A NASCAR Holiday 2: Miracle SeasonSeason of DreamsTaking ControlThe Natural

by Pamela Britton

  “Wouldn’t want to deprive the female species of one of the best kissers I ever met.” Good, she told herself. You’re keeping it casual, but giving him the opportunity to kiss you again.

  “Is that so?” His eyes on Madison’s mouth, he freed the bagel from the toaster, tossed it onto the counter. He took a step toward her, just as Buster rose from his position under the kitchen table and came to check if the stray crumbs that fell to the floor constituted his breakfast.

  Danny nudged the dog with his knee. “Out of my way, mutt.”

  When Madison tutted, he broke off a piece of bagel and fed it to Buster, then patted him on the head. As a vet, Madison disapproved of feeding dogs anything other than dog food from anywhere other than their bowl. As a dog lover, she approved of Danny’s conciliatory effort.

  He sidestepped around Buster. “Now, where were we?” From the heat in his eyes, he hadn’t forgotten. He took Madison in his arms. She had the crazy thought that she’d been created to fit this particular space.

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, one on her forehead, one on her nose. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since you went upstairs.”

  Keep it casual. “You’re a guy. Guys always think about sex.”

  “Who said anything about sex?” he asked, amused.

  Betrayed by her own big mouth! Embarrassed, she tried to wriggle out of his embrace. He tightened his grip.

  “I’m not saying my thoughts wouldn’t have got there in the end,” he assured her. “But they weren’t rushing.” His lips skimmed hers. “They were enjoying the journey.”

  Madison quivered with need for more of his mouth on hers. But she made a supreme effort. “Let’s be sensible about this, Danny. You and I have nothing in common.”

  His quizzical gaze met hers. “Apart from this raging attraction and our mutual love of dogs.”

  “Attraction doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I admit, I don’t usually kiss guys I’m not dating.” She struggled to remember her point. “But I’ll bet you do—you probably kiss lots of women without it meaning a thing.”

  “All the time,” he said. She felt a twist of jealousy, which only served to remind her Danny wasn’t the man for her. “You could say I’m an expert on the subject.”

  “How interesting,” she said frostily.

  He chuckled, glanced at her lips again. “And in my expert opinion, that kiss you and I shared this morning was not meaningless.” Broodingly, he added, “If kisses were NASCAR NEXTEL Cup cars, that one would have been first over the line.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t help betraying her pleasure.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure you don’t get a lot of practice?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you’re a natural.” His lips descended toward hers.

  “I had help,” she reminded him modestly, her eyes riveted to his mouth. “Expert assistance.”

  “True.” He paused, tantalizingly close. “Or it might have been beginner’s luck.”

  She licked her lips. “You think?”

  “A repeat would help us determine that.”

  “I guess…if you think it’s necessary,” she murmured.

  The pressure in Danny’s lungs told him if he didn’t kiss Madison right now it would be bad for his health.

  “It’s essential,” he said authoritatively.

  With a little sigh, she tilted her face to his. Something soared through Danny—the same blend of relief and elation that hit him when he was first past the checkered flag—and he claimed that essential, sustaining kiss.

  When it ended, he was surprised to find he wasn’t quite steady. He held on to Madison. “You can’t tell me that was meaningless.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and Danny’s hand moved involuntarily to stroke her hair. “No—” her voice was muffled “—but I wish it had been.”

  His hand stilled. “You’re going to be difficult again, aren’t you? Can’t you just take this…whatever it is…at face value? Enjoy it?”

  “I did enjoy it—” she pulled away “—and now it’s over. Admit it, Danny, you’re not interested in me.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m very interested in kissing you some more.” He didn’t want to lie to her about how far he was willing to take this.

  “You date models, actresses, women who look good on a NASCAR driver’s arm.”

  “I date women I like,” he corrected. “I happen to meet a lot of those types of women, and I happen to like some of them.”

