by Roz Lee
“What were you doing out there?” she asked.
“Racing.”
“Is that what you call it? Because if it is, you and I have a different definition of the term.” Her hands were fisted on her hips and her ponytail swished from shoulder-to-shoulder as she paced the small lounge.
“Wrecks happen, Caro. You know that.”
“Yes, they do, but you don't have to make them happen, Dell. This one was your fault. You were driving crazy.” He opened his mouth to argue, but her raised hand stopped him. “Don't argue the point. I was there. I saw it all. You shouldn't have been trying to pass in that situation. It couldn't be done. And don't tell me your spotter didn't tell you the same thing, because he did.” She was something to see, pacing the lounge like a caged animal, venting at him in that singsong voice of hers. Dell wiped the smile from his lips as she turned back in his direction.
“Can I say something?” he asked.
“No. You can't, Dell. I don't want to hear anything you have to say unless it's that you won't do it again.” She stopped her pacing. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath before she continued. “We're hauling home scrap metal, Dell. Scrap metal.” Her voice rose an octave on the last two words. “We'll have to take the backup car to Phoenix, and God knows what you'll drive if something happens to that car during practice or qualifying. At this rate, we'll have to drag the show car out of retirement.”
She paused, and Dell thought she might be expecting him to say something now, but he didn't have a clue what that might be. He'd done his job. He drove the car – and tried his best to be a contender.
“Well,” she said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Look, Caro, I did what you hired me to do. I drove the car. If you don't like the way I did it, then you should have hired someone else.” Her cheeks turned pink and her lips turned white. Dell continued. “You knew what you were getting when you hired me. If you want a mouse behind the wheel, put Wilson back in the car. He won't wreck, but he won't win either. You said you wanted to win: well, that's what I was trying to do. The only way to win is to lead the pack, and to do that, you have to pass cars.”
“I know that, Dell,” she said. “I'm not stupid. I know you have to pass cars to win, but Dell, you took too many risks. It was only a matter of time before you wrecked.”
“What are you so pissed about? I don't get you, Caro. Do you want me to race or not?”
“I want you to race, Dell. But I want you to listen to your spotter and your crew chief. This is a team sport, Dell. T.E.A.M. No I's in the word team.” She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Don't forget it.”
He couldn't help it. He laughed. She was too damned cute in her fire suit, her face flushed with anger and that damned ponytail swinging like a pendulum, tempting him to grab it and yank her head back so he could kiss her. Whoa! He yanked his thoughts back instead. He shouldn't be thinking about kissing Caro Hawkins. Not now. Not ever. The conversation he overheard in the bar popped into his mind. Kissing Caro would be way out of line.
“What's so funny?”
Dell sobered. “Nothing,” he said. “Look, I don't know what to tell you, Caro. I drive to win. I'm not going to sit back and let the other drivers decide where I finish. I'm the only one who gets to do that.”
“What part of team sport do you not understand?”
“I understand what you're saying, but you have to understand too. I'll listen, but I'm the one driving the car. I'm the one who decides what risks to take. No one else.”
Caro stood toe-to-toe with him for a long, silent moment. She stepped back. Her shoulders slumped and her body seemed to shrink. She dropped onto the sofa that took up one wall, and turned tired eyes on him. “Are you trying to kill yourself, Dell? Is that what this is all about for you? Is that why you drive the way you do?”
Dell froze as her words hit home. Was that what he was doing? No. No. He was only trying to win. He stood there, his gaze locked with hers as he considered her question. It was stupid. Completely off the wall, and so far off base he could never tell her the truth. He searched for words to counter with and found none. Instead, he strode to the door and stopped with his hand on the latch. “We'll win in Phoenix,” he said. He pushed the door open and left, having said all that needed to be said.
* * * *
Caro closed her eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. Repeat.
This wasn't working out the way she'd planned. She'd gone from a driver who the other drivers wouldn't let finish the race, to a driver who would either win or wreck – all on his own. She counted to ten before opening her eyes. She had no one to blame but herself. Hiring Dell was her idea. Admittedly, it might not have been the best one she'd ever come up with, but damnit, Dell Wayne could drive a racecar. The last three seasons, notwithstanding.
She needed to think, analyze. Find a way to fix this.
As she made her way through the pedestrian tunnel to her car, she considered her predicament. She hired Dell for a reason – not just because he was the only seasoned Cup driver available, and certainly not because he was hot in a fire suit. And lord knew, the man looked like sin in that suit. No, she hired Dell because she needed the driver he was during his first year in the Cup competition, not because of the driver he was today. That first year, she saw something unique in him. It was difficult to pinpoint the difference between his first season and all the rest, but there had been something special about Dell's driving that year. Brilliant, came to mind.
That's what it was. He'd been brilliant. Not overly aggressive, not a patsy for every bully on the track as Wilson had been, but consistent, and methodical in his pursuit of victory.
That's the driver she wanted. He was in there somewhere. She just had to find him and convince him to drive for her. That Dell Wayne would establish Hawkins Racing as a leader in the sport. There was only one problem – she needed to find the one she wanted, before the one she had, bankrupted her. And she didn't have a clue how to go about it.
