by Abby Gaines
“If by some miracle you do make it to the front—” Trent heaped coals on the fire “—you’ll never stay there.”
Zack folded his arms. “Because you’ll smash into me and make sure I don’t?”
Any hint of bantering was gone—this was stark accusation. Zack had to be referring to the crash that had put him out of contention for the Chase for the NASCAR Sprint Cup four years ago. He’d walked away from his wrecked car, but he’d lost his chance to make the Chase. He’d quit Matheson Racing, joined another team. After the next season, he’d stopped racing altogether.
“Can it, you guys,” Chad snapped. Which, Brianna thought, was like telling two snarling tigers to play nice.
Going by the jut of his chin, Zack wasn’t about to back down, and Trent looked ready to inflict some serious damage on his brother’s handsome features. One of the TV crew members who’d been hanging around in the garage picked up on the tension from fifty feet away and said something to his colleague. Both men watched the Matheson brothers.
In about two seconds, this squabble would turn into the kind of fracas that would hit the headlines and would have any sponsor with a scrap of sense washing its hands of Zack Matheson.
Someone needs to do something.
Zack shoved his brother. Trent drew back his fist.
Now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRIANNA WASN’T DUMB enough to insert herself between two super-strong NASCAR drivers with throwing punches on their mind. Instead, she let out a loud moan and swayed dramatically on her feet, her knees crumpling.
She was counting on lightning-fast NASCAR-driver reflexes to save her before she had to fall to the ground. She hadn’t counted on three Matheson men rushing to grab her. Trent and Zack each grabbed an elbow, while Chad wrapped his arm around her middle. “Brianna? What’s wrong?” he demanded.
She blinked woozily. “I feel faint…”
Chad cursed. “Trent, go find one of the track doctors. Zack, let’s get her to the hauler.” He scooped her up into his arms, she clutched at his shoulders. Then she heard a cry of excitement from the TV crew and realized she was likely to end up on the evening news: Deranged Sponsor Collapses in Kentucky.
“I’m fine now,” Brianna said in her normal voice. “You can put me down.”
“You’re not fine,” Chad said. “You fainted.” He was pale beneath his year-round tan—he really was worried.
“It’s just a thing I get,” she said, “at the sight of violence.”
He stopped walking, stared down at her, brows drawn together.
“And that sight has gone now, so I’m fine,” she said.
“A thing you get.” Chad enunciated clearly—he looked as if he was ready to write the Deranged Sponsor story himself. “So, you faint at the sight of violence?” He said the words with relish.
She kept her eyes innocent. “Uh-huh.”
Chad called, “Hey, guys, guess what? Brianna faints at the sight of violence.”
Trent pulled up short from the sprint he’d just begun and walked slowly back.
“Or sometimes at the thought of it,” Brianna inserted.
Zack rolled his eyes. “Aw, man, we’ve been had.”
“Suckered,” Trent agreed, disgusted.
“Outmaneuvered,” Chad said with what sounded like pride. He lowered Brianna so her feet hit the ground, but kept an arm around her waist. “Now, if you kids have finished scrapping in the playground, how about you go and see Dad. He went back to the hotel for a rest, but he’ll want to know how practice went.”
“I want to look over my stats from this afternoon,” Zack said.
“I’ll bring them to the hotel,” Chad said. “You can pick them up from my room later.”
Brianna wondered if she should move out of Chad’s embrace. Reluctantly she wriggled a little; Chad tightened his grip. That answered that question. She avoided his brothers’ eyes as they discussed tomorrow’s test schedule.
At last they left her alone with Chad—as alone as they could be, with the crew chief up on the war wagon, and the pit crew pushing the car back to the garage.
She felt the brush of something against her hair—Chad’s lips?—then he released her. “I must be the only guy in NASCAR whose wife faints at the sight of violence,” he mused. “I’m trying to figure if that’s an asset or a liability.”
“It was the only way to stop them killing each other and getting themselves plastered all over the TV news.”
“I never would have thought of it…but it worked.” He touched her cheek. “Great work, Brianna. That could have turned nasty.” His voice softened. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” she said, suddenly awkward, “what are wives for?”
His blue eyes darkened. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll take you into Cincinnati, if that’s where you want to go.”
She was torn. Dinner with him would be wonderful—if they could get through it without arguing.
“You asked what wives are for,” he said. “I hear one thing they’re excellent for is sharing an evening with their husbands.”
How could she refuse?
CHAD TOOK BRIANNA to Chez Marc, a fine restaurant in downtown Cincinnati. It was exactly the kind of classy venue she deserved, he thought as he surveyed the candlelit tables laid with fine crystal and silverware, the patrons talking quietly amid the discreet strains of classical music.
The maître d’ helped her out of her coat, and Chad wished it was his hands on her shoulders, on the straps of her midnight-blue dress, silky, with a deep V neckline that showed her curves. Too tempting.
They followed the maître d’ to their table. Chad couldn’t take his eyes off Brianna as she tucked her purse at her feet, then shook out her napkin and slid it onto her lap.
