Blain reached behind him and closed the door in the kid’s face.
Cece laughed that familiar, wonderful laugh of hers he’d fallen in love with, and suddenly everything was all right.
“Cece,” he said, tears stinging his eyes. “Oh, God, Cece, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said, answering tears in her own eyes.
And then he went to her and pulled her gently into his arms, reached down and kissed her, and as he did, he wondered how the hell he could have ever been afraid to touch her. She was the miracle in his life. The woman who’d showed him the meaning of courage. Who’d fought for her independence in a way that filled him with awe. Who’d proved to him that love wasn’t about physical intimacy, it was about the heart. She owned his heart, and he couldn’t believe he’d let her go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his arms tightening around her so much that he worried he might hurt her. “I’m so sorry.”
He felt her head move, but not away from him. No, she nestled closer, the smell of her hair a sweet essence that he’d missed in recent weeks.
“I don’t know what happened.”
“You behaved like a jerk,” she said in her forthright way.
“I did,” he admitted, drawing back. “I did, and I’m sorry.” He swiped a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“But I behaved like a coward long before you behaved like a jerk.”
“Nah,” he said, suddenly feeling magnanimous.
“Yes, Blain, I did. I was afraid of falling in love with you. Afraid of laying it all on the line. But someone recently told me that she never regretted marrying the man she loved, even though she lost him. He was an FBI agent, and she knew that going in, but she wasn’t afraid to love him like I was afraid to love you. I’m sorry for that.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re here now.”
He waited for her to acknowledge his words. But she didn’t move, and for a second fear rose in his throat.
“Cece?” he asked.
“I need to know that this isn’t about guilt, Blain. I need to know you aren’t saying this stuff out of pity.”
“Pity,” he said, touching her face, dragging a thumb down her cheek. “You think this is pity?”
And then he kissed her, kissed her in a way that only a man who desired a woman could kiss, touched her as he touched her in his fantasies. Only this fantasy woman was real, breathed her essence into him, sighed when their tongues met.
“If this is pity, Cece,” he said against her lips, “than I hope I go on feeling sorry for you the rest of our lives.”
And that was the moment Cece lost control. God, she’d told herself she wouldn’t cry. But when she looked up and saw the passion in Blain’s eyes, when she felt the echo of his rapid heartbeat against her chest, when she saw that his hands shook as he swiped at a lock of her hair, she did so, anyway. But it was a good kind of crying, the kind that erased old wounds, that brought peace, and contentment.
Blain held her.
The world was all right.
“Will you marry me, Cece?” he asked, his own voice hoarse, as if he’d been silently crying along with her in that odd way men had, as if by making noise they would be considered less masculine.
Will you marry me?
“Before I answer, I have something to show you.”
And watching how his expression turned from curiosity to sudden concern as she shifted her legs off the edge of the couch, to a look of unmistakable hope, nearly made Cece cry all over again.
“Watch,” she said, pushing him away.
Blain stood up and Cece scooted to the edge. Using the table and the back of the couch, she pushed herself up just as she’d practiced a hundred times before. Slowly, ever so slowly, she straightened, then gently let go.
There were tears in her eyes again as she said, “A month ago I started to get some feeling back in my legs. At first I was afraid to hope. But the doctors, they confirmed….”
And they were both crying as she swayed there. But she didn’t stand by herself for long. She swayed toward Blain, who looked only too happy to pull her into the shelter of his arms.
“So, yes, I’ll marry you, Blain Sanders,” she said, tears making her vision blur. “But not before I can walk down the aisle on my own.”
He smiled, sheltering in her in his arms. “I have no doubt that you will, Cece. No doubt at all.”
And one year later…she did.
EPILOGUE
ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND FANS came to their feet at Phoenix International Raceway as the thirty-five car field made the final lap.
Actually, they watched only the front two cars.
Lance Cooper, Cup racing’s brightest star, raced side by side with the number thirty-two car, Lance’s brightly painted red-and-orange front bumper barely in front of the other.
