Dangerous Curves

by Pamela Britton

  “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I came back to see you.”

  “Bad timing.”

  “Bad timing or not, it scared me to death,” he finished with a shake of his head. “And I haven’t been that scared since I saw Randy’s car fragment into a million pieces.”

  Her heart began to pound, the intensity in his eyes as he stared down at her making her want to touch him, to tell him it was okay, that she would be fine.

  Except she shouldn’t touch.

  “Someone tried to kill you,” he said grimly. “Maybe me, too, according to one of your colleagues. That same person killed Randy.” He turned, moving away from her to stand before a huge bay window to the left of the kitchen counter. She wanted to follow him over there, wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

  “Why?” she heard him whisper.

  She hated to tell him this, hated the way staring at his face made her feel. Anxious, conflicted, afraid for him. She shouldn’t be afraid for a victim.

  But she had to be honest. “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t like her answer. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands for a long moment before dropping his arms back to his sides.

  He stiffened before saying his next words. “I’m going to lose the team.”

  She felt her head tip to the side. “No, you’re not.”

  He met her gaze. “Yes, I am. I’m going to lose the team, probably my sponsor, maybe my driver, pain in the ass that he is. It’s all starting to fall apart.”

  “Surely you won’t lose the team because of this?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I know for certain I’m going to lose my sponsor.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because they don’t like bad press, Cece, and this is bad. This is very bad.”

  “Not if you don’t tell them.”

  He shook his head. “They’ll find out. Sooner or later they’ll find out, and when they do, they’ll bail.”

  “But they’ve been with you for years.”

  “So?” he said with a shrug. “It might look all peaches and cream, but behind the scenes racing is just as cutthroat an industry as the movie business. One of my fellow owners won’t hesitate to snap up my sponsor should they leave me high and dry. When that money stops coming in, I’ll go through my reserves in a month, maybe two. Even if this thing does go away by then, it would take me at least a month beyond that to find another sponsor.”

  He was right. She knew enough about racing to know that it took a while, sometimes forever, to get a major corporation to foot the bill.

  He rubbed his eyes again. Cece stared up at the man she’d always secretly idolized. All right, she could admit that. She’d had a huge case of hero worship as a teenager. And then later, when he’d gone on to a successful career in racing, she’d been a little bit starstruck, not that she’d have admitted it a couple of days ago. Hell no, if not for that damn bomb, she probably wouldn’t be admitting it now.

  “We’ll catch them, Blain. Whoever’s doing this, we’ll catch them.” And when she looked at him, the way her tummy tightened had nothing to do with pure lust and everything to do with her growing feelings for the man.

  He stared back at her, and maybe it was from rubbing his face, maybe it was from exhaustion, but his eyes were red. “I’ve worked years, Cece, years to get where I am.”

  “I know.”

  “I came back east with nothing but twenty bucks in my pocket. Swept the shop floors of any race team that would hire me, worked seven days a week in the hopes of winning a spot on a crew, and when I did finally get that shot, I spent another few years working my way up the food chain. All the hours, all the hard work, all of it about to unravel because somebody thinks I’ve wronged them.”

  “But maybe not,” she said as optimistically as she dared. “Today’s little incident might change that. We have clues now. Real clues. There are surveillance cameras that caught it all on tape, witnesses, crime scene investigators that might be able to track the blast cap—things that the Bureau can pursue, when all we had before was pretty much bubkus.”

  She saw the hope flare in his eyes, saw the way it hung against the fear like an anchor too heavy for its boat. He had worked hard, and she admired him for that.

  “In the meantime we’re going to live life under a microscope,” he said.

  “Well, I, for one, have always wanted to see the inside of a race shop.”

  “Me, too,” came a voice from the family room.

  Which made them both smile, and both remember that they had company.

  “You know what’s really ironic?” Blain asked in a low voice, too low for Thurman to hear.

  “What?” Cece asked. “You always wanted to meet a girl who carried a gun?”

  Blain found himself almost smiling again. Damn, but he liked her sassy humor.

  “I really thought you were something in high school.”

  She couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d tossed a stick of dynamite at her—although maybe that was a poor analogy given what had happened that day. Damn. He still couldn’t believe it.

  “It’s true. You irritated the heck out of me, but the way you always beat me impressed the hell out of me.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head.

  She shook her head, too. “I always thought you hated me.”

  He resisted the urge to touch her. “I know. I let you think that. Couldn’t let on that I got a kick out of racing you. What kind of guy likes to get beat by a woman? Over and over again?”

  She smiled before saying, “I’ll be damned.”

  His eyes caught on her lips. Soft. They’d been soft beneath his own. It was such a contrast to the tough-as-nails woman she pretended to be.

  Yeah, he had a feeling it was all an act. Or maybe she’d had to be tough for so long she no longer realized it wasn’t who she really was. But he remembered how she’d been as a teenager. She’d been like a little puppy, following him around. Remembered the hero-worship in her eyes.