  “You don’t date ordinary women.” Before he could protest, she added, “And why should you? You’re an extraordinary guy. I’ll admit I find that exciting. But I don’t want to get sucked into thinking you and I might have a relationship that lasts after the new season starts.”

  “We could date until then. It’s only a couple of months until Daytona.”

  “I don’t want to risk falling for you, getting sidetracked from what I really want.” She chewed her lower lip. “I want a man who’s part of my life, as well as me being part of his. I just want a regular guy.”

  Any desire Danny had to argue evaporated. If there was one thing he could never be—would never want to be while he was racing NASCAR—it was a regular guy. Regular guys didn’t win the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series championship.

  Danny was a race driver—nothing more, nothing less.

  Maybe further down the track, when he was done racing, he’d have space for the kind of relationship Madison was talking about…. Of course, she’d be snapped up long before that. He shoved the thought aside.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  She let out a breath that he would have thought was relief if he hadn’t seen the shadow of disappointment in her eyes.

  He turned away before he did something stupid, and started spreading butter on a bagel. But he couldn’t resist rubbing in the consequences of her decision. “It’s too bad we’re not good for dating,” he said, “because that was one hell of a kiss.”

  MADISON CHECKED on Buster twice the following week, and each time she had to fight the impulse to relax too much in Danny’s company. He and the dog were getting along okay, and after she removed Buster’s sutures at the clinic on Friday morning, she decided she no longer needed to monitor Danny’s dog-owner skills. When she told him, he eyed her thoughtfully. But he didn’t protest, just kissed her goodbye—she thought he was aiming for her cheek, but at the last second it turned into a hard kiss on the mouth—and left.

  On Sunday, he phoned to invite Madison over for lunch.

  It wasn’t fair, making her listen to his sexy voice on the phone while he talked about cooking his specialty dish for her.

  “We’re not dating,” she reminded him, one hand on her stomach to ease the hunger pangs that weren’t at all related to food. “I want a regular guy, you want a supermodel.”

  “Buster needs you.”

  “He was fine two days ago.”

  “He had a relapse last night and is at death’s door,” Danny said cheerfully.

  She’d given a refusal her best shot. But she was only human, and two days of thinking the nearest she’d get to Danny again was her TV set had her cursing her lifelong common sense.

  “In that case,” she said, “I’d better come over.”

  She made herself wait until midday before she drove to Danny’s. It took him a while to get to the door after she rang the bell.

  It was worth the wait.

  He’d obviously been working out—he wore sweat shorts and a T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. The man was a picture of athletic hunkdom. Biceps, triceps and quads gleamed with perspiration, his hair was mussed, the way it might be if she stepped forward and—

  Madison swallowed a wave of desire. “How’s Buster?” she managed.

  “A miraculous recovery.” Danny hauled her into his arms, kissed her hungrily. Madison kissed him right back, reveled in his male heat, the hard strength of his thighs against her legs, strong hand
s that sought her curves.

  “I’m all sweaty,” he murmured some time later.

  “So am I now.” She kissed him again. “I just want to point out that we’re still not dating.”

  “Right.” He nuzzled her ear.

  “I’m here for lunch.”

  “Nice appetizer,” he murmured against a sensitive spot on her neck. His warm breath sent shivers through her.

  “Maybe you should start cooking,” she prompted.

  “I guess.” Reluctantly, he let her go. “First, I’ll go take a shower.”

  Oh, yeah, just leave her with that image.

  DANNY SERVED THE PASTA with tomato-based sauce and spicy chorizo sausages that was one of his personal favorites. Today, it came with a kick of self-criticism and a side order of guilt.

  He hadn’t wanted to go another day without seeing Madison, but given what he had planned for this afternoon, his timing stank.

  Madison mopped up the last of her sauce with a slice of Italian bread. “Who would have thought you could cook like a regular guy,” she marveled.

  “I do not cook like a regular guy,” Danny objected. “I cook like a star.”

  He took the “mmm-hmm” noises she made as she chewed to be agreement.

