by Abby Gaines
“And you make me laugh.” He definitely couldn’t think of another woman who’d done that.
“You have a wonderful laugh,” she said.
“I do?”
“Wonderful,” she said firmly. “I love it.”
“I love doing this,” Zack said, and he kissed her.
Her response was so heated, he wanted the elevator journey to never end. When it did, he whisked her along the hallway and they fell into her room, lips locked together. Mmm, Gaby tasted so sweet, like honey.
Zack tugged her closer, felt those dangerous curves of hers snug against him. His hands moved over her, exploring, at first gentle, then bolder, pressing, molding.
Gaby’s hands on his back grew more insistent, Zack’s possession of her mouth more intimate.
“I want you,” he murmured into the curve of her neck, “so much it scares me.”
She turned her head, giving him access to her ear. She gasped as his tongue found that sweet spot. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” she said breathlessly.
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her red-gold curls.
“I’m so glad you got over that anti-career-woman thing.”
“Uh, yeah.” He wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about, but he knew he didn’t want it getting in the way.
Gaby must have picked up on his distraction. “You did, didn’t you?”
He kissed her mouth again, silencing her. It worked for all of ten seconds.
She put her hands to his chest, gave a little push that was a clear signal to stop. Zack eased away from her mouth.
“You don’t still have a view that you can only marry someone who doesn’t have a career, do you?” she asked.
Every instinct Zack possessed protested against talking about marriage on a first date. “I never said that,” he disagreed. “I mean, sure, I’d expect my wife to make a home for us, but that doesn’t mean she can’t work.”
“It takes two to make a home.”
His arms slackened around her waist. “But while I’m racing NASCAR I’m pretty tied up. My wife would likely end up in charge of creating the home. It’s hard to see two really demanding careers fitting into one marriage.”
Gaby drew a sharp breath. “I have a really demanding career.”
He released her. “Gaby, we’re on our first date. I’m not sure this is relevant.”
“You said it feels serious. I don’t want to get close to you, then find out it can’t go anywhere.” She sat on the end of the bed.
“It’s not as if I’m saying my wife’s career would be over the day she married me,” Zack said, frustrated. “A guy can’t race NASCAR forever.”
“Dean Grosso raced until he was fifty. I imagine you haven’t set a time limit on your racing.”
Hell, no. Zack admired the way Grosso had hung in there, winning the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship right before he retired.
“Dean did race a long time,” he admitted. “Patsy made a fulfilling career out of supporting her husband.” He was arguably doing a disservice to Patsy Grosso, an active co-owner of Cargill-Grosso Racing, but, heck, he had a point to make.
“Dean and Patsy split up last year,” Gaby said.
“They got back together again.” He thought about sitting next to her on the bed, maybe trying to get those kisses going again.
“So, your ideal wife will put her career on hold for you. Or make you her career.”
“I want to marry someone who loves me enough to put our marriage first,” he said.
“While you put it second.”
“It’s not like that,” he said, exasperated. “I grew up sidelined in my family. I don’t want to start a marriage in the same place. Is that so bad?”
She folded her arms across her chest, putting up a shield that made it clear he wasn’t welcome to join her on the bed. “I was forced to choose between love and my career once,” she said. “Never again.”
Zack leaned against the TV cabinet. “You’re talking about your engagement.” Now this, he did want to hear.
She nodded. “Sandra offered me a promotion to account director. My fiancé asked me to refuse it. He was worried I wouldn’t have time for our relationship. For him.”
Zack was torn. He recognized the unreasonable nature of the demand, yet he understood it, too.
“I decided our future was more important than my work, so I turned down the promotion,” Gaby said. “Three months later, he left me for another woman.”
Zack cursed. “Jerk. You’re better off without him.”
“It didn’t feel that way at the time.”
“I wouldn’t leave a woman who made that kind of sacrifice for me,” he said.
“But shouldn’t marriage be both people making sacrifices?”
Zack frowned. Ideally, marriage shouldn’t be a sacrifice at all. It should be something two people went into because they loved each other. “I guess,” he said, feeling his way, “maybe both sides need to give and take.” Sides. Sounded like a war.
“If I fell in love with a man like you,” she said, her color high, “it would be all-consuming.”
Sounded good to Zack.
“Unless you felt the same way, which it’s clear you don’t,” she said, “I’d end up doing all the giving and you’d be doing all the taking.”
“That’s not how it would be.” He fumbled for an explanation that sounded reasonable…but something about having her so close, with her red-gold curls tumbling around her shoulders, her fair skin an alluring contrast to her black dress, was scrambling his brain.
“All I’m saying—” he brought it back to the core truth, one even Gaby couldn’t argue with “—is that to race NASCAR, you have to be single-minded. Even if you’re not actually single.”
Gaby’s eyes widened as she absorbed that. “And all I’m saying,” she said, “is that I want a man I can love, but not one I’ll love too much.”
“How can you love someone too much?” he demanded.
“I don’t want to love someone more than he loves me,” she amended.
“Gaby, this is crazy,” he said. “We have something special, we owe it to ourselves to explore it. If it doesn’t work out—if I lose focus on my driving or you think you’re losing your independence—then it’ll come to a natural end.”