He shouldn’t have insisted on dinner, but with the memory of the delicious weight of her in his arms this afternoon, with the warmth that had filled him after her crazy scheme to stop his brothers from killing each other, he hadn’t been able to resist.
She caught him looking. “Is something wrong?”
“You look amazing,” he said. “Perfect.”
She grimaced.
What had he done wrong now? Chad accepted a leather-bound menu from the waiter. “That was a compliment, by the way.”
“I have a thing about the word perfect,” she said.
“Another thing?” he asked. “I had no idea you have so many things. How does this one fit with your fainting-at-the-thought-of-violence thing?”
“This one’s for real.”
“Perfect.” He tried the word out. “It seems…perfectly harmless.”
She smiled at his word play, but she looked tense. “My dad’s motto—literally, it’s on his office wall—is Make It Perfect.”
Chad couldn’t see a thing wrong with that. In fact, he was tempted to borrow Brian Hudson’s motto—you didn’t win NASCAR races unless you were as near to perfect as possible on race day. But from the tension in Brianna’s voice, he gathered he’d miscalled that. He made a sympathetic noise.
Her eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“It’s, uh, frustrating? Having to be perfect?”
She sighed. “Not so much frustrating as too much pressure. I can’t live up to Dad’s standards.”
“That sign on his wall doesn’t mean you need to be perfect,” Chad said.
She rested her chin on her hand. “All I know is, sometimes Dad acts as if he’d like us to be closer, but something holds him back.”
“You think that something is that you’re not good enough?”
She shrugged.
Chad couldn’t scarcely imagine feeling like that. He and Brady had their fights and didn’t hesitate to point out each other’s flaws, but there was a deep bond between them that allowed them to weather those storms. If they let a lack of perfection interfere in their relationship, they wouldn’t have a relationship.
“Maybe your dad’s just not good
at showing his feelings,” he suggested. “Maybe he feels he’d lose control, be too vulnerable, if he opened up.”
But that was no reason not to show your kid you loved them, Chad thought. Or your wife, a voice inside said. He shook his head. This wasn’t about him.
“Maybe,” she admitted. “Or maybe he just doesn’t have those feelings for me. The only time I remember Dad saying something kind to me was when I brought home straight-A report cards.”
Chad eyed the woman he knew to be smart, caring, fun, beautiful. What more could anyone want? Anger against Brian kindled inside him.
The waiter arrived to take their orders. Brianna chose the swordfish steak, Chad the rack of lamb, along with a pinot noir to complement both their meals.
“There’s no way any father could be disappointed in you as a daughter,” he said as soon as the waiter left.
She darted him a quick glance. “Thanks.”
“Is that why you haven’t worked for him before now?” Chad asked. “Because you can’t be perfect?”
She sipped her water. “I don’t want to lose what little I have of his love by falling short on the job.”
“So what changed that made you agree to do this project?”
“It’s my last chance to get it right,” she said. “And Dad’s last chance to figure out he loves me and tell me so.”
“What do you mean?” He paused while the waiter poured the wine. Realization hit; his jaw firmed. “Just how sick is your father?” he demanded.
BRIANNA PICKED UP her wineglass, took a fortifying swallow. “Dad has cancer. The doctors don’t think he’ll recover. He has maybe three months.”
“What?” Chad exploded, drawing glances from the neighboring tables. “Your dad is dying and you let me pick a fight with him?”
“You were defending me,” she said. “Do you regret that?”
“Of course not, but I might have said it more gently.”
“Dad doesn’t do gentle, and neither do you.” Though that wasn’t strictly true. Chad had been gentle, tender, the night they’d married. “Dad wouldn’t appreciate you going easy on him because he’s sick. He’s convinced this won’t kill him.”
He puffed out a breath. “And what do you think?”
“When Dad says it, I believe him. But logically…”
“It doesn’t stack up,” he completed. “Your dad and mine sound a lot alike. My father refused to accept he was having a heart attack. If Julie-Anne hadn’t dragged him to the hospital, he would have died.” He reached across the table for her hand. “Stubborn old men, huh?”
“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” She meant it as a quip, but her voice broke.
Chad lifted her fingers to his lips, kissed the tips. “I might have gone easier on you, too, if I’d known about your dad’s cancer,” he said ruefully. “You have enough to deal with, without my bad temper making things worse.”
“Dad won’t let me sit at his bedside,” she said. “I might as well be here fighting with you.”
They broke apart while the waiter delivered their meals. When he was gone Chad said, “Brianna, your problems with your dad are about his inability to connect, not about you not being good enough.”
The thought had occurred to her before, but she’d never given herself permission to examine it. She turned it over in her mind. If Chad was right, the rift between her and her dad wasn’t her fault. But that meant…
“Which means,” Chad said apologetically, “trying to win his approval with this sponsorship project is trying to do the impossible.”
Bingo. She blew out a frustrated breath. “I seem to make a habit of that. Like—” she focused on cutting a spear of her asparagus served with hollandaise sauce “—marrying someone I’ve known three days and hoping to live happily ever after.”
Chad said, “In that instance, you weren’t the only one who tried the impossible.”
