The way he studied her with such intense hazel eyes sent a delicious shiver through her having nothing to do with the fact that she was drenched. His was a strong, lean face, softened only by a frame of damp waves of hair. A sculpted mouth that could lend itself only too easily to brooding. She couldn’t help but notice that his stomach was board flat and he had hard, muscled thighs.
As he continued to regard her in silence, she realized here was a man who valued self-possession. An age-old awareness stirred within her, raising a very feminine challenge. What would it be like to be the woman who caused him to lose control?
Heat pooling deep inside her chased away the bone-deep chill from the river lapping around them. Even though logically Emma-Lee knew he couldn’t know the direction of her thoughts, embarrassment overrode her mind and warmth infused her cheeks. His eyes narrowed and then for the first time he smiled like a predator that had run his prey to ground. She was in trouble.
“I’m Holt Forrester.”
This was Holt Forrester? Not at all like the geeky teenage computer genius made good she had envisioned from his Internet bio.
His voice was dark and quiet, as she remembered from their phone conversation.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing my butt off in this water. Could we continue this conversation under better conditions?” he said.
“Oh, sorry.” Mortified, she scrambled to her feet. He followed suit and then, gripping her elbow, guided her up the bank. A young man carrying blankets rushed up.
“Thanks, Ted.” Holt took one and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Over in the lot we have a motor home that we’re using as a control center. Let’s get you inside and get you warmed up. Do you have a change of clothes? If not, I can send Ted to get you some.”
“You don’t need to go to any trouble. I have a bag in my car, but I’m parked at the Cliffhanger Lodge. If you could point me in the direction of the shuttle—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll catch pneumonia. Give me your keys and a description of the car, and I’ll see if Ted can bring back your car while you take a hot shower.”
A stranger drive her precious car on that poor excuse of a road running from the river to the highway? No way.
“Thank you, but the shocks would never survive the trip down.” She smiled at the younger man. “However, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be eternally grateful if you could retrieve my bag.”
Ted nodded. “I’d be happy to get it for you.”
This time the shiver that racked her system had nothing to do with hormones. She was cold.
Emma-Lee unzipped the pocket of her jumpsuit and after removing her keys, handed them over. Holt tossed them to Ted and she gave the assistant a description of her car along with the tag number. Ted hurried off.
“This way.” Holt guided her and propelled her to the parking area where an enormous black motor home occupied one end. Had she really expected a mobile home along the lines of the cheerful red one that her parents owned? This monster was closer to the one her sister Mallory and her race car driver husband, Roberto Castillo, used at the races.
Holt led her up the steps, opened the door and urged her inside. She blinked until her vision adjusted. The living-dining room area buzzed with activity. Some people sat on tan leather benches at laptops stationed around a long table, while others stood talking on phones or radios. Several TVs were mounted on walls with flashing pictures of the bridge and exhibition stands. Now she knew why the event had gone with military-like precision. Holt had left nothing to chance.
Although a few individuals, particularly women, looked at her with curiosity, most kept focused on the task at hand. A well-trained crew, she thought.
Holt weaved a path toward the rear and slid open a door. Incredibly, a king-size bed with a black-and-tan silk spread dominated the bedroom. A black entertainment unit along the opposite wall contained yet another large TV, along with stereo equipment and high-tech video game remotes. A modernistic chrome-and-glass chandelier glittered to life when he flipped the switch. The interior designer had certainly decorated to masculine tastes, Emma-Lee wryly thought as she spied a well-stocked minibar with a champagne bucket on top. A man bent on seduction wouldn’t have to leave the room.
“Nice motor home, Holt.”
He shook his head. “It’s not mine. A loaner from a friend.” He walked along the narrow pass-through to the left of the bed.
“Even comes with two complete bathrooms, so why don’t you use this one.” He opened a door. “There are plenty of towels and a robe you can use until Ted returns with your bag.”
“Thank you.”
When he continued to hold the door, she scooted past him, her body brushing against his. Despite her better sense, she looked up. His face was close, so close that if she stood on her toes she could kiss him…
His nostrils flared as if he could read her thoughts, and he braced his hands on either side of her, effectively trapping her against the door.
“Are you going to need help getting out of the jumpsuit? The zipper’s been soaked.”
Laughing, she put her hands against his chest and shoved. “I can manage just fine.”
He let his hands drop and stepped back. “Call if you change your mind.”
With a sweet smile she closed the door in his face without replying. Then she sagged against it.
Ohmigod. What a close call. With one searing glance he could turn a woman’s brains to mush.
Shaking her head, she straightened, let the soggy blanket drop to the floor, and grabbed the zipper tab on her jumpsuit.
And tugged. Nothing. She jerked again. The darn thing wouldn’t budge. Sighing, she turned and tapped her forehead against the door.
“Emma-Lee?” Holt’s voice sounded dangerously close on the other side. “Are you all right?”
No way would she open the door, let alone concede he had been right. “I’m fine!” she called out. “I rapped my elbow, that’s all.”
