by Roz Lee
She'd heard it all. She was too young. She didn't know cars or racing, or her head from a lug nut, even though she'd grown up on the racing circuit, hanging out in most of their garages at one time or another. She'd spent more time in the Hawkins Racing garage than in school in the days before her father sent her away. And as much as she hated those years away, they'd been a gift of sorts. They'd given her the freedom to learn everything she could about cars without her dad interfering. If she'd stayed, he would have controlled her access to the scientific and mechanical data she'd consumed like other underage kids did alcohol – and she'd done it all without her dad knowing a thing about it.
She was capable of providing knowledgeable input on the car's performance, and she had ideas that would make Hawkins engines run better. Convincing everyone else her ideas would work was going to be hard. And she'd never be able to do it if she were sleeping with her driver, or anyone else connected to racing in any way. From the NASCAR officials down to the pit crew, they were all off limits.
That meant her life was her work. Even if the company could afford the kind of staff it needed, Caro would still be here, putting in ridiculous hours by anyone's standards – because she had something to prove.
She needed to prove to NASCAR, to the fans, to her team and to herself her dad had been wrong. Maybe they were right to believe not just any woman could own and run a successful race team, but there was one woman who could. Caro Hawkins could. And she was going to prove it or die trying.
* * * *
Dell throttled up as he came out of turn three, only to throttle back down again as he made it into turn four. With the backstretch ahead of him, he throttled up again and made another run at the lead. Only twenty laps to go, and victory was within his grasp. The adjustments Caro ordered to the fuel injection worked. After four hundred and eighty laps, the car still purred like a kitten, and ran like a cat with a pitbull chasing its ass.
“Nineteen to go,” Caro's voice came through his headset. “We've made a good showing today,” she said.
“We're not through yet,” he countered. Not by a longshot. He'd be damned if he was settling for second when there was only one asshole between the checkered flag and him. It was all in the timing. He checked the fuel cell gauge and mentally calculated if he had enough to finish without pitting. He'd been getting good mileage all day – a benefit of Caro's adjustments. Tires were another thing. The new pavement here ate tires.
“Can somebody calculate the fuel for me?” he asked as he ticked another lap off. “I think I can make it if there isn't a caution, and if I don't have to make more than one run at the leader.”
“Calculating now,” Caro said. Dell waited. Finally, she came back on. “It's going to be close, Dell. If you had fresh tires…”
“I'm not pitting now. Five more laps and I'm making my move.”
“You don't have to do that, Dell. Hold your position,” Caro said.
“Behind you,” Jeff warned from the spotter's roost above the press box. “Closing fast.”
“Damnit,” Dell said as he jerked the wheel to the right to cut off the car making a bid for his track position.
“You need new tires, Dell,” Caro said.
“No new tires! I've got this,” he said. He held off the challenge for five more laps. As he came out of turn four into the front stretch, he throttled up and rubbed bumpers with the lead car. “Come on, asshole, move over,” he mumbled. The 15 car held his piece of track and Dell eased up against his bumper again. The lead car shot out ahead of him and Dell followed, kissing his bumper every chance he got. “Move it, lard ass,” he said.
“Dell, what are you doing?”
Dell ignored the panic in her voice and nudged the lead car again.”You wanted to win, Caro, this is how it's done.” He counted to ten and asked, “Laps?”
“Ten to go,” Russell said.
Dell continued his assault on the lead car, mentally noting the laps. “Tell me when we get to three,” he said to whomever was listening.
“Dell…” Dell ignored the warning tone and hit the lead car hard. The driver almost lost control, but managed to steer through it.
“Four,” Russell said.
One more. Dell concentrated on his next move. He saw the checkered line painted on the pavement in the front stretch as Russell confirmed three laps to go. Dell bided his time. Split seconds. Through turn one. Turn two. Throttle up into the backstretch. He dropped down to the inside – mere inches and pressed the nose of his car against the bumper of the lead car, and pushed.
He saw the driver of the lead car try to steer his car back into the groove of the track and fail. As soon as the left side of his car cleared the right side of Dell's, Dell throttled up and passed him for the lead.
“Two,” Russell said. “Hot damn, Dell!”
“Dell Wayne!” Caro yelled. “Are you crazy?”
Dell smiled. Damn straight he was. Crazy as a loon. “See you in Victory Lane, sweetheart.”
* * * *
Caro pasted on a smile for the cameras and said all the right things, but inwardly she was seething. Five hundred laps of insane driving, and Dell acted like he'd won. Well, he had a trophy, and the purse would keep them in business for a while longer, but he'd lived up to his Madman nickname. It was nothing more than luck that had him standing in Victory Lane, swigging champagne and locking lips with the Miss Double-D Cup. And his last stunt? Totally unacceptable. Thank goodness it had been Stillwell he challenged. A lesser driver would have spun out and taken out half the cars on the lead lap.
