by Abby Gaines
“I’d better give you our agenda for the day,” he said as he smeared the salsa on her sandwich. “Gil will be here in about half an hour, with a reporter from the Observer. She’s writing an in-depth feature about Double S Racing.”
Jen’s brown eyes widened. “You don’t need me for that, do you?”
“Believe it or not, the reporter has me pegged as the team’s wild card. Gil wants her to see my ‘more settled side.’”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “Won’t it just confirm her suspicions when you and I break up after Richmond?”
“The article will be out by then.” She definitely had the nicest-looking mouth Eli had seen in a long time, he thought, as that bottom lip caught again. “We should probably throw in a PDA or two,” he said casually.
“PDA?”
“Public display of affection.” He reached across the island, caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You sure have soft skin for a gal who works on a farm.”
She didn’t reply, but this time it was a good silence—she appeared mesmerized by the movement of his thumb. Eli was finding it pretty hypnotic himself.
What was wrong with him? Since when had touching a woman’s hand been a major turn-on? He’d been on this “good, clean living” kick too long, he thought, disgusted. With one early night after another, it had been the longest week of his life.
He pushed a plate with a sandwich across to Jen, then carried his own around the island. He sat on the stool next to hers.
“After the interview, Cara Stallworth will take you shopping for a dress for tonight,” he said. “She’s married to Jeb Stallworth, another driver. You’ll like her.”
“I brought a dress with me,” Jen protested.
“This charity gala will be a black tie, red-carpet affair,” he explained. “There’ll be some pretty fancy duds. I want you to feel comfortable.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Don’t worry, I’m paying—this is on top of the ten grand.”
She frowned. Had she forgotten this was a business arrangement? Uh-oh. After a moment, she nodded, to his relief.
“Then you have a haircut with Rue Larrabee at the Cut ’N’ Chat,” he said briskly.
“If anyone needs a haircut, it’s you,” she said.
That was more like the Jen he knew. He grinned. “Are you kidding? My hair’s practically a sex-symbol trademark.”
She snorted, reassuring him further.
“Most of the women there tonight will have had their hair done specially,” he said.
“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. She squinted. “But don’t even think about suggesting colored contact lenses.”
He laughed, the tedium of the week falling away. “There’s something I should tell you, chickadee. I don’t wear contacts.”
She set her sandwich down on her plate. Swallowed. “That’s…your real eye color?”
He nodded. She leaned forward, peering into his eyes.
“I feel like such an idiot.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks and it made her look cuter than ever.
“An easy mistake to make,” he said graciously.
He might have guessed she’d take it more seriously.
“I could have asked Gil about your eyesight problems any time last weekend,” she fretted. “What would he have thought?”
“Same as I do, that you’re a little odd.”
She swatted him. Eli grabbed hold of her hand, held it in place, a small, warm caress against his bare forearm.
“What else should I know about you?” she asked.
“Hmm, let me think.”
She tensed as he dabbed a finger against a smidgeon of avocado at the corner of her mouth.
“I have all my own teeth and hair,” he said.
She laughed, the sound fading as he transferred the avocado to his own mouth. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he seldom was where women were concerned, there was hunger in Jen’s eyes. The sooner they got to that kiss, the better.
“Eli,” she said, tugging her fingers free, “this weekend is more complicated than watching a race. You said yourself this reporter has an agenda where you’re concerned. I need to know more about you.”
Eli lifted the top off his sandwich and shook salt over it. “Like what?”
“Tell me about your family. Do any of them live here with you?”
“It’s just me.” He remembered how small her grandfather’s house was. This showy, glass and concrete palace made it look even tinier.
“Most of the drivers have places like this,” he defended himself. “I don’t own it, I have a one-year rental agreement.” Another fact it would be useful for her to know before the interview. She was right, he should have briefed her better. “I might try Mountain Island Lake next. Chad and Zack Matheson live out there.”
Her forehead creased. “Surely you can afford to buy a house?”
“What’s the point when I’ll likely want a change a year or so down the track?”
“Most people want a home of their own.”
“Home,” he said, “is overrated.”
He could tell he’d shocked her, but she didn’t say anything, just held her sandwich away from her mouth and inspected it as if she expected to find a bug. Fine by him; he didn’t want to argue.
“So where do your parents live?” she asked.
He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “They died when I was a kid. Car accident. I’m an orphan, like you.”
“Eli, that’s awful.” She looked more upset than she had when she’d told him about her own parents.
He lifted one shoulder. “It happened…nothing I can do about it.”
“So who did you live with after they died?”
He didn’t want to dig that up now. “Who didn’t I live with?” he quipped. “Mom and Dad left me well provided for financially, and I had plenty of relatives willing to do their bit. But it was hard for anyone to commit to a permanent addition to the family. I moved around.”
She flushed. “That’s why you had multiple ninth-grade English teachers. You weren’t expelled.”
“I’m not as reprehensible as you’d like to think,” he agreed.
She tilted her head to one side, her eyes warm with concern. “Oh, Eli.”
