by Roz Lee
“Someone gets injured, or dies,” she finished for him.
“Exactly.”
“I'm running Hawkins Racing now. I need a Cup driver. Someone the other drivers will respect. Someone who can win races.”
Dell studied her from his plush leather cocoon. She hadn't expected him to jump for joy, but she did hope he'd say something. His silence, this scrutiny from those blue eyes chipped away at the fragile wall of confidence she'd pinned her hopes on.
“What are you saying?” he asked – at last.
Air rushed back into her lungs. She tried to hide her relief behind what she hoped was an I-know-what-I'm-doing expression and plunged on. At least he was listening, instead of laughing his head off. She couldn't think of many drivers who would listen to a word she said. As far as most were concerned, she had two strikes against her: first – she was a woman: second – she was young. Too young, and too female to run a race team. She gulped in fresh air and laid her offer on the line.
“I want you to drive for me. For Hawkins Racing.”
No laughter. Not even a hint of amusement. Dell studied her some more and she did her best to keep still while every cell in her body squirmed.
“What about Jeff Wilson?” he asked.
A legitimate question. “You've seen him drive. He doesn’t have the confidence to compete at this level.”
“So, he's going to lose his ride?”
“If I can find someone to replace him, I'll move him down to a lower series or keep him on as a spotter. I'm hoping he can learn from you. He needs a mentor.”
“You've never seen me drive.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You were away at school. Television doesn't count. It's not the same as seeing it in person.”
“I saw you win at Pocono, what was it? Four years ago? I saw your fifth-place finish at Watkin's Glen. And your DNF at Pocono last year.”
“How? I can't imagine your dad was happy about you being there.”
“He didn't know. I bought a ticket and sat in the stands. A friend loaned me a car. As long as I brought it back with a full tank of gas and no dents, I was free to use it whenever I wanted to. I couldn't see all the races up north, but I made it to a few. Enough to know you're a good driver.”
“You don't know anything, Caro.”
“You're turning me down?”
“No. I didn't say that.”
Caro tried to repair her confidence that slipped several notches when she thought he was going to turn her down. She seized on his lack of refusal, deciding to treat it as a victory for her. If she acted like he'd accepted, he'd have to go along, or clearly state otherwise. She was counting on the former. “Good. Then…as soon as your suspension is over, I want you in the garage. I'll have the lawyers draw up a contract for you to sign, and I'll have a fire suit made up for you. Is there anything else you need?”
“Money?”
Caro hesitated. There was no avoiding the subject. She held the top of her purse in a white-knuckled grip and looked him in the eye. There wasn't any way to gloss this part over, and she couldn't bulldoze her way through it either. Her confidence slipped another notch. “I can't match what you were making. I can't even come close.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Negotiate. He wanted to negotiate. She could do this. Really, she could.
“I was hoping you would take a percentage of the winnings, and of course, the sponsor will be generous.”
One strong eyebrow lifted in tandem with one corner of his mouth. Caro braced herself for the belly laugh she'd been expecting ever since she voiced her proposal. “Meaning all the barbeque I can eat?”
“It's a bit more than that, but yes, all you can eat. I know Marvin's Barbeque Pit is a step down for you, but they're good people.”
“They know their barbeque too,” he agreed. “It's not like I need the money.”
Her heart rate sped up and her confidence level accompanied it. No, Dell Wayne didn't need money. He'd won enough races on his own to ensure a more than comfortable lifestyle for some time to come. Add Caudell Senior's estate to the bottom line, and Dell could sit on his ass for the rest of his life. She was counting on that being the antithesis of what he wanted.
“But you need a ride,” she stated.
“I need a ride, and you need a driver.”
“Good.” Relief poured through her and she loosened her grip on her purse. “I'll call you when the contract is ready.”