  “I used to envy the way you and your dad worked on your car.”

  The mention of her dad wiped all traces of a smile from her face. He missed it, almost reached out and touched her lips, to maybe tip the edges back up again.

  “I always envied your rich-boy life.”

  “It wasn’t what it seemed.”

  “Really?”

  He shook his head. “My dad was always off making money. My mom consoled herself nightly with a gin and tonic, and when my dad did come home, it was yelling and screaming almost twenty-four-seven. I built my cars as a way to escape, no dear old dad to help me out, although that was probably a good thing.”

  “Your mom ended up leaving him.”

  “Yup. A year after I graduated high school. They both thought I’d get racing out of my system, then come back home and go to college. When she realized racing was my life, I think she woke up and took a look around.”

  “Do you ever see your dad?”

  “Oh, sure. He’s in sales and it’s good business to bring a potential client to the racetrack, especially when your son owns the team.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while, while Blain wondered what she was thinking. Not many people knew the story behind the man.

  “I would never have blackmailed you.”

  “Shh,” she said, quickly covering his mouth with her hands. She scooted next to him, her hip nearly hitting the kitchen counter. He was silenced by surprise.

  “Don’t say anything,” she hissed.

  “Why not?” he whispered back, kind of enjoying their closeness.

  “Because.” She motioned toward the family room, giving him an exasperated look.

  “Afraid he’ll hear your little secret about your run-in with the law?”

  She glared, her expression clearing saying don’t you dare.

  “Hmm…I wonder how you’re going to keep me quiet?”

  “I’ll find a
—”

  He covered her mouth with his hand, and as amazing as it seemed, suddenly he felt like laughing.

  “You know, it occurs to me that now would be a good time to teach you a lesson.”

  “A lesson?” she mumbled before batting his hand away, “About what?”

  He smiled. “About using me.”

  “Using you? You’re the one who never called me after Las Vegas.”

  “I didn’t know your home number.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “So I figured I’d call you at your office on Monday. Instead you flew here.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “My point being that I never intended not to phone you. Yet I have the feeling that you had every intention of calling it quits between us.”

  She seemed a bit embarrassed, so he knew he was right.

  “I don’t like being used,” he stated.

  “I didn’t use you.”

  “Jumped me like a bitch in heat.”

  “I did not!”

  “Shh,” he admonished. “He’ll hear you.”

  She pressed her lips together. Blain had a hard time keeping back a laugh. Funny, a couple hours ago someone had tried to kill her, and it’d scared the shit out of him. Now he found himself smiling.

  “You’re used to having the upper hand,” he surmised. “Calling the shots. Using and abusing the male sex.”

  “Why, you—”

  “Shh,” he said, touching her lips again. She tried to draw away, but her butt came up against the counter. He wanted to lift her onto it, to spread her legs….

  But he wouldn’t. Not yet.

  Still, when she tried to sidle away, he found himself asking in a loud voice, “So, what was the arresting officer’s name?”

  She froze. Well, her body froze. Her face took on a look of fury. She glanced toward the family room as if trying to remind him of the other agent’s presence. Actually, Blain had asked the guy for some privacy earlier, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “You really are an ass sometimes.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He kissed her. She tried to turn her head away, but he refused to let her. He wanted to kiss her. He didn’t care that someone might be listening in, or even watching. He wanted to kiss her, and so he did.

  But it wasn’t a kiss like those in the hotel. Whether they liked it or not, things had changed between them. He knew her taste now, and she knew his. But it was more than just the physical—so much more. He felt her stiffen, only to abruptly relax, her head tilting as she opened her mouth. This time his tongue probed gently. This time he knew the contours of her mouth, took note of what she liked. She made little sounds in the back of her throat, almost as if she didn’t know whether to scream or sigh.

  He loved those sounds.

  “Blain,” she said, wrenching her lips away. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked, the lingering heat of her mouth making him want to kiss her more.

  “Because,” she murmured.

  He took a step toward her. “We did before,” he said in an equally low whisper.

  “That was different.”

  “What was so different?”

  “Kissing you didn’t mean a potential Internal Affairs investigation.”

  “Internal Affairs?”

  “Yeah. Internal Affairs,” she said, eyes gone wide with seriousness. “Getting involved with you is a complete conflict of interest, and if I don’t call a stop to this right now, I’ll be facing an investigation.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while, and Cece told herself to relax. Obviously, he understood what she was trying to tell him. Getting involved with him would lead to all sorts of complications—complications she didn’t want to deal with right now. She didn’t want to get involved with anybody. Not like she suddenly wanted to get involved with Blain.

  “What are you doing to me?” she said in a low voice.

  He leaned his head down. “Trying to make you realize that what we have is more than just casual.”

  “Casual or not, we can’t.”

