He took a bite of his own sandwich and chewed before asking, “What did you do?”
She shrugged. “What could I do? I was two months shy of finishing film school, and I couldn’t spare the time without jeopardizing my degree.”
“That was smart.” He took another bite and watched as she cut her sandwich into two halves.
Regret gleamed in her eyes. “Actually, it was the dumbest thing I ever did. I spent the next two years scraping by, barely making enough to pay my rent while I apprenticed for Justin Coleman, an executive producer for FOX. The acting gig paid ten times more than the apprenticeship.”
“What movie was it for?” He arched an eyebrow. “One of those kick-ass flicks like Amazon Biker Babes or Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
She frowned and retrieved a nearby napkin. “It doesn’t matter. It was a paying job.”
“Paying or not, it was a gamble. The odds of making it to the top as an actress are slim.”
“True, but the odds of making it as a producer are practically nonexistent. There are hundreds of working actresses, but only a handful of working female producers.”
“I never really thought about that.”
“I think about it every day.” She placed one half of the sandwich on her napkin and took a bite of the other.
He eyed her. “But you do it anyway, despite the odds.”
She swallowed her mouthful. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment. You have another one of those?” She eyed his bottle of Sweet Leaf Tea sitting on the counter next to him.
He nodded. “Man cannot live by bread and Bubba Beer alone.” He watched her retrieve a bottle of tea from the refrigerator. “So the masochist in you keeps you in the production biz?”
“That, and I’ve always dreamed about sitting in a movie theater and seeing my name roll across the credits at the beginning of the movie.” Her full lips hinted at a grin. “I know it sounds egotistical.” She set her sandwich down and twisted the cap off the tea bottle.
“There’s nothing egotistical about having goals. Everybody needs something to push them out of bed in the morning.” He watched her sip the tea before he took another bite of his own sandwich. He marveled at the sudden feeling of companionable silence that engulfed them for the next few moments.
Now that was crazy. Linc Adams didn’t get comfortable with a woman. For him, it was always about getting hot and bothered.
Then again, this wasn’t just any woman. This was his wife.
For now.
“What pushes you?” she finally asked him after eating several bites of her sandwich and washing them down with a long sip of tea. “The thought of winning the Nextel Cup?”
He nodded. “And not turning into my father.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. You couldn’t be farther from the schmoozing politician.”
“Not now, but I was close.” He took a bite of his sandwich and swallowed. “I’m still close.”
“Your mother and father might overlook your wild ways in the name of youth and immaturity, but I make sex videos for a living. Trust me, you can kiss the mayor’s race good-bye.”
“I’m not talking about politics.” The words were out before he could think better of them.
“Then what are you talking about?”
Nothing. That’s what he meant to say. But with Eve looking so soft and vulnerable, and staring back at him as if she really cared about what he had to say, as if she understood, he couldn’t help himself. “Up until five years ago, I was following in my dad’s footsteps. My law career was taking off. I was networking with the right people and running in the right social circles and I’d just entered the race for city council.”
“And then your grandfather died and everything changed.”
“My grandfather died and I changed.”
“Death has that effect on people.”
“It wasn’t his death that woke me up. It was my father’s reaction to his death.” At her questioning gaze, he added, “I never even considered that my dad might be unhappy. He’d lived and breathed politics for as long as I could remember. I’d always thought it was because he wanted to. Not because he had to.”
“What do you mean?”
“The funeral home had just closed after the evening viewing hours. I had stayed behind and was sitting in the back of the room when my father came in. He didn’t know I was there. He’d kept his distance most of the evening, doing the typical meet-and-greet thing near the front door. But with the place empty, I guess he felt free to say his last good-bye.” Linc shook his head, remembering the dimly lit room and the smell of white roses. “At least that’s what I thought he was going to say.” His gaze met hers. “He told him that he hated him. He hated him because he’d raised him to carry on the family tradition of law and politics and responsibility. He hated him because he’d never given him a choice otherwise.” Linc shook his head, hearing the words as clearly as he’d heard them that night.
“I hope you’re happy now, because I’m not.”
“He’d given up his love of bass fishing because his father had pressed him to, not because he’d wanted to, and he regretted it.”
“That must have been terrible for you.”
“What was worse than hearing him say it, was knowing how he felt.” His gaze met hers again. “Because I felt the same way.” Silence settled for several long moments before he finally added, “That’s when I realized that I was turning into my father, just like he’d turned into his father.”
“But not anymore.”
“I promised myself then and there that I wouldn’t be the same bitter, resentful man twenty years from now. I love my dad. I don’t want to end up hating him and feeling guilty for it.”
She grinned. “He might end up hating you if he has to sit through another dinner with me.”
He smiled, but then the expression faded. “I really don’t like lying to him, but it’s for his own good. One day he’ll realize that he tried to do the same thing to me that his father did to him, and he’ll be glad that I kept it from happening.”