* * * *
Dell closed the door behind her and watched through the sidelight as Caro walked to her car. Who would have thought little Carolina Hawkins would grow up to look like that? When he opened the door and saw her standing on his porch, he thought he was hallucinating. He'd heard she was back, and running Hawkins Racing, but he hadn't seen her until tonight.
Damn. Now he understood some of the bawdy comments he'd heard around the garage. Caro had always been pretty, but she'd also been a tomboy – smudged with dirt and grease. She couldn't go five minutes without getting dirty.
She wasn't dirty tonight. Nope. Her classy clothes were spotless with that crisp, don't-even-try-to-guess-how-much-I-cost look about them. Her father had been right to send her away. She turned into a first-class lady, and a beautiful one too. When her taillights were out of sight, he shook his head and returned to the den and the six-pack he'd been working his way through when she came calling.
He opened another bottle and downed half in one long pull. The cold liquid did nothing to ease the ache in his groin or erase the image of Caro Hawkins' shapely ass from his memory. The skinny tomboy wasn't skinny anymore. She'd developed more curves than the track at Sonoma, and those legs… what he wouldn't give to see the full straightaway of those. Preferably wrapped around his hips, or spread on his bed. Then there was the thing she did with her hair. Some sort of tight coil intended to ward off the entire male population, but having the opposite effect. On Caro, it looked utterly feminine and screamed a challenge no human with a y chromosome could ignore. He had a sneaking suspicion if you got the hair to unwind, the prim little skirt she was wearing, and the silk blouse would disappear faster than a pit stop.
But he wasn't going to be the one to make it happen. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he agreed to drive for her. She was the boss, and Dell had never screwed an employer, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. No matter what.
Besides, this was Caro Hawkins. He'd raced her Big Wheel-to-Big Wheel when they were kids. He wondered if she still liked peanut butter and banana sandwiches and RC Cola or if her tastes were more sophisticated now, like the way she dressed. There wasn't much about the new Caro Hawkins that resembled the one he remembered, except those eyes, and those lips. He'd been barely old enough to start noticing those things when her dad sent her away.
He'd hated like hell for her to go, but seeing the way she turned out, it was a good thing. No one in the Hawkins' garage would have gotten a damned thing done with her around. Throwing all that brewing estrogen into a garage full of testosterone would have ignited one hell of a blaze. He wasn't entirely sure it wouldn't now. Sure, she was older, and presumably able to rein in her sexuality when need be, and now that she was the boss, even more off limits than when she was the boss' daughter.
That was crap. Everything about her was feminine, from her womanly curves to the intelligence in her eyes. Her presence would disrupt a garage full of eunuchs.
What the hell was he thinking? Did he want a ride that bad? He drained the rest of his beer and let his head drop against the back. No. He didn't want a ride that bad – he needed a ride that bad. The only time he was able to forget was when he was driving – fast. The faster, the better.
The NASCAR official accused him of being suicidal on the track. They didn't have a clue what they were talking about. On the track was the only time he wasn't suicidal. Behind the wheel of a stock car, he didn't have time to think about anything but self-preservation. Get distracted for a f
raction of a second, and it would be all over. That was enough to keep him focused on staying alive.
It was all the other times – like tonight – before Caro Hawkins showed up on his doorstep with her offer of salvation. Those were the times when his life was in danger – from himself. From his memories. Too much time alone with those memories messed with his head.
At least Caro had given him something else to think about tonight. His hand went to his fly and he wondered if she'd have this effect on him when he was driving. He'd never tried driving with a hard-on before. It would be a new experience. Dell laughed. At least it was something new to contemplate. Better than trying to solve the mysteries of the universe, or dwelling on a past he couldn't change or a future that didn't exist.
* * * *
Caro drove out of Dell Wayne's gated community and turned into the first strip-mall parking lot she came to. Parking underneath a light standard – safety first, even in this enclave of the extremely wealthy, she dropped her forehead to the steering wheel between her tightly clenched hands.
Holy cow. What had she done?
