by Dee J. Adams
Ellie wasn’t sure if too much information was part of his come-on or the real thing, but the sincerity in his gaze made her palms sweat, which meant it was time for her to leave. “No worries. Thanks again for the drink.” She toasted him and turned to go.
“Wait a minute,” he said, taking her arm. His hand was warm, his grip gentle and a fresh wave of goose bumps chased up her arm. It was ridiculous. “So you’re the one who did that stunt today. That was amazing. You were amazing.”
A line or the real thing? Hard to tell with Mr. Suave. But she did appreciate the compliment. “Thank you. It was a tough one. I’m glad it went off without a hitch.”
“I got there just before you hit the wall.” He released her and cool restaurant air replaced his warmth. “Scared the shit out of me.”
“Between you and me…I was a little scared too.” She took a long drink.
His brows rose. “Just a little?”
She shrugged and enjoyed his surprised tone. “I was more worried about screwing up.”
“Let me ask you this…are you frickin’ crazy?” His smile lessened the impact of a potential insult. He wasn’t the first person to think she was nuts or worked at a crazy job.
How would she phrase this without sounding as if it mattered what he thought of her? She gestured to the guys in her department. “We work hard and take care to make sure we’re safe when we do a stunt. It might be kind of dangerous, but it’s not as dangerous as you might think.”
He lifted a skeptical brow. “How long have you been doing stunt work?”
“Ten years.”
His eyes opened wide. “What’d you do? Start when you were ten?”
A flush heated her cheeks as she smiled and looked away. “Not quite,” she murmured.
“Eleven?”
Against her will, she laughed. He smiled. The impact his grin had on her heart should be outlawed. She wiped a sweaty palm against her jeans, willed her pulse to slow to a regular beat and took another sip of root beer.
“Eleven and a half?”
Ellie shook her head and laughed again. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”
“I didn’t realize I’d done that.” His grin faded, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t. “My apologies.” Watching her, he took another hit off his beer. Their gazes locked and all the sound faded until Ellie only registered the loud beat of her heart.
Quinn wiped his bottom lip with his thumb and Ellie followed the movement. She had a quick vision of that thumb tracing her own lips and a tingle shimmied down her spine.
Someone bumped her and she blinked the moment away. Bar noise and loud music penetrated her fuzzy brain as the mariachis strolled closer. “No worries,” she mumbled.
The music got louder and Quinn leaned close. “Let me buy you another drink,” he offered. “You’ve nearly finished that. How about something a little stronger…to celebrate the day.”
“This is as strong as it gets for me. I don’t drink alcohol.” Talking like this, with their faces so close together, only made Ellie more aware of his scent. His warmth. His strength. The man was absolutely edible. Were his ears as sensitive as hers? Was he half as turned on as she was? “I’d better go,” she said.
“Don’t.” His lips hovered against her cheek. For a split second, she reveled in the feel of him. Immersed herself in a quick fantasy of his arms around her and their lips connecting in the crowded bar. “What got you into stunt work in the first place?”
She concentrated on his words and not his bedroom voice, a voice that had undoubtedly seduced dozens of women for many years. What got her into stunt work? “Luck, timing and impetuousness.”
The band moved off, but Quinn didn’t budge.
“Tell me.” His lips brushed her ear and his low voice combined with the soft caress sent her nerves skittering wildly and hit a sexual chord in her center. Maybe she was so sensitive because she’d been without a man for so long. Or maybe this guy just knew how to catch a woman. But she didn’t want to be just any woman. She didn’t hop into bed and ask questions later. A couple of laughs or a few hours in a bar wasn’t nearly enough to get her between the sheets and this man seemed to think that was all it took.
He had another thing coming.
“Maybe another time. My friends are waiting.” She pulled away and lifted her bottle in a toast. “See you on the set,” she said and quickly made her escape.
Air. She needed air. To breathe, to think clearly. Being near Quinn Reynolds required way too much concentration.
