Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2

by Pamela Britton

  Glancing behind him to ensure no one sat there waiting for him to move, he pulled out his cell phone and used the Internet feature to access Google. It was near midnight and the type of place he had in mind sometimes didn’t answer this late at night. Fortunately, as luck would have it, he got through to someone almost immediately, Derrick keeping his voice low as he made the arrangements. Sure, there was a better-than-average chance she might wake up before he could get her into a room, but he was willing to give it a shot. She needed to sleep. He needed to take care of her. He had no idea why the thought resonated so deeply within him, but it did.

  So he drove, and when the time came, he pulled to a stop in front of an elaborate, three-story bed and breakfast which sat in the middle of a park-like setting. Even though it was late at night, he could tell acres and acres of lawn stretched for a good distance around him.

  “The guest cottage is right around back,” the innkeeper pointed, the man seeming to be completely nonplussed by the lateness by the hour. “You can drive right on up to it.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  “We will.” Derrick slid his room key off the counter. An old-fashioned skeleton. None of that plastic card crap. Frankly, he might cancel his reservations at the big hotel chain the XRL had booked him at and stay here instead.

  “And good luck this weekend.”

  Derrick turned back sharply. He could tell by the hero worship on the man’s face that he’d been recognized.

  “Thanks.” Derrick offered the man a small smile. He always felt so damn uncomfortable when that happened. Yes, even after all these years. Fame was a cloak he wore almost reluctantly—a natural byproduct of doing the job he loved.

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  Derrick slipped out the front door, lifting a hand in thanks.

  Callie hadn’t awakened by the time he returned, probably because he’d left the car running and the radio playing softly. She didn’t wake up when he got into the car again, either, not even when he stopped in front of the cottage.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  The place was perfect. No doubt it’d been used in the past as a carriage house or something, but these days it’d been completely revamped and refurbished to accommodate guests. He pulled into the front and turned off the car, relieved when all she did was shake her head slightly—as if she fought off an annoying fly.

  “Here goes.”

  He slipped into cool, October air without wakening her, glancing back into the car when the trunk popped with a thud.

  Still nothing.

  He pulled her suitcase out as quietly as he could, then propped the carriage-house door open with it. Next he returned to the car, pulling on the handle as quietly as possible. She opened her eyes—Derrick’s breath caught—but then closed them again.

  Man, that Xanex must be good stuff.

  Either that, or she was completely exhausted. As he stared down at her, a lantern near their parking spot painting her face with milky light, he decided it was exhaustion. He had no idea what Veronica had been putting her through, but he suspected none of it was good.

  “Shh,” he soothed as he scooped her up. “I’m gonna carry you to your room. Just relax.”

  She did exactly that, an odd sort of tickle filled his midsection as he stared down at her. Her dark lashes left half-moons of shadows on her cheeks.

  She shifted, mumbling something under her breath. Derrick froze. She turned her head toward the crook of his arm, snuggled.

  Derrick’s world lurched. Something flowed, something warm and sweet and that—for once—had nothing to do with his crotch.

  She mumbled something again. He put his ear down lower to listen.

  “Put it down,” he heard her slur.

  He thought she meant put her down, Derrick turning toward the cottage. Then, loudly enough the words could clearly be heard, she ordered, “Put the yogurt down.”

  He smiled. Not angry at him, but angry at the person in her dreams. She liked yogurt. Good to know.

  The cottage consisted of three separate rooms. The main room and two bedrooms off of it because no matter how tempted he might be to share a bed with her, he wasn’t about to push himself on her. He had to draw the line someplace.

  He’d turned the lights on earlier, which he was thankful for since he had to navigate around a claw-footed couch covered in dark green fabric. That seemed to be the theme of the whole place—green. Her room had a forest-colored spread across the bed. He toyed with pulling the covers back, realized there was no way to do that without setting her down first, and so gently set her down instead.

  He hated to let her go.

  Holding her did weird things to his insides, things he liked. As he straightened away he found himself taking a deep breath. Success! He’d somehow managed to orchestrate a kidnapping of sorts. Although maybe it was more of a sleepnapping? She was so peaceful looking, not at all like the exuberant dynamo he was used to admiring. This Callie had soft color blooming on her cheeks, and lips that were slightly parted in sleep.

  Adorable.

  Indeed, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Before he could think better of it, he bent to kiss her goodnight. He savored the moment before their flesh connected, the sweet torture of knowing he shouldn’t, but did anyway. That she would be furious if she woke up right then. He caressed her lips with his own, softly, gently, savoring each second of stolen pleasure.

  Her eyes popped open.

  Chapter Eight

  It had to be a dream.

  She couldn’t be lying on a bed, Derrick Derringer staring down at her, the remnants of his kiss still imprinted on her lips.

  “What’s going on?” she heard herself ask. He was blurry.

  “You fell asleep.” He drew far enough away she could see him. “I drove you to your hotel room.”

  There was something wrong with that scenario. She knew it, just as she knew she should be doing something right now—ordering him from her room, maybe. Yelling at him.