She plucked at the duvet with her fingers. “I don’t think I can take the risk, not now. Sandra isn’t convinced I can have a relationship without it interfering in the running of Motor Media. If you and I were dating…I don’t think she’d trust I could handle the conflict of interest.”
“Of course you could,” Zack said.
“Could I?” Her gaze met his. “How would you feel about my divided loyalties?”
“I wouldn’t…I…” Zack ran a hand through his hair. Her career was already coming between them? This was unbelievable. “What are you saying? That we’re finished before we began?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to throw away everything I’ve worked for, for a man who doesn’t want to give as much to the relationship as I do.” She blinked hard, as if fighting tears.
It sounded like they were finished to him. But he still wanted to kiss her. Make love with her. He was damned if he was going to miss out on that. “I understand you’re under pressure with Sandra,” he said with an effort. “But what we’ve got, I don’t want to let it go so easily.”
“Me, neither,” she admitted quietly.
Okay, that was better. The pain Zack hadn’t realized he had in his chest eased. He took her hands in his. “It’s only three weeks until Richmond, until Sandra makes her decision. How about we put us on hold until then?”
“You’d do that?” Her eyes brightened.
“See, I’m making allowances for your career already.” Zack felt pretty pleased with himself.
“It would be a relief not to worry about Sandra getting suspicious,” she said.
He pulled her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips. “It’ll be fr
ustrating as heck, but we can wait three weeks, right?”
“Sure. I think. Thank you, Zack.” She kissed him back, and as always the heat was instantaneous and insatiable. The kiss deepened, but just when Zack thought things might get interesting, she drew away. “Three weeks,” she promised. “Then we’ll figure out if we can make this work.”
AMBER HAD EXPECTED STAYING in Brady’s motor home at Bristol with him and her mom to be cramped and awkward. But Julie-Anne had insisted with rare firmness.
Luckily, the motor home was as big as they came, and her mother and Brady had a separate bedroom with a king-size bed, while Amber took the smaller bedroom at the back.
“Honey, would you like a cup of pumpkin soup?” Julie-Anne asked. She had always been a great cook, fond of experimenting.
“You used to make chicken noodle soup with homemade noodles,” Amber remembered.
Julie-Anne tensed. “I stopped when your father had his accident.”
“I didn’t mean…” Amber had been trying to dig up a happy memory to share with Julie-Anne, but it sounded like an accusation of neglect. Had she subconsciously meant it that way?
“Billy was never one to appreciate the effort that went into preparing a meal,” Julie-Anne said.
Amber analyzed her mom’s tone and detected only neutrality. No love for her first husband, but no hatred, either.
Amber hated Billy Blake.
“Here.” Julie-Anne held out a mug of soup.
Amber sipped, careful not to burn herself. Mmm, she tasted cardamom. “Great,” she said.
The door opened and Brady stuck his head in. “I can smell that soup clear from Chad’s place.”
“Come in and I’ll fix you a cup,” Julie-Anne said.
Brady stepped inside and wrapped his arms around his wife. “A culinary genius and gorgeous to boot,” he said. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Lucky dog rule,” Julie-Anne said, a teasing reference to the NASCAR rule that gave a second chance to a driver who’d fallen off the lead lap.
“I sure am.” Brady kissed her. Then he saw Amber watching and ended the kiss, though he didn’t release Julie-Anne.
Amber smiled at him—the first genuine warm smile she’d given him since she’d arrived. She didn’t remember her father ever having one nice word to say to her mom…or to her. Brady might be a little controlling, but his sons could still tell him to back off, and he appreciated Julie-Anne. Amber wasn’t looking for a stepfather, but maybe this was a guy she could trust with her mom. Maybe.
Brady grinned back at her, less guarded than he usually seems. “I got you something.”
“You didn’t need to,” she said.
“You’ll love it, it’s a giant panda.”
“Um, that’s, gosh, Brady, that’s…”
Brady roared with laughter. “It’s not a panda, honey.”
Honey? She grinned sheepishly. “You can’t blame me for being worried.”
“This is something I hope you’ll like better.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket, handed it over.
Amber lifted the flap, peeked inside. “A NASCAR pass?”
“A hard-card,” Brady said. “It says you’re a member of our team.”
Amber inspected the hard-card, which bore the Matheson Racing name.
“I know how you feel about racing,” Brady said. “But it’s a big part of your mom’s life. I’m a big part of her life, too, and I’m a NASCAR man through and through. You don’t ever have to come to another race if you don’t want to. But this—” he indicated the hard-card “—is here for you if you want it, and so is the team. Matheson Racing is yours as much as mine and your mom’s, as much as the boys’. You’re family, Amber.”
She blinked rapidly. “Brady, that’s very sweet. Thank you.”
“Oh, honey.” Julie-Anne hugged Brady, then Amber, and for a moment it looked as if all three of them would be in tears.
A knock at the motor home door dissolved the tension.
“Come in,” Brady called.
Ryan entered. “Hello, sir,” he said. He nodded to Julie-Anne. “Mrs. Matheson.”