The punching bag swung as it took repeated hits. Hard hits. But the man didn’t see a punching bag. He was hitting Quinn Reynolds. Over and over again. His loathing for Quinn had hit a boiling point. In two years, Quinn had changed Formula Racing Design in ways that infuriated him. It should be his company. His employees, his warehouse, his cars.
He’d wanted this company for years. Not only to squash the whole Reynolds name, but also to prove to the world he was the smartest and best when it came to Formula One racing.
The bag took another shot and his arm felt the jolt. It’d be nice if Quinn was on the other side of his fist.
When Mac ran the company, everyone had known what to expect. Everyone. That included not only the employees, but the competition. Mac had always played it safe and that had kept everything status quo. He never rocked the boat. He played by the rules his old man had set years ago. But Quinn had been different. He took chances and he won, by sheer luck. Under his leadership, Formula Racing Design had risen from near obscurity to the forefront of Formula One racing.
That wouldn’t do. Not with Quinn in charge. That idiot had been riding a wave of good fortune during his two year run of the company. It was going to take more than luck to keep FRD on the giant swell it rode now. It was going to take knowledge and cutthroat business tactics. Once he took the reins, it would be a different story. The company would thrive under his leadership and no one else’s.
He slammed the bag again.
At this point, he only had one option. Deal with the situation face-to-face. He had to fly across the damn ocean and talk to the other Reynolds. Mac would make sure Quinn did the right thing. It was mostly common knowledge that once Mac got married, he’d all but forced Quinn into taking over the company and they’d all thought things would continue as usual.
He grunted in fury as much as disgust as he volleyed the last combination to the bag, then stalked across the room and swiped a towel across his sweaty face.
If the problem was Quinn Reynolds, then the answer was simple:
Get rid of Quinn Reynolds.
Chapter Three
The morning sun delivered another scorcher as it hovered above the track grandstand, and Quinn’s ass threatened to go numb in the director’s chair at video village. Who knew the tent housing the monitors actually had a name?
Sitting behind Mac, Quinn still hadn’t talked to his brother because Trace had glued their hands together and wouldn’t let her husband go. Part of him understood. His sister-in-law’s traumatic three weeks during that particular Arrow 500 had been a lifetime’s worth of angst. The incident had bonded the two of them at the hip. As independent and freethinking as they were—as anyone who heard them disagree about practically everything could tell—they still rarely spent time apart. In their case, opposites did truly attract.
Quinn scanned the track and watched various crewmembers at their jobs. The craft service lady dumped the remains of some fruit salad and replaced it with a new bowl. Some lighting guys unloaded equipment from the back of a truck. Production assistants wearing headsets walked between rows and rows of huge trailers, hunting people down or just pretending to look busy. He didn’t know which.
It wasn’t until he spotted Ellie that he realized he’d been looking for her specifically. Wearing a pair of white shorts and a fitted navy tank top, she was the picture of California fitness. Her tan skin gleamed in the sunlight. His dick hopped to immediate attention.
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Shit. Quinn didn’t need this now. Shifting in his chair, he looked away from the blonde stuntwoman. He only managed to keep his gaze off her for a whopping six seconds before seeking her out again. He knew that because of the “time code” running on a monitor in front of him ticking off the seconds like a continuous stopwatch.
He was fucked.
He couldn’t help but think about last night at the bar and having her so close. The urge to lick the shell of her ear had been so strong that he didn’t know how he’d managed to resist. She’d smelled so good. He couldn’t get the aroma of strawberries off his mind. He’d rather have had his mouth on her skin than on the glass of beer he’d been sipping.
So why did he want the stunt double when he could have the real thing? Julie had shown definite interest when all of Ellie’s actions had very clearly stated the opposite. When had a woman not been interested? Maybe it was the challenge that appealed to him?