  About what?

  She didn’t know, she just knew something about this scene was all wrong, she was just too frickin’ tired to figure out what it was.

  And so, in the end, all she said was, “Oh.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes. Fingers stroked her forehead. She smiled. That felt good. Her mom used to do that to her when she was little.

  “Shhh.”

  Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she turned her head toward the hand, moaned softly. The fingers riffled through her hair.

  “Houston, we might have a problem,” she heard him murmur.

  “Hmm?” she asked, the darkness sucking her back down.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you, and yet here I am.”

  “Feels good,” she slurred, rolling onto her side. Why were her shoes still on? She shouldn’t be in bed with her shoes. She kicked them off.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Wha—?” she mumbled.

  “Get undressed.”

  “Oh.”

  Something touched her nose. A kiss. She was certain of it, and since this was a dream, she turned her head, waited.

  She sensed a whisper of a breath cross her cheek. It caused her to sigh, Callie decided this was the most delicious dream she’d ever had. So real. So lifelike. She didn’t want it to end.

  “I’m going to kiss you on the lips.”

  Her whole body leapt to life at the mere thought of it.

  Less than a heartbeat later, his lips lightly grazed her own and then, as if that wasn’t nearly enough for him, those lips came back again, this time pressing with an intensity that made her sigh in contentment. She opened her mouth, tired of waiting for him to take the initiative.

  His tongue touched hers.

  She wanted him. She wanted him bad.

  He slid onto the bed next to her. She liked that, actually turned in to him so they were belly to belly and, goodness
, crotch to crotch. Any doubt he was attracted to her banished at the intimate touch. The bulge of his crotch sent a fission of electricity through her that made her whole body leap to life. She luxuriated in the feeling, embraced it, told Derrick without words she wanted more of him.

  He pulled his tongue away for a second. She wiggled against him, trying to entice him back.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” she heard him say.

  She slid a hand beneath his shirt. He had taut abs, but she knew that, had seen him on a reality show once upon a time, knew he worked out. But to actually feel the hard contours of his muscles, to run her finger up the shallow valleys and the hard ridges.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  “Please tell me you’re awake.” He slid a hand beneath her shirt. The pads of his fingers grazed her abdomen, causing it to spasm. She wanted, oh how she wanted, for those fingers to glide higher, to slide underneath her bra, perhaps lift the tiny cups that covered her breasts so he could kiss her nipples. She arched into him again, rubbed her own fingers through the hair on his chest, trying to egg him on, and hoping he’d get the message.

  He did.

  She felt him shift, felt cool air hit her belly.

  Cool air?

  His lips touched her belly. She arched her hips. He nipped her flesh.

  It jolted her awake.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  To be honest, it took her a moment to figure out where she was, and even then she only had a vague idea. A hotel room somewhere. With Derrick.

  “What the—?”

  She sat up, scooted back so abruptly Derrick’s nose smashed into her hip bone.

  “Ouch.”

  “Where are we?”

  He shot up, rubbed his nose. She glanced around wildly.

  “Don’t you remember?” he asked, sounding like a dental patient, one whose nose ran thanks to Novocain.

  “All I remember was climbing into your car. You were supposed to take me to the rental car agency.”

  “You fell asleep.”

  “So you kidnapped me?”

  He shifted, moving so he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand still covering his nose. “I was trying to be thoughtful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “So you took me to—” She glanced around. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “A bed and breakfast outside Kansas City.”

  “You spirited me away to a bed and breakfast?” How had she missed that?

  Easy. You’ve been awake for the past forty-eight hours straight.

  “It wasn’t like that.” His hand dropped to his lap. He was far enough away that his red nose was clearly visible. He looked like one of Santa’s reindeers.

  “Look. I could tell you were exhausted the minute I spotted you outside the airport terminal. And then you admitted to taking something to help you relax. When you fell asleep, it seemed a shame to wake you. I thought—why not—why not take care of her? What if I don’t and she wrecks on the way to the hotel? I could never forgive myself. You looked like someone who needed taking care of. There was nothing nefarious about my intentions.”

  She’d looked like someone who’d needed taking care of.

  How sweet.

  “I need to check into my hotel.”

  “No.” He stood. His nose was still red as an apple, but he managed to look extra hunky nonetheless. “Don’t do that. You need rest. And this place has two separate bedrooms. I did that on purpose, so you could lock your door if you felt uncomfortable.”

  “And if I hadn’t woken up?” she asked, arching a brow. “Would you have locked the door for me?”

  He scratched at his arm, Callie thinking he was a tan son-of-a-gun. Though he had dark locks, fine blond hairs dotted his arms, the strands bleached by the sun.

  “You were so out cold, I doubt you’d have noticed one way or another.” He shook his head. “But I guess it makes no difference one way or another.”

  To her surprise, he sat back down on the bed again, Callie shrinking back. Jeez. It wasn’t like he’d been about to rape her or anything.

  She wished he would rape her.

  She winced at the thought.