The racing world was going to have a field day with this. Hawkins Racing didn't need the kind of publicity Dell would generate – they only needed to win. And lord knew, she didn't need Dell Wayne. Want? That was something entirely different.
Caro pushed away from the steering wheel and peeled her fingers loose. A tap on her window had her almost jumping out of her skin. A uniformed officer peered at her, signaling with his index finger for her to roll the window down. She lowered the glass half an inch and asked to see his badge. Satisfied he was the real thing, she powered the window down the rest of the way.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Are you okay, ma'am?”
“I'm fine. I needed to…” stop shaking? “rest a minute,” she said. “It's been a long day.”
“You might want to switch off the engine, ma'am.”
“Yes, good point.” Caro turned the key and smiled back at the officer.
He asked a few more questions, and being convinced Caro was fine, he bid her a good evening and walked away. She waited until he drove off before she allowed herself to slump in her seat.
Caro took in a deep, calming breath. The first full one she'd taken since Dell opened his front door and she got her first, up close look at the adult version of the kid she'd known. The ratty T-shirt he wore should have been a turn-off, but the way the thin cotton stretched across those broad shoulders… and when he moved, it hinted at firm muscles everywhere else. It was hot. And those jeans that looked like they'd been washed a million times? Oh, dear lord. The denim was faded all over, but in just the right places – a white denim whammy to the gut. The man needed new jeans. Jeans that didn't draw attention to places she shouldn't be looking. Or thinking about.
It wasn't seemly for a boss to lust… look at an employee that way. Like he was the last hot biscuit in the pan, with butter and honey oozing all over it.
Caro swallowed hard and licked her lips. She wouldn't mind having a taste of Dell Wayne. Just one little lick. Maybe on his forearm. That would be safe enough. As long as she didn't stray to the crook of his elbow where the skin looked so… or his neck. Heaven forbid if she licked his neck. She'd have to get real close to do that. Bodies touching close. Close enough to feel what lay underneath that T-shirt and those jeans. And if that happened, one lick probably wouldn't be enough.
Tires screeched and an engine roared nearby. Caro's head snapped up, and so did reality. This was ridiculous, sitting in a parking lot, lusting after a man she couldn't have. He was her driver. Or he would be, as soon as she got his signature on a contract, and that couldn't come soon enough. She looked around, spied a Starbucks on the far end of the shopping center, and headed toward it.
She ordered a venti hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, and took a seat by the window. The chocolate went a long way to calming her nerves. She'd made the biggest business deal of her life, and arguably, one of the stupidest. What did she really know about Dell Wayne? He'd burst into the Cup series four years ago, touted as the up-and-coming driver by all the reporters. And then his father died.
Caro sipped the warm drink and tried not to dwell on the negative, though it was hard to ignore the facts. Dell had been suspended from NASCAR, and fired from Anderson Racing for a reason, and it wasn't because of his innovative driving. But even when Dell was living up to his nickname, Madman, there was something about the way he drove that hinted at the potential he'd once shown the world. Things rarely happened to Dell. Everything, even the crashes, appeared calculated, planned, instigated – by Dell himself.
She sighed, finished her drink and tossed it into the bin by the door on her way out. She had work to do. Contracts to draft, a sponsor to win over to her new driver, and a fire suit to order. Getting Dell into a fire suit was high priority. Then she'd only have to look at his face and his hands. Hands that didn't resemble the ones she remembered in the least. She groaned. She wouldn't think about his hands, or his long fingers, or how strong they had to be to control a racecar. Or what they would feel like on her skin. Rough. Competent. Hot.
Gloves. She needed to order gloves. And a helmet. With a visor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Whatever made her think a fire suit was a good idea? Caro eyed the man standing in her office in the brand new fire suit – complete with gloves. The red piping on black around the neckline and waistband accented his slim physique, and extended over his shoulders, down his arms and the length of his legs, drawing attention to his height. He flexed his fingers in the buttery leather gloves and her lady parts tingled. She ignored the ill-timed feeling. After a week of seeing Dell almost every day, she had lots of experience ignoring those feelings.