* * * *
It was his day off. Hawkins Racing didn't have the monster PR machine of some race teams, so his day off was actually a day off. No public appearances, no photo shoots, no interviews. Just time.
Time to think. And the one thing on his mind was Caro Hawkins. Ever since she appeared on his doorstep, he'd spent way too much time thinking about her. Most of his thinking fell more in the realm of fantasy, but damn, he couldn't get her off his mind. She was a puzzle he wanted to solve. She was smart – always had been, but now she was educated smart. One week with the team and it was clear, Caro called the shots. The woman wasn't a figurehead owner. She knew racing. She knew racecars, and she wasn't afraid to get grease under her fingernails.
She single-handedly ran the office too. Not that he knew a damn thing about business, but running a race team was hard work. There were sponsors to appease, contracts, parts and supplies to order, not to mention personnel to manage and a payroll. Throw in all the NASCAR paperwork and there was enough work to keep an army busy. So, while he had a day off, Caro didn't.
He entered through the front office rather than the garage. One thing Caro didn't scrimp on was the crew. She employed engineers, technicians, engine builders, mechanics, and a half dozen other specialized people to build her cars. They didn't need him hanging around, getting in their way. Caro was another thing.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. Man, he hated to see Hawkins Racing like this. When he was a kid, this place overflowed with people. He loved coming here with Caro, hanging out, basically getting in everyone's way. He'd stare at the trophies in the cases, and bug anyone who would take the time to talk to him, from the receptionist to the engine builders. Even Caro's dad. Stewart Hawkins always seemed to have time to say something nice to him, but he'd also threatened to tan his hide a few times. Dell smiled. Some of his best childhood memories were in this place, and most of them included Carolina.
“Hi,” he said, pausing
in the door to her office. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the jamb. “How's it going?”
“I'm busy, Dell,” she said without looking up from her work. “It's your day off – go away.”
“I thought you could use some help.” If he stayed home, he'd be thinking or drinking, and he didn't want to do either one. He'd rather sit on his ass and watch Caro work than spend another day alone.
“The only help I need is to be left alone.”
Dell ignored her, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He picked up a stack of forms and thumbed through them. “I can do these,” he said, holding up the standard parts orders awaiting approval.
Caro dropped her pen and sat back with a sigh. “Look, Dell. I hired you to drive. This,” she swept her arm over her paper-covered desk, “is my job.”
“I'm not saying it isn't, Caro, but I haven't got anything else to do today. Let me help you. I think I can manage to order parts without screwing up.”
“Give me those,” she put her hand out and wiggled her fingers. Dell laid the papers in her hand. She stacked them on the corner of her desk, out of his reach and shuffled through another stack. In a minute, she handed him a folder. “Here. These are the travel arrangements for Phoenix. Go in the other room and call the hotel, the airport shuttle service on this end, car rentals in Phoenix, and the helicopter charter for race day. It's all in the folder. If I've reserved it, verify it.”
“Really? This is what you want me to do?”
“Really, Dell. It needs to be done. The car and your motor home leave tomorrow. The drivers need a place to stay when they arrive. The crew flies out Wednesday. They aren't going to be happy if there aren't hotel rooms for them, and I won't be happy if I have to sleep in your motor home at the track. And if I sleep in your motor home, you won't be. Does that clear things up for you?”
He'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes as soon as he walked in, but there was a strain in her voice too, as if she were holding on by a thread. Dell stood, folder in hand. “I'll be in the other room.” It was a job for an intern, but Caro didn't even have one of those, so Dell sat at the desk intended for a secretary and opened the folder. A few phone calls wouldn't kill him.
More than once over the next hour, he wondered why he'd come. He'd sneak a peek at Caro, her head bent to her work and her shoulders slumped in fatigue and something would twist in his gut, then he'd go back to his phone calls.
She was working too hard. A race team was too much for any one person to run on their own. Even a team this size needed support personnel, people who did this kind of stuff – phone calls, reservations, ordering, scheduling appearances. Caro was trying to do it all on her own, and it was too much. On top of that, she was overseeing the garage as well. Hell, she was doing the work of at least half a dozen people, and Dell was going to find out why…as soon as he found her.
She'd disappeared while he was on the phone with the hotel where the pit crew would be staying in Arizona. He checked the other offices, ones he remembered being staffed back in the day. He found her in the garage, dressed in a pair of clean coveralls, arguing about an adjustment on the new fuel injection system now in use. Dell stood back and listened as she patiently, but firmly told the engineer what she wanted done, and why.
“He didn't have enough power to win last week, Charlie. If you make the adjustment, the engine will run better, and Dell might have a chance of winning in Phoenix.”
“But, Ms. Hawkins –”
“Just do it, Charlie. I know what I’m talking about, and if it doesn't work, feel free to tell everyone it was my idea and you were only following orders.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said.
“Good. I want this engine in the car and the test run done before we close up today. It has to be on the road tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma'am, I'm aware of the time constraint.”
Caro turned and saw him standing in the doorway. She raised one eyebrow at him.
Dell raised his hands in defense. “Hey, don't look at me. I'm all for anything that will squeeze more RPM out of an engine.”
