“Yes, I love it here. This was a mill town up until the 1980s so it still has a Sleepy Hollow type of charm. Yet it’s not totally off the beaten track because of its being the magic kingdom of NASCAR.”
Holt’s lips twitched as he released her hand only to circle his arm around her waist to draw her snug against his side. “Magic kingdom?”
She flashed him a grin. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Reciting facts?”
Recalling how he had yearned to hear her do that very thing this morning, he pressed a kiss on top of her head, the light herbal scent from her shampoo wrapping around his system, tying him in knots.
“Go on. You have a knack for stories like your sister Tara does.” A look of disbelief flashed across her face.
He smiled. “Tell me how of all places this hamlet became the pit road of NASCAR universe when it doesn’t even have a race track.”
“I know. Weird, huh?” Emma-Lee pointed along the street lined with squat buildings. “There you have an over-a-century-old hardware store still in operation. Across the street—” she swung her arm around to where an enormous neon checkered flag sign blazed “—you have the latest and greatest in racing souvenirs.”
Of accord they continued, crossing the railroad tracks that had put the mill town on the map. Not wanting the companionable interlude to end, Holt urged softly, “Go on.”
Emma-Lee warmed to her subject. “Initially, people associated with the Charlotte track began buying homes around Lake Norman. Soon owners set up shop. By the 1990s Mooresville had souvenir stores, suppliers and even a museum for the hordes of NASCAR fans following the teams here. So the city’s leaders, seeing the commercial wave of the future, gave the town the nickname Race City, U.S.A.”
Breaking free, she halted and spun around with her arms spread wide. “Voilà, I give you Mooresville.”
Laughing, she twirled again. Her mischievous smile aimed over her shoulder at him unerringly found its target, his heart.
Needing her as he’d never craved another in his life, he stepped close and wrapped his arms around her waist. Sensual awareness replaced the laughter in her eyes as he traced her spine with one hand until he could cup the back of her neck.
So soft, so vulnerable. But he couldn’t stop there to savor the texture of her skin, for the heavy fall of her hair brushing the back of his hand beckoned. He threaded his fingers through the silky strands that seemed to have a life of their own, circling around to snare his hand.
He wanted to capture her warmth and openness and make her his. Ruthlessly, he yanked a choke chain on the hunger building in him. She was important to him; this was more than the simple sexual byplay that had characterized his life until now.
Drawing her head back, he took his mouth on a slow, quiet journey over her face. When at last he kissed her, edgy need raced through him.
When she melted against him and touched his face, he became bound to her in that moment. There was no turning back from the fall now. The magic that was Emma-Lee had thoroughly captured him. He tightened his hold and took the plunge.
EMMA-LEE FELT HERSELF sliding into the kiss, into Holt. Too often she had danced close to the passion she’d sensed banked in him and now she was caught in the explosion. His kisses were all-consuming fire. Sensations bombarded her, too rapidly for her body to adjust.
As he deepened the kiss, emotions swept through her. She could only grab on to his arms until this heady storm passed.
When his mouth left hers to nibble at the delicate spot behind her ear, dark pleasure flashed through her overcharged system.
This was the man she’d been waiting for.
With a groan Holt again fused his lips to hers in a moist, deep sumptuous kiss that went on endlessly until all thought turned to ashes in her brain.
Love quivered inside her, ready to be given with an open heart. Did she dare or did she care if Holt didn’t reciprocate the sentiment?
All she knew was that only he had the power to quench the need growing deep inside her. When his mouth cruised along her throat her head lolled back to give him better access. When he pressed her closer, she slid her leg up along his, craving the strength of his body.
Swept up in the night’s embrace of lovers, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. She knew Holt could see into her soul. A shudder rippled through him before he stilled, lifting his head. Regret had replaced desire in his eyes and he stepped away.
With a small cry of protest, she tried to thread her arms around his neck, but he kept her at arm’s length. Confusion warred with humiliation and she dropped her hands. When he reached out to touch her, she jerked her head away.
She wrapped pride around her like a shield and said in a voice dripping with icicles. “It’s late. We should be heading back.”
“Emma-Lee.” Holt’s hand shot out, his fingers circling her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
She wouldn’t let him see how hurt she was. “Don’t be. We’re adults.”
He lifted his other hand and cupped her face. Even that simple contact with her still-heated skin sent a shiver racing through her. How was she going to bear this if he didn’t want her?
“Honey, how do you survive it?” he asked.
“Survive what?”
“Wearing your emotions on your sleeve? I’ve never seen anyone who gives so unstintingly all the time.”
She bit her lip. “I crash and burn like anyone else. I just get up again.”
His gaze intensified. “You scare me sometimes. I don’t know if I can give you what you deserve.”
His admission eased the pain deep inside her. She pressed her cheek against his palm and covered his hand with hers. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He shook his head but lowered his hand. “As you said, it’s late and tomorrow’s a workday for both of us. Let me get you back home.” He twined his fingers with hers and started back toward the restaurant.
Emma-Lee walked silently beside him. Holt didn’t realize yet that he needed a connection anchoring him between his solitary existence and the rest of humanity.