Okay, so he wanted Ellie Morgan. Not a problem. She may not be a Hollywood starlet, but she had all the makings. She wasn’t nearly as skinny as Julie. Ellie had muscle. Her arms, her legs…even her shoulders. Yesterday, her skin had peeked out from between her top and jeans and after one glimpse at her belly button Quinn’s mouth had watered. And her hair…long blond silk covering her back and a tiny, sexy-as-hell birthmark on her cheek sweetened the deal. Plus, he’d enjoyed their banter last night. She was quick and had a great sense of humor to boot. He’d watched her with her friends too. They clearly respected her. It wasn’t like he was going for anything permanent. Quinn snorted at the splintered thought.
The whole reason he’d come was to talk to Mac and if that meant dogging his big brother every minute of every day until then, so be it. He couldn’t sell the damn company without Mac’s approval and wasn’t leaving until he got it.
If anyone needed a break from work, it was him. No law said he couldn’t enjoy part of this trip.
Quinn watched Ellie and a few stuntmen head toward the infield. Every so often somebody gestured and pointed. Ellie adjusted the white baseball cap on her head and her blond ponytail swung out the back.
Man, what he wouldn’t give to wrap her hair around his hand. Feel the softness as he held her steady and kissed her, drove into her. Shifting again in his chair, Quinn held back a frustrated groan. When was the last time he’d fantasized about a woman like this? Not any time in the last six months, he knew for certain.
An hour later, the crew broke for lunch and Quinn stood in the food line with everyone else. The smell of fresh garlic bread wafted through the air and made his mouth water as he piled lasagna on his plate. Rows of tables, protected under white tents, filled up as people found a place to eat. Quinn headed for his brother sitting alone at a large table. Good. Maybe they could start hammering things out. No sooner had Quinn set his tray down than half a dozen people joined them. The director, two executive producers and a few people he didn’t have names for. So much for talking business.
Trace joined them last with Ellie following close behind. Quinn shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation.
“We really don’t have to do this now,” Ellie said to Trace. “I didn’t want to interrupt your lunch, I just wanted to find a minute to talk to you.”
“Not a problem at all. Whatever I can do to help,” Trace told her. “This is as good a time as any. I guess I’m not sure what it is you need though. Everything’s in the script pretty much exactly as it happened.”
Ellie nodded. “I know the words are there. But your thought process isn’t there. I mean, I could talk to Julie about this, but I figured since you’re here I’m better getting the information from you. It is your story.”
Trace sipped her drink. “Okay, shoot. What do you need?”
“After Mac leveled the fence on the Grand Prix course and you knew you were headed toward the infield, what did you do?”
Quinn listened as Trace told Ellie exactly what she did and thought during that incident and the others. There had been several. Including the accident that killed Grayling Racing’s longtime chief engineer, Joe Harper. But if Joe hadn’t died, Mac would’ve never entered the picture.
After finishing her drink, Trace got up for a tea refill, which left Ellie a seat away from him. Now was the perfect time to ask her out.
He swallowed the last bite of his lasagna and pushed his plate away. “You ran away pretty quick last night. I was hoping you and I could spend some time together this weekend. How about I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”
She tipped her head sideways. “You mean a date?”
“I believe that’s the term. Yes.”
Her smile teased him. “You’re sweet. But, I can’t Saturday. I’m busy.”
“How about Sunday?”
“Sorry, busy then too.”
Quite the challenge, his British friends would say. “Really? Saturday and Sunday. Busy. All day, both days?”
She smiled and a little dimple creased her left cheek. She was unbelievably gorgeous when she grinned like that. Raising her right hand, she said, “I am not blowing you off. My roommate’s sister is getting married Sunday afternoon and we’re taking her out Saturday afternoon and Saturday night.”
“A bachelorette party? You need somebody to jump out of the cake? Because it seems I have some extra time on my hands since I don’t have a date.”
She laughed and her appeal doubled. “Thanks, but we’re good. We’re skipping the cake jumper this time.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. I’m pretty flexible.”