“You should be.” She pushed past him and Dell moved a bit to let her pass. “I expect you to win in Phoenix.”
“And I plan to. I always race to win,” he said to her back as he followed her down the hall, watching her ponytail swish side-to-side. He was imagining it doing the same thing while she rode him, naked and flushed with passion.
“That's why I hired you.”
“Will he make the adjustment?” Dell asked.
Caro stopped and turned to him. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I have no idea. I could stand over him and watch, but there's no guarantee he wouldn't change it back as soon as I left anyway, so you'll have to tell me after your practice runs. If he made the adjustment, you should have more power: if not, this engine will be identical to the one you ran last week. Even if you hadn't wrecked, you wouldn't have won. The car wasn't a winner, even on a short track. You've got to have more power to be competitive at Phoenix.”
“I agree, but so you know, I race to win, even if I don't have a prayer.”
“Well, if Charlie makes the adjustment I asked for, you'll have a prayer in Phoenix.” She turned and walked away. Dell watched her backside sway side-to-side, wondering when he'd found coveralls so enticing. Never, was the answer. Of course, he'd never seen a pair filled out so nicely either. And he was dying to get his hands on her hair. He imagined some kind of secret pin hidden in there, and if a man were to find it, and pull…a cascade of silky blonde hair would come tumbling down….
He shook his head to clear it. Damn, he shouldn't be daydreaming about taking her hair down, or how those hips of hers would feel swaying against his, or how much fun it would be to peel the zipper down on those coveralls and kiss every inch of bared skin. He was pretty sure she wore them over her office clothes, but what if…? His little brain filled in the missing image of soft, pale skin, creamy breasts covered in something lacy and utterly feminine, something that matched the scrap of panties he'd have to slide his hand inside her coveralls to get to. Footsteps behind him snapped him out of his erotic, and completely inappropriate daydream.
Dell slipped into the first open door he found and leaned against the wall of the supply closet, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Caro had enough troubles without everyone in the place knowing her driver sported a hard-on for her. Pine cleaner and musty mop odor worked surprisingly well as an antidote to lust, and after a few minutes, Dell left the closet. He grabbed the travel folder Caro had given him and returned it to her office where she was, once again, in her prim Junior. League outfit, hunched over her desk. Not that she wasn't sexy as hell in that get-up, but in those coveralls…
Dell caught a glimpse of them hanging on a coat rack in the corner and quickly shifted his gaze back to the woman behind the desk before his mind filled in the details again. He dropped the folder on her desk. “I confirmed everything.”
“Thanks, Dell. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, but is there a reason we don't have return plane tickets from Phoenix?”
“Oh!” she said. She pawed through another stack of papers and came up with another folder. “I forgot to tell you – we're going straight to Las Vegas from Phoenix. It will give us a few extra days to test the new car before practice begins for the race the following week. I've already made arrangements to get the new car there.”
“What's to test?” he asked.
“Everything. There isn't a used part on it – all brand-spanking new.”
“I'll look forward to it then.”
She held out the folder in her hand. “Good. Then you won't mind confirming the reservations for Las Vegas.”
Dell laughed as he took the folder. “Damn. I set myself up for that one, didn't I?”
“Yep, you did. Now go make phone calls. I have work to do here.”
CHAPTER SIX
Caro pretended t
o work as Dell left her office, folder in hand. Good lord! Why wouldn't he go away? Dell Wayne was a distraction she didn't need. It was bad enough he looked like sin in a fire suit and drove like a demon, but Dell in tight jeans and a T-shirt was more than any woman should have to deal with. If there were any doubt whether racecar drivers were athletes, one look at Dell dressed like that, and the naysayers would shut up. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the man, and his body-hugging clothes outlined every hard muscle.
Ever since the night she went to his home to offer him the job, inappropriate thoughts about peeling his clothes off and touching every sculpted muscle she found, ran through her mind on an endless loop that kept her on edge, and horny. Denial was pointless. Dell Wayne was too luscious, too damned hot for words. He made her want and need things she'd been successfully ignoring for a long time.
Caro stared blankly at the parts order in front of her. Focus. She needed to concentrate on her work. The garage couldn't function without parts and tools, and she was going to be on the road for at least the next two weeks.
Two weeks. On the road. With Dell. She gave a moment's consideration to booking a different hotel from the one where he would be staying, but this close to race day there wouldn't be a decent room available within a hundred miles of Phoenix. She'd simply have to keep her distance. Just because they would be in the same hotel didn't mean she had to see him any more than absolutely necessary. Besides, he probably had women in every city on the circuit, and if he didn't, he wouldn't have any trouble finding one, or one hundred.
Moreover, she reminded herself, there were enough rumors going around about the state of their relationship, and there was no reason for her to add fuel to them by being seen with him outside the garage. She smirked as she signed the purchase order for the parts and moved on to the fuel and tire requisitions. Did people think she didn't hear the comments they made behind her back? As soon as she walked into her first owner's meeting, the rumors began to fly about whom she was sleeping with, and why. The world of professional stock car racing was the original old boys' club, and few had any place for a woman among them. Much less one her age.