But hope burned bright, and tonight when she lay in bed she would hug it close to her. Holt had used his first endearment with her. He had called her “honey.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
DARLINGTON WAS NOT going as Holt envisioned as he stood out of harm’s way behind the pit crew where he’d been left. But when it came to his relationship with Emma-Lee, no plan ever seemed to work.
Take Wednesday night. Even now the memory of how she had burned with passion in his arms haunted him. He had been more than ready to make her his when he’d realized that Emma-Lee’s heart had been wrapped up in her willingness to give herself. She hadn’t had to say the words. The emotion had been there for him to see in her eyes.
Talk about a cold shower of pure panic.
Another man may have proceeded with the seduction, but he couldn’t. Emma-Lee had been prepared to hand him her heart and he had bungled the gift badly. After several sleepless nights, he still didn’t know if he could handle it.
So now he was back to the starting line with her: wanting her, needing her, but not sure how to proceed. On the other hand, the minx hadn’t appeared to be worse for the separation. She had greeted him with a smile and had gone about the business of taking care of Double S Racing’s track guests.
Brooding, he watched the frenetic yet measured pace of the final preparations before the race. Although he had always preferred working alone, he had to admire the display of teamwork.
He glanced down the row and saw other teams similarly engaged in a choreographed dance of man and machine. In war wagons he saw crew chiefs at their computers. He would have loved a look at the programs, but he was stuck watching from the sidelines.
So far his quest to capture Emma-Lee’s attention or time had failed. He understood she was working, and yes, she answered all his questions and then some. He learned all about the driver rite of passage known as t
he Darlington Stripe. However, he heard the information along with a large group of sponsors and guests. Then he’d been herded with a much smaller group to pit road before Emma-Lee had disappeared from sight.
Wasn’t it better this way that he didn’t have her solely to himself? He didn’t have an answer, either for her or himself as to where this relationship was going. He only knew he had to be near her.
With all the activity at the track, he could take a much-needed step back, observe her and analyze his reactions.
Right, Forrester. If you believe that one, there’s a corrupted hard drive with your name on it.
His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. For the past hour his system had kicked up a notch every time he had brushed up against Emma-Lee in the crowded garage. Then there had been those few times when her breath had feathered his face when she had leaned close to explain what a team member was doing over the din.
Now his system was so on edge that he was ready to jump into one of the stock cars and race howling around the track.
Hearing her laughter, he absorbed the hit of anticipation as he turned toward the sound. Through the milling crowd, she emerged pushing a wheelchair with a young boy in it. A man and a woman who appeared to be the parents walked on either side of the chair. When the man pointed at one of the cars, the boy’s face lit up with an expression of wonderment and he let out a “wooting” sound.
Emma-Lee wheeled her charge right up to the No. 502 car. Holt narrowed his eyes. What was that sticking from the back of the waistband of her jeans?
Standing next to the car, the driver Eli Ward broke off an interview with one of the ubiquitous reporters and shook hands first with the boy and then the dazed-looking parents. Kneeling beside the chair, the driver spoke with the boy for several minutes.
Holt didn’t know who had the bigger grin during the conversation, the kid or Emma-Lee. Then she reached behind and whipped out a green baseball cap. She reached into her front pocket and held out a marker pen. Eli took it and with a flourish autographed the cap. Handing the pen to Emma-Lee, the driver ruffled the boy’s hair before plopping the hat on top of his head.
Even from his position Holt could see the hero adulation in the kid’s eyes. That would be an adrenaline rush, he conceded. He’d always had to find his own satisfaction when data came together and a computer program worked.
The crowd roared as the drivers began the parade around the track. With a start, Holt realized that Emma-Lee was on the move again with the wheelchair, heading straight toward him. He rocked back on his heels and waited.
“Holt, I’d like to introduce you to Phillip Whitney and his parents, Jason and Michele.”
He found himself shaking hands with the parents and then the boy. “Nice to meet you. Big NASCAR fans?”
“Yes, sir.” Phillip beamed. “I think Eli Ward is the greatest driver ever.”
Michele tipped the bill of his cap. “I can’t thank Emma-Lee enough for setting this up.”
“You’re welcome.”
Phillip studied Holt. “Do you work for Double S Racing?”
“No, I design computer programs.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Games?”
“Well.” Here goes nothing. Time to emerge from behind the monitor. “I have my first game coming out next month. It’s called ‘The Mathematician’s Secret Chamber.’”
Phillip’s mouth fell open. “No fooling? Everyone at school is talking about it. You go through levels searching for a secret wizard?”
So much for keeping quiet about the game. He of all people appreciated the information highway that was the Internet and how rumors spread like wildfire.
Holt grinned. “That’s right, with plenty of bad guys trying to stop you at every turn.”
Catching the parents and Emma-Lee’s puzzled expressions, he explained, “The game takes the player on a search for a famous math wizard who holds an ancient secret and along the way famous mathematicians pop up with clues and the player has to solve a formula.”
Understanding lit Emma-Lee’s eyes. “You took your father’s profession and made a game out of it.”
The first game box was already wrapped and ready to mail to Sam.