“Careful,” the spotter’s voice said in his ear.
I am, I am, Lance thought as he gripped the steering wheel, trying hard to maintain control. Tires were old. Too much scuff on the top line. Might have been a bad move…
His back end pitched.
“Son of a bitch.”
The crowd roared. Odd as it seemed, Lance could hear them, could feel their energy and excitement as he fought to maintain control.
He let his car drift down…in front of the thirty-two car.
The flagman waved the checker.
Quarter mile to go.
An eighth.
A tenth.
Finish line.
“Whoo whoo!” AllenMike said, the sound of his crew yelling in the background. “We did it!”
Yeah, they had.
He’d just won his first championship.
“Blain there?” Lance asked, the track in front of him suddenly shimmering.
“Here,” came his boss’s familiar voice.
“This is for you and Cece,” he said, feeling the tears hit the edge of his asbestos fire mask. The bitch of it was, he couldn’t wipe them away. But, hell, he didn’t care.
“We know, Lance,” Blain said. “We know.”
And in the pits, Blain looked over at Cece, who stared out at the track in between hugs from his crew, awe on her face as she looked up at the screaming fans.
“We did it,” he telegraphed to her.
Oddly, she seemed to hear him. She met his gaze and mouthed back. “We did it.”
And never, not once, had Blain believed this could happen. Two years ago he’d been struggling to put his team back together after Randy’s murder, with no sponsor, a new driver and a fiancée who refused to marry him until she could walk. And then this year…Blain swallowed as he looked up at the sky. Cece had married him. She’d walked down the aisle, smiled into his eyes and said, “I do,” in front of racing’s finest and half the FBI, people who had become good friends.
He felt her arms wrap around him, arms that just a year before wouldn’t have been able to reach him without the help of her wheelchair. Now she was walking again, working, even undercover…although she’d been recently offered a job heading up the stock car association’s security, a job he was pretty certain she was going to take.
“Cece,” he murmured. And even though they both wore headsets, even though she probably couldn’t hear him, he heard her answer back, felt the rumble of her voice against his chest.
“Blain…”
Just then a reporter came up to them and a TV camera was shoved in their faces. Blain removed his headset, though he kept one arm firmly around Cece.
“Blain Sanders, what an incredible year,” the commentator said.
“Got that right, Dick.”
“Did you ever think at the beginning of the season that this is where you’d end up?”
“It was always a possibility,” Blain said, looking down at Cece, who’d removed her own headset. They caught each other’s eyes and smiled.
“This is a pretty neat wedding present,” Dick said to Cece. “Wouldn’t
you say?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, giving the reporter a mysterious smile. “I might have a wedding present that’s even better.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he asked.
But Cece didn’t answer. Instead, she looked into Blain’s eyes.
And he knew.
“Cece?” he asked, in front of a million viewers.
“If it’s a boy, I think we’ll name him Randy,” she said softly, the tears that had been in her eyes since Lance crossed the finish line rolling down her cheeks.
“Am I understanding this right?” Dick asked. “Are you two expecting?”
Cece’s smile was suddenly blinding as she answered, “We are.”
Blain barely heard the reporter; he was too busy pulling his wife toward him.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Maybe I’m not the only Sanders who likes to announce things on television.”
He hugged her as tightly as he dared without crushing her, and then he laughed. His crew slapped him on the back, word having spread of their good news. Someone showered them with something—water, champagne, Blain didn’t know. He didn’t care. He was too busy kissing his wife, too busy getting lost in the taste of her.
“Happy?” she asked when they drew apart.
“Happy,” he answered back with a soft smile.
“Good,” she said, snuggling into his arms.
And then he turned her to face their crew, face the people they loved…face their future.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6403-1
DANGEROUS CURVES
Copyright © 2005 by Pamela Britton
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books SA.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.HQNBooks.com
Dangerous Curves Page 25