His eyes held hers, the deep blue she’d fallen in love with, along with every other thing about this man. Brianna swallowed. That was then.
She read regret in his face, a reflection of hers. Over the past two years, she’d never thought he might be sharing some of her pain.
“I assumed you thought of our marriage as just a glitch in your perfectly run life.”
“That would be the life in which I’m struggling to find a sponsor for Zack, worrying about my dad, panicking about my brothers on their way to becoming sworn enemies…” He paused, looked horrified at his own indiscretion. “I didn’t just admit to a potential sponsor that my brothers hate each other’s guts.”
“Your potential sponsor didn’t hear a thing.” She hesitated. “Your wife heard it, though, and appreciated the confidence.” She laughed lightly, feeling more carefree than she had in months, even though she was in the middle of a divorce and she’d just figured out she couldn’t do a darned thing to make her father love her. “If you need any more help keeping your brothers in line…”
“Let’s not talk about them,” Chad said. “I’d rather talk about you. About how I love your laugh.”
“You do?”
“It makes me smile inside.” He wasn’t smiling on the outside. Instead, he was frowning at his own admission.
This kind of talk didn’t come easily to him. Brianna had to offer him something, some reward for that openness, before he turned distant again. “When I’m with you,” she said, “you make me feel like I matter.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised, pleased. “Even though you think I’m bossy?” His voice deepened, and the words brushed over her, making her shiver.
“You know you’re bossy.”
He took her hand; his thumb swept her knuckles. “Guess that puts me out of the running with you, huh?”
She gulped. “Bossy isn’t the worst thing in the world.” Not when you took charge of our lovemaking.
His eyes darkened. “If I was bossy, I’d drag you out of here right now, drive you back to the hotel and make love to you.”
She saw the desire in his eyes, the tightly reined passion in the tense muscle of his jaw. “Chad—”
“Maybe we rushed into marriage,” he said, “and maybe we were too different to make a go of it, but I’ve never had a night like that one.” He kissed her knuckles, and she shivered. “Neither have you.”
Helpless with longing, she said, “I don’t have anything to compare with. For all I know, any night could be that good…with any man.”
Not that she believed it. No other man had turned her to mush just with his touch, with the melting heat of his eyes.
“I still want you, Brianna,” he said. “I never stopped. I don’t think I can survive another day without making love to you.”
She laughed shakily. “Of course you can.” But as seduction lines went, it was right up there.
“Come back to my room,” he said.
She licked her lips, saw him fight a groan. “Is that an order?”
“Hell, no,” he said. “I’m begging.” He tightened his grip on her fingers. “Please, Brianna, stay with me tonight.”
She saw the hunger, near desperation, that told her he really was begging. For the briefest second, she wished he’d stopped after me. Please, Brianna, stay with me.
But they both knew better than that. One night, she thought. She could do one night. She wanted one night, more than she’d ever wanted anything. Except to marry Chad in the first place.
“Yes,” she almost whispered.
CHAD COULDN’T BELIEVE Brianna had said yes. They attempted to eat more of their meals, but gave up after a few minutes—the atmosphere was too thick, too heavy to allow anything as mundane as eating. He drove like a madman back to the hotel, not saying a word in case he said something that made her change her mind.
Silence was definitely the best policy. The plan was still intact as they hurried through the lobby, as the elevator rose sixteen excruciatingly slow floors, as they half ran along the corridor to his room, as he fumbled the card ke
y so badly he couldn’t get the damned door open.
He cursed; Brianna laughed softly, and somehow that did the trick. The green light flashed, and he opened the door.
He ushered her in, then closed the door behind them, leaning on it for good measure.
She was here. She was with him. They would make love.
She dropped her gaze, and her sudden shyness was reminiscent of their wedding night. If he remembered rightly—and he hadn’t forgotten one moment of that night—the shyness hadn’t lasted long. Chad shrugged out of his jacket, hung it on the hook on the back of the door and moved toward his wife.
He wished they were at his home, with the antique four-poster bed, with the beamed ceilings and shutters over the windows.
“Next time we do this,” he said, “it won’t be in a hotel room.”
“One night,” she reminded him. “Just one night.”
They’d argue that point later. Chad took her in his arms, and after a still moment she let out a soft breath and leaned into him.
“Brianna.” He murmured her name against her temple, inhaled the lemon scent of her hair. Her arms came around his neck and she pressed closer, setting off a reaction primeval in its fierceness.
He claimed her mouth, hard and hungrily, and instantly she met his fire with her own. She tasted of honey and spice and lingering wine. Chad wove one hand through her hair, let the other go exploring. Mmm, the curve of her back…
She made a little sound of need, and he walked her toward the bed.
BRIANNA LAY in the haven of Chad’s arms, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her back. Their lovemaking had been incredible. She’d have said it was impossible to improve on their wedding night, but she’d have been wrong.
His tenderness, his passion, had robbed her of all inhibition. She knew he’d found it just as sublime.
In the darkness of the room she heard a click—familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She had no trouble placing the next sound—the swish of the door opening and the flick of a light switch.