  They stacked the dishwasher together. Buster hovered waiting for scraps, and Madison gave Danny a lecture on doggy etiquette—namely, he shouldn’t give Buster the plate scrapings. He silenced her by pulling her close for another of those earth-shattering kisses.

  If he was sensible, he thought as he made coffee, he’d send her home now. But he couldn’t bring himself to end their time together. Besides, this afternoon’s errand would look more natural if he had company. He handed Madison her coffee. “How about we take Buster for his first proper walk?”

  “Great idea.”

  He loved that tender look she got in her eye. Too bad it only appeared when he did something nice to the dog.

  “Maybe we could do some Christmas shopping, too,” she suggested. “I’m running out of time to get it all done.”

  “No problem, as long as we can give Buster a spell in the park.”

  She raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed at his concern for the dog’s welfare.

  They took both their cars into Kannapolis, where they strolled hand in hand past stores decorated to the hilt for Christmas. Madison made several purchases, which they loaded into her car before they walked to the park.

  Buster was ecstatic to be running around, foraging in damp leaves that had turned to mush. His pleasure made Danny feel a little better about not being honest with Madison.

  They’d been there twenty minutes when a man carrying a camera approached them.

  “Fred Elliott from the North Carolina Chronicle,” he introduced himself. “I’d like to get a shot of you and the dog.”

  “Sure.” Danny called Buster over, and Fred Elliott took photos of him and Buster playing tug-of-war with a stick, then jogging side by side along the cobbled path.

  Madison watched the whole thing with no evident suspicion that the photo shoot was prearranged.

  “How did he find you here?” she asked afterward.

  Now was the time to come clean…but Danny didn’t want to ruin the day’s cozy intimacy. “A lot of people know my truck. Maybe he was just passing.”

  “Those guys should give you some privacy.”

  “I guess there’s not a lot else going on.” He made a strategic change of subject. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?”

  Fortunately, Madison was easily distracted. “I was, but Roger, my boss, has asked me to work Christmas Day—we’re open for emergency treatment. Trouble is, Mom needs me at home—my dad’s coming, and he always ends up upsetting Mom.”

  She’d told Danny before that her mom had been pretty cut up over the divorce. “Tell Roger you can’t work,” Danny said. “If he wants to stay open, he can do it himself.”

  “Roger never works holidays,” she said wryly. “He’ll make things unpleasant if I refuse. Besides, I don’t want to jeopardize that clinic management course.”

  Danny didn’t like the thought of her boss bullying her—nor of her having to act as a buffer between her parents. “If you’re serious about starting your own practice, you can’t wait around for your boss’s goodwill,” he said. “And quit worrying about your mom—she’s old enough to deal with her own problems. If you’re ever going to get what you want, you need to be tougher—with your boss, with your family. With yourself.”

  The words came out rougher than he intended, and Madison’s chin went up in the air in a way that told him she didn’t want the advice of a one-dimensional NASCAR driver.

  That didn’t bother him. What bothered him was the almost irresistible compulsion to go out there and fight Madison’s battles for her, no matter that he didn’t have time for anything other than winning the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series title.

  MADISON SAT BACK in her padded leather seat on Danny’s private jet early on Tuesday morning. “Not dating” a NASCAR driver had its perks.

  Being whisked off to Kentucky at a moment’s notice was one of them.

  Danny sat next to her, and Buster lay at their feet. In theory, she was here to look after Buster, but this was the fourth time Danny had called with a request for her dog-sitting services that had turned into a thinly veiled date. Madison sipped at her soda. “Tell me what’ll happen today.”

  Danny looked up from the car specifications he was reading. “I’ll be testing our new cup car. We’ll try different setups, see what impact they have on performance. In January we’ll do some of our NASCAR-allotted testing at Daytona, but because Kentucky isn’t a NASCAR track we can be more flexible and a little less pressured.”

  “So you’re not racing anyone.” She’d been looking forward to seeing Danny in action.