“Don’t even think about getting on a ‘poor Eli’ kick,” he warned. “I learned to make friends quickly, and walk away without a backward glance when I had to. I learned that whether you’re in a good situation or not-so-good, there’s always another opportunity ahead. Lessons that have served me well.”
“I see.” A piece of bacon had fallen onto her plate. She popped it into her mouth, reminding Eli about that kiss again. Dammit, everything she did reminded him of the kiss.
“Did anyone teach you that loyalty, the ability to stick around when things get tough, is important?” she asked. “That anything worth having is worth fighting for?”
“I know all that,” he said dismissively. Apart from racing in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series, he couldn’t think of anything much he’d fight for.
She wiped her lips with a paper napkin—the kiss again, dammit!—and said slowly, deliberately, “Did anyone teach you they would love you through thick and thin?”
He jolted back in his seat, her words a slap in the face.
“Stop it,” he ordered.
“Stop what?”
“You’ve got that crusading look in your eye, like when you’re lecturing me about contraception or my responsibility to my unborn children. I know everything I need to about…about relationships.” He was damned if he was going to talk about love with her. It was the one word he assiduously avoided with his real dates and it was even more off the table with a fake girlfriend.
“I have friends in every county in a fifty-mile radius,” he said. “The reason you’re here, don’t forget, is because I have too many people in my life.”
“Fans who wouldn’t look twice at you if you weren’t a NASCAR driver.”
Dammit, she had a nerve. Eli clattered their pl
ates together, taking the opportunity to break eye contact as he cleared them away. “More than a few of those women think I’m charming in my own right.”
“You’re very charming,” she agreed. “Tell me, Eli, what happens when you’re not charming? Who’s going to stick around when you don’t have your own teeth and hair?”
He recoiled.
“Because that’s what matters,” she said.
“That’s what matters to you.” He regained his equilibrium, slanted her a flirty smile. “What matters to me is enjoying the moment. Which, frankly, chickadee, you’re making difficult with all this girl-talk.”
“You don’t think knowing you’re loved would make even the most ordinary moment more enjoyable?” she persisted. She had the nerve to look sorry for him, nibbling on the corner of one thumbnail.
Eli staged a yawn. “Shucks, chickadee, what would a guy like me know about ordinary moments?”
GIL AND THE REPORTER, Marion Galton, arrived five minutes ahead of schedule.
Jen sat next to Eli on the couch for the interview, his arm slung along the back of the cushion so that his fingertips rested on her shoulder, their caress as light as a summer breeze.
His touch distracted her from processing their earlier discussion—she wouldn’t be surprised if that was the whole point. She’d learned that somewhere beneath the flirty, flighty Eli Ward, the real Eli Ward was carefully fenced-off. Because the real Eli Ward was vulnerable.
If he’d been attractive to her before, discovering he had hidden depths made him truly, ironically irresistible. Just like the magazine said.
Marion, the reporter, was firmly focused on the superficial. Her eyes raked Eli with a blatancy that would have been questionable had their genders been reversed.
“So, how did you two meet?” she asked.
Eli trotted out the story they’d agreed on. His index finger drew lazy circles on Jen’s shoulder, but she sensed a latent pressure. He was annoyed by her breaching his defenses.
Too bad. Because the real Eli Ward took intriguing to a new level.
“Very romantic,” the woman cooed when he finished. “Are you two serious?”
“We’ve only just reconnected,” he said. “Ask me again in a couple of months.” By then, of course, her article would have been printed.
“If you two are still dating in a couple of months, I won’t need to ask,” the woman joked. “That would be a record for you.”
Eli’s mouth tightened. “The length of my past relationships isn’t relevant to this interview.”
Jen couldn’t agree more. Besides, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the lack of permanent relationships in his youth had made Eli commitment-shy. All those women, all those connections made on the basis that it wouldn’t hurt when they were severed.
“What about the length of your professional relationships?” Marion asked.
Eli paused. “I’m not sure what your question is.”
Marion leaned forward. “Is it true you’re looking for a new ride? That you’ve been interviewing with other teams?”
CHAPTER NINE
THE SILENCE WAS ABSOLUTE…and rapidly turning grim.
Gil might have been made of granite, for all the expression he showed.
Eli’s gut churned. He had to answer the question. Even if it was to refuse to answer. A giveaway in itself.
Then Jen took his hand. Laced her small fingers through his. Squeezed.
It was as if he’d been given permission to breathe.
Eli let out a little air. Sucked some more in. Not enough, but it helped.
“You spoke to Taney Motorsports, I believe?” Marion prompted. “And Fulcrum Racing?”
A hiss from Gil, which the reporter noticed. His boss would be furious with himself for betraying his anger. Eli should never have told Gil how much he admired Fulcrum.
“Marion, are you aware of Eli’s personal motto?” Jen asked.
His head jerked around. She squeezed his fingers again.
“Seize the Day,” she said. “Carpe diem.”
That was it, the Latin words. Eli felt a sneaking sense of pride in his fake girlfriend, which didn’t make a lot of sense.
“Your point is?” the woman asked.
“You might also know that last year Eli had more top-five finishes than any previous Cup rookie,” Jen continued. Someone had been doing her homework. For a woman who cherished the dream of an ordinary life, she sure as hell was unpredictable.