She flipped the lock on the door and gazed around the bathroom. There. Liquid soap. She pumped a glob onto her fingers and worked the slimy stuff over the zipper. She almost cried with relief when the tab pulled down without further resistance.
Five minutes later, after a steamy shower, Emma-Lee felt like a new woman. She slipped into a plush, white cotton robe and opened the door. Her breath froze in her lungs.
On the opposite side dressed only in worn jeans, Holt stood pulling on a black V-neck sweater. Tanned skin stretched tightly over his rib cage. Oh, yeah. She had been right about his having a toned physique.
His head popped through the opening, and he spotted her at once. As he drew the sweater down, he gave her a slow smile.
“I see you managed without me, what a shame.”
“Yes.” She drew the robe close around her throat in a protective gesture.
He ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Your bag’s on the bed. I’ll leave you to change.” With a last look, he left the room.
Emma-Lee hummed as she opened the bag and took out her change of clothes. Something sharp pricked her finger, and she froze as she starred at the pink-ribbon pin attached to the shirt.
Guilt sliced through Emma-Lee’s elation. Here she was again, having a great time and flirting with a good-looking man while her friend was probably still puking from her chemo session yesterday.
So much for her grandiose decision to get serious with her life after Sandy had given her the tearful news that the cancer she had battled during their college days had returned.
Cancer was so unfair. Sandy had so much to live for, a husband, baby and career, while Emma-Lee hadn’t accomplished anything with her life…
Stop it. Emma-Lee drew in a long, deep breath. There’s nothing you can do about cancer’s capriciousness. All you do is offer support. Sandy would beat this recurrence; she had to.
She would grab a quick meal with her BASE jumping friends and the NASCAR fans she had met here as she promised
before heading up to her room. Then she would call Sandy and give her a full-blown account of the day.
Emma-Lee repacked the bag with her wet clothes and slung it over her shoulder. She slid open the door and spotted Holt at the front, speaking with Ted. All the other people were gone. He had put on a battered leather jacket, and his hair was mussed as if he had been outside. She made her way to them.
“Ted, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you for getting my bag.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Here are your keys.” He grinned and then left.
Left alone, Holt faced her. His gaze leisurely skimmed her from top to bottom, and her face warmed under the potent survey.
“I…wanted to…” She halted, swallowed and started again. “Thank you for everything. I’ll get out of your way.”
He lifted a shoulder. “No hurry. As you can see, we’re actually wrapping up. The auction’s about over. I should be the one thanking you for all the donations you brought from Double S Racing. Can I buy you dinner?”
More time with him. The idea was alluring, but she had given her word and then there was Sandy. Emma-Lee shook her head.
“Sorry, but I promised my friends I would meet them at the hotel’s restaurant before I head home.”
He stiffened as if he was drawing back into himself, but he said nothing further. Instead, he reached around her to open the door. She went through it, hunching her shoulders against the wind. He followed her down the steps.
He walked over to the black truck next to the motor home and opened the door. After she slid inside, he shut the door and got in the driver’s side and started the engine. The drive up what passed for a winding road to the bridge was spent in silence. Since Holt appeared to be deep in thought, Emma-Lee occupied herself with watching the amazing vista. At the top of the gorge Holt took the side road leading to the Cliffhanger Lodge and stopped before the entrance.
She opened her mouth to say goodbye but instead blurted, “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Combine a bunch of BASE jumpers with NASCAR fans, it should be a wild time.”
Although his expression lightened, he shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not much into big groups.”
The sharp cut of disappointment surprised her. “Oh, okay. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She held out her hand.
With a quick move that surprised her, Holt lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the palm. Her skin tingled as little pulses of excitement danced over it. As his lips lingered, an intense awareness that was almost painful jolted her. Of their own volition her fingers curled.
Before she could collect her thoughts, he released her hand. She pulled it back to safety and wrapped her arm around her middle. He sat staring at her with narrowed eyes as if he was trying to analyze a puzzle.
Aware she was way over her head, Emma-Lee drew in a shuddering breath and struggled for a nonchalant tone. Little had she realized when she had wondered what it would be like to shake his self-possession that she would be playing with fire. If she wasn’t careful, she could get singed.
“What was that about?”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “At the river I didn’t know whether to toss you back into the water or kiss you.”
Huh. Right now she was edgy enough to dunk him all over again, but she unbuckled her safety belt, opened the door and got out.
“Emma-Lee.”
She looked over her shoulder at Holt. He sat silhouetted against the deepening twilight, but she saw the flash of his grin.
“I’m glad I caught you.”
CHAPTER TWO
CONSTRUCTED OF TIMBER and glass, and perched on a cliff, the Cliffhanger Lodge had a sweeping deck with a killer view of the New River Gorge. Every room had been taken for the weekend by either the event’s staff or participants. Now that the jump was over, partying was the order of the night.
Holt stood outside the lodge’s glass-walled restaurant, watching the well-lit scene before him. At a wood table in the corner, Emma-Lee sat smiling amid a large group of people, mainly male admirers.
