painful.
He glanced around for an escape route.
“You need to talk to them,” Gaby said. “I know you want to get to the garage and get your mind into race mode, but the bachelor contest…”
He’d promised, so he would do it. “I’m glad you enjoyed the magazine,” he said.
The brunette giggled. “I love your voice.”
He was aware of Gaby shifting at his side. But he wasn’t worried, they’d practiced how he would fend off unwanted advances.
“I don’t sound quite so relaxed when my spotter tells me there’s a pileup in front of me,” he said.
Cue more giggling, all around.
“So, do you ever, like, date your fans?” the tall blonde asked.
“Not all at once,” Zack joked. Then realized he’d gotten overconfident, and accidentally implied he would date a fan. Which he supposed he would, if he met someone he liked, but he seldom talked to a fan long enough to get that far. The women in front of him now wore varying shades of hopeful.
“Look at you all,” he said. “You’re all gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
Someone sighed.
“But I usually have to know a woman pretty well before I ask her for a date,” he said. “It’s important to be friends first.”
Several women looked disappointed, but one murmured to her friend, “He’s deep.”
Huh, that was what Gaby had said. He had hidden depths. Zack had thought it a euphemism for “lacks charm.”
“If you want to get to know me before you ask me on a date…” The tall blonde pulled a crumpled receipt from her pocket—extracting it from such tight pants was an act of eye-watering contortion—and scribbled on the back. “Here’s my number.”
Zack took it. He had to be polite, right? Three other women handed him their numbers. One was clearly a professional groupie; her card had her photo and I heart NASCAR on it.
“Can I give you a kiss for luck?” the curly-haired brunette—Susannah, if he’d read her card right—asked.
Gaby grabbed Zack’s arm. “So sorry, ladies, but if Zack doesn’t leave now he’ll be late for the driver’s briefing, and you all know what that means.”
Wincing and eye-widening suggested they understood that if Zack was late by even one second to the driver’s meeting he’d have to start the race off at the back of the field, which would be particularly painful given how well he’d qualified.
The women instantly relinquished all claim on him.
“Just be sure and text your votes for Zack into the
bachelor contest,” Gaby said over her shoulder as she hustled him toward the garage area. A chorus of promises of multiple votes followed them.
“I thought I handled that pretty well,” Zack said
“You were fine.” She put on a spurt of speed.
“I was good,” he insisted.
“Do you want me to get rid of those phone numbers for you?” Her gaze was fixed on their destination. Only her unusual speed alerted Zack to her tension.
“Sure,” he said.
She slowed. “You don’t want to call any of those women?”
“Nope.”
“Not even the blonde? She was hot.”
He gave her a measuring look. “You heard me, I like to get to know someone before I ask them on a date.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you jealous?” he asked.
“Of course not.” She tossed her head, and her hair swung behind her.
They’d reached the garage area, and Zack found himself the target of more female fans clustered there. It appeared every woman at the track was an online subscriber to Now Woman. By the time he’d forced his way through the crowd without offending anyone, he was dangerously close to tardy.
He left Gaby, sprinted to the meeting and made it just in time. As he sank into the plastic seat, he realized he was still clutching a wodge of phone numbers.
THE GREEN FLAG FELL, and Zack put everything out of his mind that wasn’t to do with the feel of the car, the grip of the track, the need to turn, to pass, to run faster and better than everyone else.
His spotter, Mac, called in a smash on the second lap, and Zack managed to avoid it. When the green flag came back out, he was in fourth place. Way too early to get excited—he still had hours to run—but something thrilled inside him.
“Where’s Trent?” he couldn’t help but ask his team when he pulled in for his first pit stop. They barely had time to answer him, but the guy replacing Zack’s right front tire said, “Twelve.”