“He also had a higher than average number of DNFs.”
Jen waved away Eli’s Did Not Finish record. “You don’t get that close to the checkered flag that often unless you know how to seize the day. Strategy only goes so far.”
Eli recognized one of Gil’s favorite lines, and glanced at his boss. Gil’s mouth was set in a forbidding line.
“Eli’s impetuous,” Jen said. “He goes with his gut. Mostly it pays off. Sometimes, though, he gets ahead of himself.”
Where was she getting this stuff? Which coincidentally happened to be true. He thought about interrupting her, but anything she said had the advantage of not being official team comment. He or Gil could “correct” her later.
The reporter was scribbling notes to back up her recorder. Eli hoped that was a good thing.
“Fact is, Gil’s a demanding owner who expects a lot of his drivers. He makes it clear they need to deliver results,” Jen said. Oh, crap! She was all but admitting Gil had threatened to fire him!
Marion’s face brightened. “So you’re saying Eli’s poor results this season—”
“I’m saying Eli’s nature dictates he’ll do whatever he needs to in order to drive in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series.”
Damn. They’d skated close enough to the edge. Eli took over. “Gil Sizemore gave me the break I needed to move into Cup racing,” he said. “If I can meet his standards, I can meet anybody’s. But I hope to keep meeting the Double S standard for a long time.”
He’d put the blame for any future career change squarely in Gil’s court.
“Eli and I are on the same page,” Gil said.
Eli wondered if the woman realized that wasn’t a promise not to fire him. Gil was saying he needed to improve his driving.
After some more roundabout discussion, the reporter left. When Eli returned to the living room from showing her out, Jen and Gil were engaged in a stand-off in front of the empty fireplace. Jen’s hands were fisted on her hips.
Gil swung to face him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right now.”
“Gil!” Jen darted forward, inserting herself between them. “I don’t want to tell you how to run your business—”
“Then don’t,” Gil said, managing to sound both menacing and the complete gentleman.
Jen ignored him. “But I can tell you, when chickens feel unsafe, they stop laying, they stop gaining weight, they stop doing any of the things they should.”
“Chickens?” Gil echoed, at the same time as Eli.
“You have got to stop threatening Eli,” Jen chided him. “Some people react well to stress. Eli doesn’t.”
What the—? “I’m not a chicken,” Eli protested.
“That’s true,” she said. “Every chicken I know is braver than you.”
Which at least produced a spurt of laughter from Gil.
“I understand you’re from a close family,” Jen said to Gil. “You have no idea what a difference that makes to your confidence.”
“Eli has plenty of confidence,” Gil said, but he sounded less aggressive.
“He’s confident he can take care of himself,” Jen agreed. “You need him to be confident in the team so he can focus on winning, not on where he’s going to be working tomorrow.”
“Butt out, Jen,” Eli warned. He could fight his own battles. Gil wasn’t dismissing her views—which probably meant he’d be sending Eli to a shrink next week.
“Someone has to stand up for you,” she said.
“I’ll
echo Eli’s sentiment, if not his word choice,” Gil said coldly. “Eli’s employment is between me and him. And right now, it’s hanging by a thread.”
Eli felt chilled to the bone. How dare Jen poke her nose into his life, make things worse by blabbing to that reporter about the tension between him and Gil?
She’d way overstepped the mark. The women he dated knew the score: keep it light, keep it brief, move on.
This fake relationship is so over. He was better off without her. They would get through tonight’s gala, then he’d tell her the bad news. You’re dumped.
“JEN?” ELI RAPPED on the guestroom door. “You ready?”
He’d thrown on his tuxedo in two minutes, and been waiting for Jen ever since. He glanced at his watch. What was taking so long?
“Coming.” Her voice was muffled.
Eli scowled at the closed door. He hadn’t seen her since Cara had turned up to take her shopping. Smart lady that she was, Cara had discerned the strain between him and his so-called girlfriend—she’d put a protective arm around Jen, who she didn’t even know, and given Eli a look through narrowed eyes.
He couldn’t exactly tell Cara that Jen had psychoanalyzed him in front of a reporter, scolded his boss and accused Eli of being a fraidy-cat.
He couldn’t tell anyone how mad he was, he realized. As Jen said, the people around him were there for the good times.
Dammit. “Hurry up, Jen,” he called. The later they arrived at this shindig, the more of an entrance they would make, and right now he had a strong preference for a low profile. He hoped Cara had found Jen a nice outfit. Preferably one that didn’t involve a ball cap, cute though she looked in those things.
She’s not cute, she’s the demon girlfriend from hell.
The bedroom door opened.
A hundred words fired through Eli’s mind and not one of them was cute.
Sexy, gorgeous, amazing…
“What’s wrong?” In a pose that was purely provocative but also, he’d bet, a hundred percent unintentional, Jen rested one arm on the doorjamb.
The movement drew his attention to her curves in the peach-colored dress that clung in the kinds of places his mind wasn’t meant to be exploring. “I…uh…” he said, his mouth dry.