“You mean if he realizes it.” She eyed him. “Maybe he won’t ever recognize his ways and regret them.”
Linc had thought the same thing himself more times than he cared to admit, but like always, he pushed the possibility aside. “He will, and then he’ll understand my choices.”
“I should be so lucky. My mother thinks she’s right and she’ll always think that, which is why I keep my distance and my sanity, and do my own thing.”
“Or what you think will piss her off the most.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re not half as wild and bold as you pretend to be.”
“I am so.”
“Yeah?” He gave her a knowing look. “Nice boxer shorts.”
She glanced down as if realizing what she was wearing for the first time. She looked so distraught that he had the sudden urge to step forward and pull her into his arms.
Her expression quickly faded into a frown. “My leather teddy was dirty tonight.”
“That’s too bad. But if it’s any consolation, you look even better in the boxers.”
He didn’t mean to step toward her. He was supposed to walk the other way and put as much distance as possible between them. He knew that, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
He stopped just shy of touching her. Her heat curled toward him, begging him closer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning toward the door. It was that or kiss her smack-dab on her full lips, which he was dangerously close to doing.
“Steel Magnolias,” she blurted out as he reached the doorway.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“The movie that bigwig producer wanted to cast me in. It was Steel Magnolias. He said I had a sweet and sentimental nature wrapped up in a package of strength that would have made me perfect for Julia Roberts’s part. Crazy, huh?”
“Certifiable.” That’s what Linc said, bu
t he couldn’t help thinking what a genius that producer had been.
Of all the really rotten luck.
Chapter 11
Are you okay?” Linc asked the next morning as he followed Eve onto a monstrous RV-like black and silver bus, that had his name and sponsor blazing in full color on the side. The bus, like dozens of others dedicated to various NASCAR drivers, was parked in the motor home lot for drivers and owners near the Rockingham racetrack.
“I’m fine.” Eve stalled on the top step and stared at the interior. “Don’t I look fine?”
“No, you look nervous.” He came up directly behind her, dwarfing her with his large frame.
She should be used to his nearness by now, especially after their early morning plane ride, where she’d all but sat on his lap while he did an in-flight interview with a traveling journalist. They’d held hands and stared meaningfully into each other’s eyes.
But that was an act, she told herself. A charade for the press.
This . . . Her gaze shifted in time to see him close the door behind them. This was just the two of them. Alone. Together.
She dropped her bag to the side and stepped forward to survey the interior and put some distance between them. She bypassed a small eating area that consisted of a boothlike table on one side and a refrigerator, stove, and sink on the other. Next came a small living area with two plush leather recliners on one side and a large TV on the other. A few more steps and she reached a sleeping space with a full-sized bed on one side and a large closet on the other. Two more steps and the aisle dead-ended into a second bed.
“You’re definitely nervous.” Linc’s voice sounded directly behind her and she stiffened.
“Well, I’m not, and if you start with the whole Are you afraid to ride on a bus? thing, I’m going to find the nearest firearm and start shooting.” She turned and ducked under his arm to put a few blessed footsteps between them again.
“I didn’t think you were afraid of riding on a bus. We’re not going to ride in it. We’re going to sleep in it.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of that, either.” Liar.
It was one thing to have a nice solid wall between them and a small portion of hallway and, God bless ’em, an actual door, and quite another to be less than a few feet away, and in full view.
She opened the one doorway that set between the beds and eyed the small shower, which was just tall enough to accommodate Linc and flanked by a small toilet.
“It’s kind of small in here.”
“It’s about the same size as Clint’s.”
Eve’s mind rushed back to the moment she’d caught sight of her brother-in-law’s red, white, and blue RV on the outskirts of the racetrack. It had looked large at first glance, but if it was the same size as this, she couldn’t possibly imagine how Skye ever fit into the interior with him.
Then again, Skye and Clint had the whole real marriage thing going on, and so close confines were no problem.
“My crew chief usually bunks out in here, too, but since we’re newlyweds, he didn’t want to impose, so we’ll have the bus all to ourselves.”
“Lucky us.” She closed the bathroom door and checked out the small television and stereo built into the wall at the foot of the first bed. She punched a few buttons on the remote and the stereo lit up. A rock song burst from the speakers.
“Cal likes Nickelback.” Linc came up and pressed a button. The stereo fell silent.
“At least he has good taste in music.” She inched to the side, away from him.
“I’ll pass on the compliment.” He headed up the aisle toward the refrigerator. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ve had all the Sweet Leaf Tea I can handle right now, thanks.”
He grinned and retrieved a bottle. Twisting off the cap, he took a long drink and Eve tried to ignore the picture he made standing there, head thrown back, guzzling the icy liquid.
Are you deaf? a voice whispered. I said “Ignore.”That means no noticing the way his throat muscles work, or the way that single drop of tea glides down his tanned skin, or the way his muscles flex as he tightens his hand around the bottle.