  “It’s still important. There’ll be a potential sponsor watching. An extra couple of million dollars from an associate sponsor would mean we can run the season without having to compromise on spares or personnel—that can make all the difference.” He had that look in his eyes that told her he was thinking ahead to the moment he won the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series championship.

  “How can a sponsor see how good you are if you’re the only driver on the track?”

  He shrugged. “Sponsoring a car is a business decision, but you can’t ignore the emotional side. I’ve seen a guy who wasn’t sure he wanted to spend five million dollars write a check for eight million after he spent a day at testing.” He scratched Buster’s head. “All I have to do is drive like a star.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DANNY COULDN’T hit his stride in the new car. No matter that he and his crew chief been over every aspect of his performance, everything he’d liked and disliked about last season’s car. No matter that, on paper, this car was perfect.

  In reality, it felt way too tight, the front tires losing traction through the turns. At one stage, the damned thing almost hit the wall. But Danny was experienced enough to know he couldn’t blame it all on the car. Maybe he was communicating badly with the crew—he’d been in and out of the pits several times, but it never seemed to get better. Or maybe he was driving like an amateur.

  Right now, he wanted nothing more than to get out of the car, leave it to the experts to fix while he went to find Madison. Dammit, if this was how next season was shaping up, he was in trouble.

  At lunchtime, Danny joined Madison in the media room.

  “That didn’t look like much fun out there,” Madison sympathized.

  “Couldn’t get much worse,” Danny agreed. A moment later, he revised that opinion when Trent Matheson breezed in, along with his fiancée, Kelly Greenwood. Danny knew Matheson Racing would be testing tomorrow; he’d seen the crew in the garage. But he hadn’t realized Trent was here already—had his rival seen his abysmal performance?

  Trent greeted journalists and guests with a charming smile and easy manner. He’d always been great with people, unlike Danny, who
didn’t have the patience to charm others.

  Danny shook hands with Trent. “Trent, Kelly, this is Madison Beale.”

  Kelly greeted Madison with a friendly comment. Trent gave her that killer smile that had made him NASCAR’s most popular bachelor and said warmly, “Great to meet you, Madison. How’d a jerk like Danny find someone as cute as you?”

  Her reply was unusually subdued, and Danny wondered if Trent’s presence had overwhelmed her. It hadn’t bothered him before that Trent was Madison’s favorite driver, but right now it did. He and Trent had a history of playing mind games with each other in their NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series rivalry—he didn’t want to start feeling jealous of the guy over a woman.

  Trent said, “Hey, Cruise, you’ve had some good press recently—enjoy it while it lasts.” The implication being that once racing started, it would be Trent garnering all the attention.

  “No sweat,” Danny said easily. “Some of us don’t have to resort to a marriage proposal to score good headlines.”

  Trent took it with good humor. “Oh, yeah,” he joked, “that was such a bummer.” He tightened his grip on Kelly’s shoulder. “I’m suffering, sugar, aren’t I?”

  He dipped his head and kissed his fiancée on the mouth. And kept on kissing her. So thoroughly that Kelly blushed, and made an effort to free herself, but soon she gave up the struggle and wrapped her arms around Trent’s neck.

  When Trent surfaced, he looked dazed. “Uh, what were we talking about?”

  If Trent could get that distracted by a kiss, he’d be a pushover next year, Danny thought. Then he remembered Trent must have been making out with Kelly, a sport psychologist who’d been hired to coach him last season, for some time before he won the series. Maybe Trent didn’t easily get hit by distractions…except his distractibility was what Danny had judged to be his rival’s weakness through most of last season.

  Danny’s refusal to be distracted had been his greatest strength.

  After a couple of minutes, Madison excused herself to check on Buster. Trent was dragged away by his team’s publicity manager, leaving Danny alone with Kelly.

  “I’m sorry you had that trouble after you didn’t show up at our engagement party,” Kelly said. “Neither Trent nor I thought you were a bad sport.”