Amber’s stomach flipped. “What are you doing here?” After she’d run away from Patsy’s party, he’d backed right off. He’d been polite at work, but he’d given no clues he wanted to kiss her again. Which, she had to admit, she regretted. She hadn’t been able to forget that kiss, and she was starting to think she was being unreasonable to assume the worst just because he was handsome and personable.
Her unintentional abruptness had Brady and Julie-Anne staring. But Ryan turned on that cocky grin of his.
“Hey, Amber. My motor home is only a block away,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her question.
“Well…hi,” Amber said, aware her mother was waiting to see some common courtesy.
“I was just wondering if you might want to come back to my place for a drink?” He was still grinning, but there was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Was it…insecurity?
“Don’t you have a race to run tonight?” she asked.
“I meant a soda. Or coffee.”
She’d missed him, missed talking to him, missed his attentions. “I guess I could,” she said casually.
Brady stepped forward. “Are your folks there, Ryan?”
Amber blinked. Brady sounded for all the world as if he might pull out a shotgun if Ryan’s intentions weren’t pure. As if he was protecting her. Something softened in her chest.
Julie-Anne rolled her eyes. “Amber’s twenty-nine, Brady.”
Ryan gasped with feigned shock, and Amber stuck out her tongue at him, more like a ten-year-old than a woman who was too old for a bratty race car driver.
“My mom’s in,” he told Brady. “It’s my parents’ motor home, so I have to share it with them.” Many of the NASCAR Nationwide Series drivers didn’t have their own motor homes, Amber knew.
She couldn’t figure Ryan out. He was flirtatious as heck, clearly knew his way around a woman. Not to mention he was funny, polite when he chose to be and kissed like a dream. Yet for a guy who could have any woman he wanted, he sure was persistent where Amber was concerned. As if he really did like her. And now he planned to introduce her to his mom. Amber’s father had been estranged from his family. Was this more evidence she could trust Ryan?
“I’ll be fine, thank you, Brady,” she said.
Ryan held out a hand, and she took it. He laced his fingers through Amber’s with a firmness that suggested he wasn’t about to let her go.
As they left, Brady said, “Ryan?”
“Yes, sir?” Ryan faced him.
“Just remember that’s my family you’re holding hands with.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, with more seriousness than Amber knew he had in him.
HOLDING AMBER’S HAND had the very pleasant effect of dulling Ryan’s memories of last week’s NASCAR Nationwide Series race in Michigan. He’d finished the race, but that was the best thing that could be said about it. His dad had been over the moon when Ryan had qualified third, but car setup problems resulted in a washout twenty-third finish. It would’ve almost been better to have crashed, preferably while attempting a daring pass that would have had the commentators yelling themselves hoarse, and ended the race with at least some glory.
Ryan sighed.
“What’s the matter?” Amber asked. “Didn’t you really want me to come for a drink or not?”
He firmed his grip on her. She was the touchiest gal he’d ever met—if he loosened off, she’d probably run away again. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you.” He deliberately didn’t add to come for a drink. Because there was a whole lot he wanted Amber for, and a drink was the least of it.
He was taking a risk making his intentions so plain, given her refusal to date drivers. But she seemed softer today, somehow. Her lips quirked in a reluctant smile, and she didn’t give him a verbal slapdown. Excitement coursed through Ryan. Too bad his mom was waiting back at the mot
or home.
“I’m sorry about your finish in last week’s race,” Amber said. “I should have said something sooner.”
“You’re not being nice because you feel sorry for me, are you?” he said, appalled.
“Of course not.” She walked a few more steps. “I wasn’t intending to be nice at all.”
Ah, that was more like the Amber he knew. Ryan found himself grinning inside. “So,” he said, “twenty-nine, huh?”
She pffed.
“I could have sworn you were trying to make me feel as if you’re ten years older than I am.”
“I’m ten years more mature,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
He chuckled.
“See,” she said, “you laugh at everything, like a kid.”
“Not everything,” he said sourly, and wished he hadn’t. Thankfully, the motor home was in sight.
But Amber stopped. “Tell me.”
He stopped too, and when he met her eyes, he forgot about the motor homes around them, the smell of barbecue, the squeals of kids playing. His gut tightened. Damn but he liked Amber, sharp edges and all.
“Tonight’s race,” he said. “Dad and Grandad will be sitting up on the hauler, Granded clutching his chest every time someone passes me.” Ryan hoped he’d delivered that with the lightheartedness she’d been teasing him about.
To his surprise, she took his other hand in hers. Her fingers were slender but strong.
“It’s only one race,” she said.
“One race that I can’t afford to have end like some of the others have. I qualified twenty-third.” His shoulders sagged. “I need to finish in the top five in the Nationwide Series if I want to get a Sprint Cup ride next year.”
She squirmed, and he had the sense she was slipping away. He held a little tighter.
“And is that what you want?” she asked.
It was weird, having their most personal conversation to date in the middle of a crowded motor home lot. But if they’d been alone, talking would have been the last thing on his mind. And for some reason, Amber had lowered her defenses. He was determined to keep them down.