She tore her gaze away and folded down the covers on her bed before she had to face the next challenge—retrieving her overnight bag from near the front doorway. The walkway accommodated one person, no problem. But two? Maybe. If she plastered herself against the far side and eased past just so, she might avoid any actual contact.
Yeah, right.
He stepped to the side, but there simply wasn’t enough room. One hard, sinewy shoulder brushed hers and his muscled bicep touched the side of her breast. Her breath caught and her heart revved.
Strong fingers closed around her upper arm and he stared down at her.
Okay, so accidental touching was bad enough, but the fingers on her arm were there on purpose. Strong. Sure. Comforting.
The air stalled in her lungs.
“Hey, are you really okay?”
“Fine,” she blurted out, expelling the breath. The floor seemed to tilt and it got really hot, really fast.
Just breathe. In and out. In and out.
His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “You’re hyperventilating.”
“I am not.” Was she? Oh, cripes, she was.
She tried to slow her sudden breathing. Impossible considering the fact that he was still touching her arm. His fingers burned into her flesh, sending a rush of heat to every major erogenous zone.
“Yes, you are. You’re hyperventilating.”
“I am not”—breathe in, breathe out—“even close to”—breathe in, breathe out—“hyperventilating”—breathe in, breathe out—“I’m just breathing”—breathe in, breathe out—“a little heavily, that’s all.” She gulped for air after the last rush of words.
His gaze narrowed. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I never thought so, but maybe I am.” Okay, why was she lying?
For the same reason she’d faked it. She was a sexpert. A calm, cool, controlled professional. Sex. The idea of sex. The eagerness for it shouldn’t freak her out like it did everyone else, let alone intimidate her. And it sure as hell shouldn’t make her hyperventilate.
“We could go to a hotel,” he told her. “It’s not really convenient because I need to be on site for practice tomorrow, then Saturday’s the qualifier and Sunday’s the race, and there’s always a bunch of stuff in between the actual driving, which makes it pretty hard to stay out of the mix. But if it’s really freaking you out—”
“No. No hotel.” That would mean getting one room, because no way could they register for separate rooms. The press, who’d been a constant presence in one form or another for the past few days, would have a field day, and all the headway they’d made convincing everyone they were blissfully married would be for naught.
She forced a slow, deep breath and clung to the one and only bright side of sleeping on the team bus—at least they had separate beds.
Separate, she told herself for the rest of the night. And she might have believed it if it didn’t feel as if they were practically in the same room. Above the hum of the air conditioner, she could actually hear his soft snores. The brush of skin against cotton as he rolled one way and then the other.
She did some rolling of her own, tossing this way and that, counting everything from the various sexual positions to the dreaded sheep in an effort to hypnotize herself to sleep. Fat chance. Her body stayed in a constant state of awareness and by the time the sun topped the horizon early the next morning, Eve was so exhausted she could barely walk, much less scowl. Throughout the morning she hid behind a pair of sunglasses and wore an I’m a cold bitch and I can’t be bothered to acknowledge you persona as she got her first up close and personal look at NASCAR’s hottest new driver in action.
Watching Linc do the first few practice laps was extremely exciting.
Watching him do one hundred, however, was downright boring.
Eve
’s stomach grumbled for the countless time and she turned to the young woman in a T-shirt and jeans who was standing near a portable fuel pump. The only woman, in fact, she’d seen at the track other than a few wives and significant others.
“Is there a snack bar or something around here?”
“There are some vending machines near the mechanics’ lounge.” The young woman pointed toward a large silver garage in the not-too-far distance. “Just go inside and take a left. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
Fifteen minutes later, Eve had scarfed down a full bag of Doritos, a pack of Twinkies, and was busy reevaluating her chocolate ban—a Snickers bar would really hit the spot—when a young woman wearing jeans, a racing jacket, and biker boots pushed through the doorway. She had a dollar in her hand, tears in her eyes, and a frown on her face as she headed for the candy machine.
She blinked several times as she fed the dollar unsuccessfully into the machine. She shoved the dollar between her teeth, hauled off her gloves, and tossed them to the floor before giving the dollar another try. Her hands trembled and the paper kept rolling back out at her.
“Here. Let me.” Eve took the dollar and fed it into the machine. The cash registered and the young woman stabbed a button.
“Thanks,” she growled as she tore open a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. She blinked frantically, as if determined not to shed any one of the tears swimming in her eyes. “The low-down, dirty motherfucker,” she muttered. “He’s an asshole, that’s what he is.” She took a bite and paused for a few chews. “A rat bastard.” She popped the other half into her mouth and shook her head. “A snake,” she said around the peanut butter cup.
Obviously, the chocolate was having its soothing effect, because the cursing was steadily dropping from DEFCON 1 to temporary alert.
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