  “We can if we’re careful,” he said, his lips just about…oh man, almost touching her own. She refused to move away. Damn it. She would not let him do this to her—whatever this was.

  “No,” she declared. “No more kissing.” And this time she meant it—she stepped away.

  She expected some flip comment from him about how she hadn’t said no earlier, but to her surprise he didn’t look perturbed. Instead he looked amused.

  “How about petting?”

  “No,” she said.

  “A little ear nuzzling?”

  She got shivers just thinking about it. “No,” she said firmly.

  He held her gaze for a second, thoughts flitting through his eyes that made her skin tingle and alarm bells ring.

  “Hmm. A challenge.” Said with a smile. “I love a good challenge.”

  She knew he did. But she was one challenge that was destined to disappoint. “Save your challenges for the racetrack,” she said with a brave tip of her head.

  Too bad that bravery wasn’t echoed in her heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE PHONE WOKE BLAIN the next morning in the middle of a very pleasant dream about Cece, making him curse as he reached for the handset.

  “Blain,” Linda, his secretary, said, “you better get down here. All hell is breaking loose.”

  He sat up in bed, white sheets falling around his waist. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone tipped the press about what’s going on. The bomb threat’s all over the news. Rick Vanhausen called. He and Steve Oxford.”

  Steve Oxford, VP of Operations for Star Oil. This couldn’t be good.

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “He’s on his way down,” Linda said.

  Crap. Definitely not good news. The only time Steve ever made an appearance was if money was involved—as in, he was taking all his money away.

  “What time does he want to meet?”

  “Two hours.”

  Blain glanced at the clock. Nine o’clock. The sky had really fallen if Steve Oxford wanted a meeting before noon.

  “I’ll be right in.” He should have been there hours ago, Blain thought with a glance at the clock. His tossing and turning had taken its toll. He wondered how Cece had slept in the room down the hall, then warned himself not to go off thinking about that. He’d only want to head to her room and ask her himself.

  He hurried through his shower, his hair still damp as he made his way down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Cece had beaten him, her standard-issue black slacks and white cotton shirt crisply in place.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, and he could tell by her heightened color that she was remembering what had gone on the night before, and his parting shot to her. And even though he was dreading the next few hours, he couldn’t believe how strong the urge was to tease her, maybe even see if he could make her smile.

  He stopped himself. There was a time and place to see where this thing between them would go.

  “The office.”

  “Not without protection.”

  “I left my condom upstairs.”

  Damn, he hadn’t been able to resist. But the results were worth it because he almost smiled at the way her eyes widened, at the way her lips tightened.

  “Relax, Cece,” he said, cutting off whatever words she’ d been about to say. “I’m not going to jump you.”

  “Good, because relationships between witnesses and agents are strictly forbidden.”

  “Yet,” he added in a low voice, turning to grab a cup of coffee.

  When he glanced back to her it was just in time to catch a drop dead glare.

  “Seriously, Blain. You better tell Agent Ashton what you’re up to.”

  “And how do I do that?” he asked. “Speak into a lampshade?”

  Was that a smile he saw her bite back? Nah. Couldn’t be. />
  “Just go outside and wave your arms.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” she said, and it was her turn to look smug. “I’ll call him.”

  “Is it really necessary to check in with him?”

  “It is if you want to stay alive.”

  Someone had tried to kill her yesterday, maybe him. Amazing how he could put that to the back of his mind.

  “What about you?”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said quickly, reaching for her cellphone.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted.

  She paused in dialing the phone, looking up at him.

  “I meant what are you going to do today?”

  “Go with you.”

  AND SHE DID, and to be perfectly honest, Blain was glad. Not that he’d put up an argument. He’d figured the two of them would be sticking together, which meant he and Cece would be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days. Too bad it wasn’t under different circumstances.

  The FBI had provided them what Blain now knew was “loose cover.” meaning they hung back far enough to allow the bad guys some breathing room, but not so far that the feds couldn’t move in if there was trouble. The fact that they were even there at all was supposed to reassure Blain, but it didn’t. Feeling as if he had giant red circles painted on his back wasn’t a comforting thing. He didn’t know how Cece coped with it as they drove to his office. Granted, she was armed, and maybe that made her feel better. But as for Blain, there was something distinctly disconcerting about being the object of someone’s hatred…and having Cece protect him.

  How did she do it?

  It took effort to separate the two sides of her, especially during times like these when she looked far removed from the tousled sexpot she’d been in the hotel room. She sat in the driver’s seat, green eyes alert as she stared around them, a radio and a cell phone strapped to her waist, her FBI badge around her neck.

  “You look so serious,” he said. And gorgeous. Damn, but he wished he could kiss her. Just one kiss.

  She didn’t look like she wanted to be kissed. She glanced over at him, the silver hoops in her ears catching the early-morning light. “Protection is serious business.”

  “I know, and I’ve got to tell you, I don’t like the thought of you in the line of fire.”