“Probably.”
“You’ll just have to reassure him.”
“I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“Keep things as routine as possible.”
“I really don’t like where this is going.”
“Just do what I do before each and every race so this doesn’t seem like a bigger deal than any of the others.”
Silence stretched for several long seconds before Jeep grumbled, “I’m not reading the menu from Buck’s Barbecue and Babes. I’ll adjust the throttle, restrict the air pressure, give the fuel system a tweak here and there. That’s it. That’s the end of my job.”
“You’re there to do anything and everything to bring home a victory. Just read it. It’ll make him think about having lunch there tomorrow, which will make him think about flying to his home in Austin tonight, which will make him think about Victory Lane and all the press stuff that follows, which will make him think about the race. It’s all about focus.”
“Forget it. I’m a car chief, not a waiter.”
“It’ll work, and we’ve got ten wins so far to prove it.” “You don’t pay me enough for this,” Jeep grumbled before he hung up.
“The menu from Buck’s Barbecue and Babes.” Lindy gave him a disbelieving expression. “That’s what you do those few seconds before he lines up in pit road?” She shook her head. “And here I thought you guys were praying or discussing strategy or something normal.”
Clint shrugged. “It’s his favorite restaurant.” “Buck’s Barbecue and Babes is a gentlemen’s club, not a restaurant. The biggest gentlemen’s club in Austin, Texas, as a matter of fact. And the sleaziest. I heard Anna Nicole Smith got her start at Buck’s. And her finish. One of the tabloids spotted her just a few days ago. A lot of her, if you know what I mean.”
“I thought you didn’t read the tabloids.”
“Only when they feature this race team.”
“You don’t mean...”
She slapped a copy of the Texas Tattle-Tale on the desk in front of him. “You’re the cover story.”
Clint grabbed the article and stared at the blazing headline. Is Clint MacAllister the leader of the wolf pack, or the wuss pack?
Anger coiled inside him and his fingers tightened on the paper.
Stay calm. Controlled. Focused.
Lindy went on. “The press on you would probably die down if our driver weren’t attracting so much attention. The Tattle-Tale is sure to spot him at a place like Buck’s.”
“What can I do? He likes the food.”
“Speaking of dying down, I’m doing what you said and telling the press that you’re not doing any interviews.” She gave him a pointed stare. “But TNN Sports keeps calling. And so does ESPN. They really want to talk to you.”
“About my retirement?” She nodded and he shook his head. “I’m retired. What’s there to talk about?”
“Maybe why you started out as hot as ever in the Daytona 500, only to call it quits before the end of the day.”
“I was injured.”
“You’ve been injured before. That’s no reason to throw away a fifteen-year career behind the wheel.”
“I’m fed up with it. That’s it.”
“Then why haven’t you sold the team and washed your hands of it?”
“Maybe I will.”
“And maybe I’ll win Miss Texas this year.”
He eyed her, from her bright red hair pulled back into a tight braid, to the drab navy dress she wore. It did nothing for her figure, if she had a figure, and he really couldn’t say because he’d never seen her wear anything that didn’t hang on her small frame like a large sack. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t an eye-catcher either. She was just Lindy, responsible and dedicated and so serious most of the time that he felt certain her face would crack if she didn’t lighten up.
He grinned and tried to draw a smile. “I’d vote for you.”
Her frown deepened. “You’re deranged.”
“But you still like me.”
“I don’t like you.” She didn’t smile, but the lines eased a little. “But you’re the boss and it’s your call. Personally, I think you should talk to the press. Set them straight.”
“Do you really think if I give an interview and tell them I just decided it was time, that they’re going to believe me?”
“Probably not.”
“Definitely not. The real reason isn’t exciting enough. It’s better to look for an ulterior motive. Something deep and dark and terrible.” Like fear. “It’s human nature.”
Clint knew that better than anyone. He’d heard the worst prognosis for his learning disability every time he turned around. There’d been no maybe or possibly. It had always been “You’ll never amount to anything.” End of story. He’d heard it so much, in fact, that he’d started to believe it.
Until his love of cars led him in to the driver’s seat at his local track. In racing, he’d found his strength and realized that he called the shots. Soon he was driving with the big boys in NASCAR’s Winston Cup series. He’d amounted to something, all right, and he’d proven everyone who’d ever said a negative word about him wrong.
So do it now. Talk to them. Show them.
Clint shook away the thought, walked around his desk and collapsed into a nearby chair just as the pre-race show started. He’d concentrated on his career long enough. It was time to turn his efforts to his personal life, starting tomorrow.
He and Skye had worked out the details. She would give him four detailed lessons based on her four-part ultimate pleasure workshop—the body, foreplay, sex play and after-sex play. In return, he would give her four lessons based on common guy interests—football, wrestling, fishing and cars.
He would get the first lesson, since he was racing against the clock and had a certain performance level to achieve in time for the Pepsi 400 at Daytona and his next meeting with Darla. They would alternate from then on out. She would give him lessons at his place and he would give her lessons at her place. That way they would each be in their comfort zone while trying to beef up their knowledge of the opposite sex.