  Can’t rape the willing, Callie.

  “Don’t look so troubled.” He nudged her with a knuckle gently. “Rest, Callie. I suspect you haven’t had any sleep in days.”

  That was true.

  He reached out and stroked her forehead. “You’re beat.”A slight smile came to his face as he continued to stroke her cheek. She loved that. Wanted to purr at how good it felt to have a man drag his fingers gently across her cheeks, not because he wanted to have sex with her, but because he was worried about her. How long since someone had cared about her well-being?

  “Get some rest,” he said gently. “You’re going to need it for this weekend.”

  Suddenly all she wanted to do was close her eyes. Well, sort of. There was a part of her, a very small part, she assured herself, that wanted to go back to the moment right before she’d woken up. The minute when he’d been kissing her and she’d thought everything was a dream. She wanted him to go on touching her until she screamed his name in release—

  Stop.

  It was silly to thing to think. She couldn’t let this go any further. Ever. There were some ideas that were simply no good no matter how tempting they might be.

  Her eyes drifted closed.

  She really was tired.

  “Go to sleep,” he repeated softly.

  And God help her, she turned her cheek toward his soft palm. Such a big hand. So capable. She would bet that was part of the reason why he was such a good driver. He had big fingers.

  WAKE UP.

  She couldn’t. It was as if she’d inhaled sleeping gas. She just. Couldn’t. Open. Her. Eyes.

  “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she heard herself say from a distance.

  Adorable.

  It was all Derrick could do to walk away. He’d never met a woman who could go from wide awake to stone-cold asleep in the space of a few heartbeats. As he pulled his shirt out of his waistband and prepared to go to bed he found himself smiling. Sweet too. That’s how she looked laying there, her face snuggling his palm. The funniest sensation had rolled through him. It was the same kind of feeling he got when he tested a new car, one that was out-performing all his expectations. Exhilaration. Contentment. Pleasure.

  His hands froze while in the midst of undoing his buttons. What did that mean?

  Just as soon as he asked the question, he dismissed it. He felt sorry for her. That was it. Sure, he was attracted to her—although he had yet to figure out why—but that didn’t mean there was anything more.

  Still, he had a hard time getting to sleep that night in the extra bedroom, his thoughts swirling around. Keyed up over the test session the next day. Wondering if the cars she designed were any good or if this was all a crock. What if they were good? What if he sat inside of one and felt the thrill of racing that’d been strangely absent lately. What would he do about it? Joining the X-TREME Racing League poised a whole host of problems, not the least of which was his contract with his current team owner. He had strict restrictions on what he could race and where. Adding Callie’s league into the mix would make things complicated.

  And then it was morning.

  One minute his thoughts has been swirling and the next he opened his eyes and the sun was up.

  “Damn it,” he heard from the other room, and then a thud.

  He sat up in bed.

  A door closed.

  That got him moving.

  He’d put on a pair of boxers last night just in case they bumped into each other, but he gave the brown cotton fabric hardly a thought as he dashed through the door. The thump he’d heard had obviously been her luggage being tugged down from the table he’d set it on last night.

  “What are you doing?”

  Like a cat who’d been caught inside a bag of food, she whipped around, startled. “D
errick,” she breathed, a sickly smile alighting upon her face. “You’re up.”

  Her eyes swept downward, the quickly darted back again. There she went blushing again. He clearly spotted crimson on her cheeks and down the side of her neck.

  “Yeah,” he looked her up and down. “I’m up.” In more ways than one, he suddenly realized. He must have been dreaming about her. Either that, or it was one of those things because he was as hard as a rock, and she knew it, had seen the tent-like bulge near his crotch.

  “Great,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I’ll see you out at the track then.” She turned.

  “Wait.” He dashed to block her exit.

  She drew up sharply, but not before glancing at his boxers. She was like a five-year-old who been told not to stare at the funny-looking attire of an adult. He could tell she fought hard to keep her eyes up.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m hard.”

  She gulped.

  “For you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Callie told herself he was messing with her. That he didn’t really have a hard-on for her. Men got that way in the morning sometimes. That was all.

  “Terrific.” She hoped her voice had come out in a completely casual manner, one that belied how thoroughly rattled she felt. First, she’d woken up in a strange place. Then, as data from last night had refreshed her memory banks, she’d immediately scanned the room for Derrick. He’d been nowhere to be seen, which had been Callie’s cue to try for a quick getaway.

  She should have known better.

  “What would be terrific is if you’d take care of the matter for me.”

  “In your dreams,” she retorted instantly, readjusting the glasses she’d found on an end-table where he must have tossed them last night. It was the wrong thing to say because it brought to mind her own dreams, the one she’d thought she’d been having the night before, the dream of Derrick making love to her. She’d wanted that last night. Wanted him. He knew it.

  “It could be a reality if you wanted it to be.” He edged closer.

  Okay, that did it. She needed to get a handle on her ridiculous attraction. Dang. Was she star-struck? Was that what made her body react so instantly to his words?