“Too tight?” she asked.
“No. It's perfect. You did good, Caro.”
“Your measurements were on file. I just told them what colors to use.”
“Well, it's all good. I appreciate it. The ride, I mean. The suit too.”
“You're welcome.”
“All's square with the sponsor?” he asked.
Caro tapped her finger on the contract in front of her. “Yep. They came by and signed the new contract this morning. They even increased their involvement to include free ice cream if you win.”
Dell's smile lit up the room, as well as a few other things. “Free ice cream. That's quite a commitment.”
“Laugh if you will, but they're stocking up on ice cream.”
His smile dimmed.” They have that much confidence in my ability?”
“Of course they do. Why wouldn't they?”
“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I've wrecked more than I've won in the last few years?”
“Or maybe they know what a good driver you are?”
“I'll try, Caro. That's all I can do.”
“It's all I'm asking, Dell.”
Caro admired his butt as he left her office. The man had it going on back there too. She frowned at his retreating backside. His body might be hot, but his personality ran hot and cold, and Caro never knew what to expect. One minute he was laughing about free ice cream, and the next, he was scowling and making excuses. He'd been moody as a kid, but never like this.
Caro tried to remember the adolescent Dell. As kids, they'd both had their disagreements with their dads. Caro's didn't want her in the garage, and Dell's didn't want him racing. Through it all, Dell was a happy kid – except those times he argued with his dad. Caudell Senior could be a hard man when he wanted to be, but Caro remembered him, if not fondly, respectfully. Like her dad, Caudell wanted what he believed was best for his only child, and it never occurred to him, said child might want something different. Both men were used to getting their way.
But Caro and Dell defied the odds, and look where they were. Well, look where Dell was. He was one of the best, while Caro still had a lot to prove. So why was Dell so quick to put down his abilities? Surely, he recognized his own talent.
When he was out of sight, Caro turned her attention to the new contracts. Once she announced Dell Wayne was going to drive for them, Caro received several sponsorship offers she had yet to consider. They weren't major offers, but a sponsor was a sponsor. Dell would be on the racetrack in a few days, and the more endorsements, the better. Caro was grateful her father's lawyer was still willing to look over the contracts: but as the new owner of the company, it was her duty to at least read through them. She looked forward to the day when she could afford to hire people to manage the office so she could spend more time in the garage. She understood the mechanical end of the business better than she did the business end.
Caro penned acceptance letters for two new sponsors. The contracts were small, but they were solid backing, just what she needed if Hawkins Racing was going to make it. Restoring the team to its former glory wasn't going to be easy, but Caro vowed to do it. If she could get a positive cash flow going, and perfect the new engine design she'd been working on for the last few years, Hawkins Racing would, once again, be a respected name in auto racing.
A knock sounded on her door. Caro looked up, grateful for the interruption. Russell stuck his head in.
“The hauler is ready to go. You wanna come talk to the crew?”
Caro rose, dropping her pen on the desk. “Sure. I'll be right out.” Russell nodded and shut the door behind him. Caro raised a hand to the back of her head and checked to make sure every strand was in place. The send-off was a race week tradition at Hawkins Racing, begun by her father, and continued by her. She grabbed her coveralls from the small closet behind her desk and slipped them on over her sand-colored linen slacks and cream-silk blouse.
The garage door was open, the hauler parked outside – ready to head out to Martinsville for the weekend's race. Caro smiled at the knot of mechanics, engineers and crew members standing beside the hauler. Most of them had been with Hawkins Racing for years and elected to remain so after her father's death. Some, she suspected, were hanging around to see how long it would take for her to do a face plant – something she had no intention of doing. Hawkins was once a respected name in racing, and Caro vowed to do everything in her power to make it one again.