Sex itself being his particular area of interest, and Skye was just the woman to teach him. She had all the credentials.
Not that she looked the way he would expect a woman in her profession to look.
She was attractive in a quiet, classy, conservative way with her soft blond hair pulled back in a simple knot and her minimal makeup. Not the made-up Playboy center-fold type he would have expected given her profession.
Clint took a long draw of his raspberry iced tea and tried to concentrate on the race. But all he could think about was Skye.
A fluke, he told himself. The idea of her—woman teaches sex therefore woman is extremely good at sex— turned him on in a major way.
No way was he actually attracted to her.
Okay, so he was attracted to her.
In a superficial, this-isn’t-going-anywhere kind of way. But attracted nonetheless.
He admitted that to himself Monday night as he stood in the doorway separating his kitchen from his den and stared at the woman who sat on his sofa.
A feeling that had nothing to do with the fact that she was holding a very large rubber penis.
He watched as she slid her hand down the thick piece of rubber, tracing its shape before setting it down and reaching for another. The second was larger, thicker. Long, slender fingers wrapped around the width in a grip that made him catch his breath.
Okay, so maybe it had a little to do with it. He was only human, after all, and seeing her handle the fake penis with such intensity made his own member stand at attention and cry me, me, me!
“Nice technique,” he murmured as he walked into the room with a glass of raspberry iced tea and her requested glass of water.
Her fingers tightened and the penis popped from her grasp. “Oh,” she said, glancing up at him. “You startled me. I was just setting everything up.” She retrieved the wayward pe
nis and set it aside. “We’ll start with the female body during the first half of the lesson, and then discuss the male in our second half.”
He set the drinks on the coffee table and sat down beside her as she rummaged in her briefcase.
After fingering through several files, she finally pulled out a set of neatly typed notes and handed them to him.
“What’s this?”
“A handout. So you can follow along. We have a lot to cover in a short amount of time. I don’t want to get ahead of you.”
He glanced at the paper before setting it aside. “Don’t worry about me. I race for a living. I’ll keep up.” He grinned and eyed the display of erotic models sitting on his coffee table. “Just wave the checkered flag and lead the way.”
Chapter Seven
“I’m a little out of my element here,” Skye said several moments later after Clint had given her the go-ahead. “I mean, you don’t actually have a vagina.”
“True, but I’ve got three sisters, four females on my crew pit, a woman publicist and a Blue Heeler named Jezebel.” Clint gave her a slow, wicked grin that did nothing to ease the trembling in her hands. “I’d say that makes me guilty by association.”
Skye’s attention shifted to the large dog curled up on a doggie bed in the corner of the room. “I never really thought about it that way.”
Hold on a second. Trembling hands? What was wrong with her?
She snatched Dinah off the coffee table and busied herself by making sure all the removable parts were thoroughly in place. Trembling hands were just one step away from a major craving.
Don’t even go there, Sister.
“I know your usual audience is female.” Clint’s deep voice drew her attention and she stared at the six foot plus of tall, dark and delicious male sitting next to her.
Close. So temptingly close...
“But the idea is the same,” he went on. “Women want to learn how to receive the ultimate sexual pleasure and I want to learn how to give it to them. Just lay it out the way you do during one of your workshops. My being a man is just a technicality.”
Man being the key word. He wasn’t a two-headed dragon or an alien or an ultra-conservative Republican, for heaven’s sake. He was just a man and she knew men from the inside out. Sure, she was lacking when it came to male interests, but she knew the nuts and bolts. She’d studied the male animal as thoroughly as she’d studied the female. Men were just flesh and blood. Human. They did not make her nervous and jittery and . . . breathless.
Unless they happened to be sitting next to her, so close she couldn’t help but drink in the intoxicating scent of fresh soap, raw male and wild recklessness. An aroma that conjured an image of Skye completely naked on the back of a giant mechanical bull with a certain cowboy . . .
A burst of heat zipped from her head to her toes, pausing at several major erogenous points in between. A gnawing started in her stomach and Skye bolted to her feet.
Dinah in hand, she crossed several feet of plush carpet until she reached the opposite side of the room where trophies and plaques lined the massive wall.
She forced her fingers to relax before she broke off a major piece of the model in her hands. Dinah was fragile. Expensive.
And Skye was in complete and total control.
She was a professional, a teacher, and Clint was her student until tomorrow night when the roles reversed. Then the burden of control would rest with him.
In the meantime...
The chemistry might be strong, nearly overwhelming, but she had certain rules. Clint had a significant other— sort of—and she didn’t do attached men.
She chanced a glance over her shoulder to see him sitting on the couch. He didn’t spare her a look as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He peered at the variety of educational tools that sat on the coffee table.
Okay, so come tomorrow night, the burden of integrity might not be much of a burden at all. He seemed to be breathing quite easily. He didn’t appear nervous or torn or the least bit turned on by their close proximity or the subject at hand.