How he ended up here, he wasn’t sure. After all, with the jumping over, all that remained was the partying. He’d completed the last pass to make sure all the exhibition booths had closed and checked in with the local authorities. And what he’d told Emma-Lee was true. He didn’t gravitate to big groups. But rather than getting in his car and heading to the airport, he found himself here.
He still had time to make it back to Atlanta and catch a late-night dinner with Marguerite, his latest female acquaintance. She wouldn’t care about the hour he showed up. An aspiring model, she liked his connections and they suited each other in the physical department. More important, she fit in well with his lifestyle: companionship with no emotional ties.
Pulling out his state-of-the-art smartphone, he checked his messages. One was from Marguerite asking if she should expect him. The restaurant’s door swung open, and warmth and laughter came rushing toward him as a couple walked out arm in arm. At the large table, a man sitting next to Emma-Lee draped an arm around the back of her chair. Whatever he said caused her to laugh. The man rose and headed toward the bar.
Holt texted a one-word response—no—put away the device and walked inside. Several people recognizing him gave a shout-out. Emma-Lee looked over and he held her gaze as he approached the table. He finessed the chair next to her as its former occupant approached with two beers in hand.
“Hey, buddy, that’s my—” The man, one of the town’s chamber of commerce members that Holt had dealt with, halted. “Holt.”
“Hi, Burt.” Holt indicated the table. “If you could flag down a waiter, I’d be happy to buy a round for everyone here.”
Although Burt wore an irritated expression, the rest of the group broke out in cheers.
As Emma-Lee took her foaming mug from Burt, she said, “Let me introduce you.”
Without a glitch, not only did she announce everyone’s name, but also gave him an identification tag as to why they were here. A Florida couple had made the trip because the husband’s mother had cancer. Another from a neighboring West Virginia town had come for a chance at NASCAR memorabilia. The man proudly displayed a pair of tickets for the Richmond race while his wife tipped her Linc Shepherd cap.
“Emma-Lee said she would get us his autograph.”
“You bet,” Emma-Lee assured them.
“This is his year to take the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series,” added the husband.
“No way. Bart Branch’s going to take it.” A man sitting across from him leaned forward.
“In your dreams. It’s Jeb Stallworth’s all the way,” announced another man. A vigorous debate erupted around the table.
Feeling like a fish out of water, Holt leaned back and contented himself by watching Emma-Lee’s animated expressions as she followed the discussion.
She threw a puzzled glance in his direction. “What?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You look right at home here.”
She sipped her beer. “It reminds me of a very upscale Maudie’s with all the warmth and home cooking.”
“Who’s Maudie?”
Laughing, Emma-Lee set down the mug. “Not who. What. Maudie’s Down Home Diner in Mooresville, North Carolina, where I live. It’s the racing crowd’s secret place where everyone hangs out. I end up eating there most nights.”
“Why NASCAR?”
A burst of raucous laughter came from the next table. Emma-Lee frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
Holt leaned closer to her. “Want to go outside for air?”
She regarded him for a minute before nodding. He snagged a passing waitress, handed her money for the table’s tab plus a generous tip and then rose. Emma-Lee followed suit, wishing everyone a safe trip if she didn’t see them again.
Outside they headed in mutual accord toward the side facing the bridge. The cold front had swept in, bringing a decided nip to the spring night. A quarter moon hung high in the sky blazing with sta
rs.
“Lovely night,” Emma-Lee commented.
Great. He sucked royally at small talk. “Inside I asked why you’re working for NASCAR. For a race car owner.”
Her lips quirked. “More than an owner of a race car. Gil Sizemore has four teams.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.” She kicked a small pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement.
“I grew up around racing. My parents are total gearheads. They still drive their mobile home to every race they can. Then my sisters Tara and Mallory married into NASCAR.”
The surname clicked. “Dalton. Of course. Your sisters are the author Tara Dalton and the actress Mallory Dalton.”
“Yes.” She lifted a shoulder. “Through them I met Gil at a race. I was at loose ends, needed a change, and he offered me a job as his personal assistant. Little did I know that I was getting myself on the hook for being on call twenty-four hours a day.”
Although Holt never mixed business with pleasure, he knew other men who did. An unexpected shaft of jealousy speared through him. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Emma-Lee halted and fisted her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”
“I thought because you’re together—”
She stabbed her finger into his chest. “I play guard dog to his office, answer phones, deal with correspondence, run errands, and when I attend races, help out wherever needed, but the job description does not…”
She poked again for emphasis. “Does not include being his girlfriend. Clear?”
Holt grabbed her hand before she could inflict any more damage. “Clear.”
Although she tugged to get free, he held on to her hand and leaned against the railing. Her eyes were dark as she regarded him.
“What about you? Any attachments?”
“Nothing ever permanent.” Before she could press him further, he said, “Tell me more about NASCAR.”
He might as well get more information from someone actually working in that world, not to mention beautiful and definitely entertaining. After all, Stan Preston was on the outside looking in and might not have the most accurate perspective.
What He Didn't Say Page 2