He hitched a shoulder. “I thought it was a way to get kids to learn about math.” He looked at Phillip. “After all, you need to be able to calculate to figure out the rate of fuel consumption, right?”
“Right. I can’t wait for the game to come out.”
“Tell you what.” Holt pursed his lips as if he was coming to a weighty decision. “I need someone to test-drive the game. If you give me your address, I’ll send it to you, and you can let me know how it goes.”
Phillip swallowed but responded in a nonchalant manner. “I’d be happy to help out, sir.” He rattled off his address, which Holt jotted down.
Emma-Lee’s eyes were misty, but she gave them a firm command. “The race is about to start, so we need to clear the area.”
After the parents thanked Holt, they moved away with Phillip. They had barely gone ten feet when the boy yelled out, “This is so cool. I’m going to be the first to play the game!”
The same emotion he had experienced at the BASE jump welled up in Holt. Pride, yes, but also the satisfaction of doing something good for another.
The crowd quieted as the parade ended and the drivers rejoined their crews and families. As they walked away, Emma-Lee slipped her arm through his and tilted her head. “You realize you are now a hero in Phillip’s book.”
Holt realized the punch of gratification must be what drivers such as Eli Ward experienced every time they met a fan. However, the admiration he saw in Emma-Lee’s eyes gave him the ultimate rush of pleasure.
He kept his voice casual. “I take it you’re still helping the charity coordinator at Double S?”
“Yes, she had a baby boy on Wednesday, so Gil is letting me fill in until she returns. Phillip became paralyzed as a result of a diving accident. His parents wrote that he was a major fan of Eli Ward and would it be possible to get an autographed poster. When I saw that they lived near Darlington—”
“You arranged instead for Phillip to meet Eli in person.”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, all activity halted as the teams lined up, their caps over their hearts.
Then a female country artist began to belt out the national anthem. Emma-Lee pointed at the sky and he looked up. Against a cloudless canvas, a red, white and blue parachute soared toward the earth, the jumper carrying the American flag. As the last notes of the song faded, the parachutist landed with pinpoint precision.
One glance at Emma-Lee’s rapt expression and he knew that she yearned to make that leap. He also realized he would move mountains and bridges to make that happen for her if only…
Stop right there, Forrester. You’re stumbling along a path to the future. How about learning first how to commit to a person?
Right.
She tugged his arm. “Come on. I’m to take you up to where the sponsors are sitting.”
He shook his head. “I’d rather sit in the stands with the regular fans today.” Maybe the smell of rubber would keep her scent from tying his stomach into knots.
She chewed her lower lip, sending his already revved system into overdrive. “Let’s get out of the pit area. I’ll see what I can do.”
She left him standing outside the secured space. The drivers sat in their brightly painted cars, talking last-minute strategy with their crew chiefs. Gil Sizemore walked along the line, pausing to speak with his teams.
“Holt, what are you doing here with Double S Racing?”
He stiffened and turned.
Red-faced, Stan Preston mopped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. Despite it being a warm May day in South Carolina, Stan wore a business suit.
“Got an important date, Stan?”
The insurance magnate stepped closer. “As a matter of fact, I do. Meeting with some NASCAR representatives after the race. Plans are moving forward w
ith my owning a race team by 2012.”
Stan glanced around and spoke in yet a lower tone. “Things might go better today if I can say I have an important sponsor already lined up. Do I have your commitment?”
A month ago, Holt knew what his automatic answer would have been. After all, a NASCAR tie would mean good business for his new game. The fan brand loyalty was amazing.
But the circumstances had changed when Emma-Lee had jumped into his life. His mouth curved recalling the moment she had straddled him in the New River Gorge.
The mantra “business is business” may have served him well in the past, but he had just learned that sometimes people needed to come first. His sponsoring another team would hurt Emma-Lee. Holt thrust his hands into his jeans pockets, considering the implications of his urgent need not to hurt her feelings and to protect her.
“I’m sorry, Stan, but I can’t sponsor your team.”
Preston’s face twisted with anger. “Why? Did Gil Sizemore promise you a bigger deal? I can match anything he gave. Let me tell you, I’m going to pay top dollar for the best drivers. I may be able to hire one or two of his better drivers away from the team.”
“Stan, not that Gil Sizemore has anything to do with my decision, but somehow I don’t think you’re going to make a dent in any operation here.”
Preston almost went apoplectic. “I may not be from the blue-blooded families of racing, but I have as much capital as anyone here.”
“I know you do, Stan.” Holt gestured at pit road. “However, I don’t think you have the passion and commitment to stay the course like Gil Sizemore and the other team owners show day after day, win or lose. I think racing is as much a plaything as that pro-baseball team you owned for one year. Once you got rid of all the high-priced players, the team started losing. You got bored, sold the team and moved on.”
He shrugged. “You can’t do that with a car-racing team. Too many people’s livelihoods are wrapped up in a team.”
He saw Emma-Lee skirt a group of men and head toward him. Time to come clean about his relationship with Preston—but later, when they could be alone. Then he would also tell the Sizemores, whose hospitality he’d been imposing upon.
What He Didn't Say Page 8