She lifted blond eyebrows. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her green eyes sparkled for a few seconds before she looked away and sobered. Almost as if she forgot she wasn’t allowed to have fun. With him? That didn’t make sense.
Trace came back and took her seat between them.
“Maybe another time,” he said.
Ellie’s lips quirked in a half smile. “Maybe.”
That was better than a no. Quinn didn’t mind maybes. Come to think of it, he’d never met a maybe he hadn’t converted to a yes.
He had two weeks planned in California. Plenty of time for convincing his brother to sell and more than enough to land Ellie Morgan.
At the end of the day, Ellie turned the key on her roommate’s beat-up Honda and waited for the engine to catch. It didn’t. So she tried again.
“Car trouble?”
She’d know that voice anywhere. Quinn Reynolds. “No,” she said, looking out her driver’s side window. She squinted into the setting sun and he shifted, his body blocking the big ball of fire in the sky. A five o’clock shadow darkened his square jaw, but it was well past five. “It does this all the time. It’ll start. Third time’s the charm.”
“Maybe it’s time to get a new car.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the doorframe. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and his sandalwood scent made her mouth water. The man smelled absolutely edible. His massive shoulder still blocked the setting sun and scattered clouds had turned pink and orange behind him.
“I do have a new car.”
He lifted skeptical brows as he stepped back and considered the weather-beaten, sun-eaten, dent-ridden green Honda.
“Not this one,” she told him. “My car’s being fixed.”
“You have a new car that’s being fixed.” He shook his head and resumed his same place on the doorframe, his voice low. “I’ve got news for you. There’s a name for those. They’re called lemons.”
Ellie tried not to smile. “It’s not a lemon. And it’s not new-new. Just new for me. A classic ’68 Mustang, but it needed a few parts and they took time getting in. My roommate loaned me this in the meantime.” She turned the key to escape before she ended up at some bar with Quinn. Once again the engine didn’t catch.
“Why don’t I give you a lift home?” he said. “It’s not a problem.”
“Thanks, but it’ll start. It’s just temperamental.”
“Are you sure? B
ecause I’ve got some nice, comfortable wheels.” He pointed behind him to a long, stretch limousine. Black. Gorgeous. Expensive. Complete with a driver standing by.
“You rented a limo? Why’d you do that?” Too late she realized she’d let her mouth get ahead of her brain. It was none of her business what he did.
“I can’t really be at the mercy of my brother’s schedule while I’m here. I needed my own wheels.”
But a limousine? That seemed…excessively…excessive. “Don’t you dri—”
He patted the doorframe and stood. “I’ll let you get to your weekend. I know you’ve got a busy two days. Have fun.”
Surprised at the quick change of subject, Ellie turned the key and thankfully the engine caught. “See. Told you. Just temperamental.” She put the car in reverse and rolled backward, forcing Quinn to step away. “See you around,” she said. And she was free. She refused to get suckered in by a pretty face again. Once was plenty. More than enough.
She drove home and settled on the comfortable living room sofa where she went straight to work making diagrams of the track and the infield. She also made a diagram of the pier and the lake that she’d be crashing into later next week. Then she drew some quick sketches of the “fan-attack” scene in the middle of the movie. After she finished, she put the diagrams in order of shooting appearance as opposed to the chronological order that Trace had given her.
Ashley, her roommate, had already read the whole script aloud to her and Ellie had everything in her head. She just needed to stuff the pictures into her script for reference. Now that she heard Trace’s account of each incident, she had all the pieces of the puzzle.
A key scratched in the lock and Ellie closed her script. Ashley came in with an armload of work. Her blond hair looked as pristine as it had that morning when she’d left for the office, still piled on her head in a very businesslike knot. Thick creases in her skirt said she’d been sitting behind a desk all day. “I thought I was the only one who worked outrageous hours,” Ellie said.