The thought was depressing enough to calm her racing heart and kill her craving. Not that she wanted him to want her, mind you. It was simply the principle of the thing. No woman liked to think her lust was a one-way street, no matter how inappropriate the object of that desire.
She turned her attention to the room, her gaze sweeping the interior. A big-screen television overwhelmed one corner of the room. An entertainment center spanned the entire length of one wall and contained several DVD players, a home theater system complete with massive speakers and an impressive array of digital lights, and the biggest multi-CD player Skye had ever seen. The room overflowed with dark colors, electronics and shiny trophies. Definitely an alpha guy’s wet dream.
Far from her airy living room with its cream-colored sofas, mint green throw pillows and overabundance of plants. Why, there wasn’t a sign of any living, breathing thing besides the two of them.
One woman and one man.
It was the classic case of opposites attracting. But while opposites attracted, they rarely stayed together. She knew that firsthand. A dozen alpha boyfriends, and not one relationship longer than six months.
Never again.
She was going to learn as much as she could from Clint and broaden her range of interests. She might even go all out and redecorate her living room a little. Maybe get her own multi-CD player complete with a couple of Nickel-back CDs for good measure. With careful preparation, the next Mr. Alpha who happened by would stick around long enough to break her current record.
This was business, plain and simple, and she was not turned on. More importantly, she did not want a cookie.
“Come on,” he said, drawing her attention and giving her a wink and that heart-stopping grin. “Sex me up, teacher.”
Okay, so maybe she could go for a few animal crackers, but those didn’t really qualify.
“I’m holding in my hands Dinah the friendly vagina,” she managed, launching full force into her presentation. “I say friendly because a vagina is a woman’s best friend. As a man, the more you know about her best friend, the better lover you’ll be. If you know just where to touch her—”
“Don’t you think this thing is a little too flexible to be realistic.” Clint’s voice drew her around and she turned to see him holding the Cattle Boss. He wagged the eight-inch rubber penis in the air. It flip-flopped from side to side. “Shouldn’t it be more stiff than this? Harder is definitely better.”
“That’s a first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Size is usually the issue for most men, not rigidity.” He shrugged. “Hey, no issues here. Just asking.” “Then to satisfy your curiosity, it’s supposed to be rigid enough to hold its shape, but supple enough to be comfortable. Now,” she rushed on, eager to get back on track. “While a vagina isn’t the Bermuda Triangle, it can be the eighth wonder of the world to your woman if you learn when and where and how to touch each and every part—”
“Don’t you think this one is a little small?”
She turned this time to see Clint holding the Cow Poke. “Actually, that’s closer to reality than the other two.” He grinned and arched a black eyebrow at her. “Whose reality would that be?”
“Seventy-six percent of all men.”
He nodded. “That many?”
“Yes, the next eighteen percent fall closer to the Ranch Hand and the last six percent make up the Cattle Boss category.” For a split second, she had the incredible urge to ask him where he fell in the statistical range.
“Of course,” she cleared her throat. “There have been much smaller sizes recorded. And much larger ones, as well.” Not that he was one of them and not that she cared one way or the other.
“How much larger?” The Devil himself danced in his dark eyes and she felt an all-too familiar stirring in her stomach.
“Exceptionally larger.” She licked her suddenly dry lips while her tr
aitorous stomach grumbled. “The basic parts,” she blurted, eager to get back on track. “There’s the labia and the vulva and here you have a woman’s hot spot. Her clitoris. Now, the clitoris is very sensitive and—”
“Do you really pass these out at your workshops?” She turned to see him waving the Cow Poke and the Ranch Hand.
“They help with demonstrating proper hand and mouth techniques.” She turned her attention back to Dinah. “The clitoris has a small hood that retracts when the area is stimulated—”
“Do you pass them out randomly or do women get to choose which one they want?”
“Sometimes I pass them out, sometimes they choose. The clitoris will swell with stimulation and—”
“Do women ever fight over which one they want?” “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen my sisters at a shoe sale. They can get vicious over a pair of Gucci pumps. And what about this color?”
“What about it?”
“Did you pick the colors for these, because I’ve never seen a neon purple di—”
“Who cares about the color?” she cut in, her aggravation boiling over. “I thought the whole purpose of these lessons was to beef up your knowledge of women. So far, all we’ve done is debate the penis and the last I looked, most women don’t have them. They have Dinah here, who takes care of pleasure and her sister Ula the Uterus, who’s responsible for the reproductive end.”
At the mention of the big R, his grin faded into a determined expression and he set the penis on the table. “I’m ready. Keep going.”
He looked so serious that her aggravation faded into a wave of admiration. While she didn’t understand his whole obsession with marriage, she could relate to his desire for a child.
Someday...
Right now, however, the only thing she really wanted was a... Don’t even think it.
She drew in a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the wall of plaques. Anything to get her mind off the infuriating man on the sofa and the fact that she didn’t find him half as infuriating as she found him sexy.
Read. Her gaze rushed from award to award for everything from the fastest qualifying time to most starts for the year. The more she read, the slower her heart beat until her gaze touched on one in particular given by his sponsor.
Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice Page 7