By the time they made it back to the hauler, Caro was ready to explode. “What the hell were you doing?” she asked. “Is that what you call driving? How many did you shove out of your way today? Six…? More?” She paced the small lounge because she had too much pent-up anger to sit.
“Are you complaining?” Dell asked from his prone position on the sofa. “I won. We won,” he amended. “Isn't that what you pay me for?”
She stopped her pacing and stared at him. God, he looked good, and she almost forgot why she was mad at him – then he ran his hands through his champagne-soaked hair and it all came back to her. “I'm paying you to drive, not to kill yourself.”
The words dropped between them like a stone. Dell stilled. Like an animal sensing its prey, he swung his feet to the floor and stood. He towered over her, and even though he had to be exhausted, he looked ready to take on the world. Or one petite female team owner.
“You know what's killing me, Caro?” he asked as he closed the distance between them. Caro held her ground. He smelled of stale champagne and sweat, with a hint of burnt rubber thrown in. It should have been nauseating, but to Caro, it was the smell of victory, however won. She lifted her eyes to his as he slid one foot between her splayed ones and pressed his body into her personal space.
“Lord knows dying on the track would be easier than keeping my hands off you every day.” He trailed one callused finger across her cheekbone, and down along her jaw to her chin to tilt her head back, telegraphing his next move with his firm touch. His gaze traveled from her lips to her eyes, giving her ample opportunity to say no, or to back away, but she couldn't.
His breath was hot against her face. His lips a mere inch from hers. “I'm going to die right here, Caro, if I don't kiss you.”
Her heart leapt against her ribcage and her last grain of sanity gasped for her to run, but died from lack of oxygen as he pressed his lips to hers. His lips were warm and firm, and his kiss was sweet, almost tentative at first. In all her wild imaginings, she never believed Dell Wayne could be so gentle.
She moaned.
That did it. Dell's hold on decency slipped from his hands and he filled them with Caro instead. His hand beneath her chin moved to cup the back of her head while the other one found her sweet ass in her fire suit and pressed her softness against his hardness. She moaned again and he devoured her mouth. She tasted better than any champagne, and beneath the smell of burnt rubber and ca
r exhaust clinging to her hair, was some flowery scent: beneath that, pure Carolina Hawkins.
Her lips were everything he dreamed they would be, and though he'd never been fire suit-to-fire suit with anyone before, he didn't want to let her go. She was the spark to his ignition and he went full throttle at her first moan. The little girl he'd played with as a child was all grown up and she had his lug nuts in a vise. He wanted her. And if the way she was kissing him back was any indication, she wanted him equally as much.
As he fumbled with the closure at the collar of her fire suit, he mentally checked off the steps to slipping her out of it altogether. Layers. Too many layers. The fire suit. Followed by the fireproof layer underneath, then…images of lacy undergarments flashed through his mind. Did she wear lace under all the protective gear? God, he hoped so.
He flicked her collar open and fumbled for the tab on her zipper, all without breaking the kiss. The zipper parted and his hand slid inside her suit. Undaunted by the Nomex undergarments, his fingers found skin. Hot, silky skin. He wrenched his lips from hers. Caro looked up, her eyes glazed with passion, her rosy lips wet and swollen. His gut clenched. He brushed his thumb across her stomach, watching her eyes for a cue to continue or stop. Everything in him screamed to take another lap, full throttle ahead, but this was Carolina Hawkins, and he wouldn't hurt her for anything, even for a victory lap.
“Touch me,” she said.
“You're sure?” he asked.
She shrugged one shoulder, then the other, and the top of her fire suit hung from the waistband. “I'm sure,” she said as she reached for the hem of the Nomex top and peeled it up to reveal his hands wrapped around her waist.
Dell swallowed hard at the sight of all that perfect alabaster skin. It was almost sacrilege to touch it with his callused hands, but he couldn't let go.
“A little help here, Dell,” she said, breaking into his reverie.
“Yeah, let's get this off.” He helped her lift it over her head and off without taking his eyes off the twin scraps of lace revealed in the process.
Before the Nomex hit the floor, his hands covered her breasts. The lace scratched his palms in contrast to the softness beneath. He squeezed both globes, and when she cried out, he groaned. “Beautiful, Caro. You are so fucking beautiful.”
“My turn,” she breathed. She fumbled with his collar. Dell helped her, and before he could decide if it were a good idea or not, his fire suit hung around his waist, and his Nomex undershirt joined hers on the floor. He was on fire, and there wasn't a suit in the world that could protect him from the flames licking his insides. He burned for this woman. Rational or not. Sane or not. It didn't matter.
Caro flattened her palms against his chest and Dell ignited. He framed her face between his hands and brought her lips up to his. Her hands explored. His lips conquered. Desperate to taste her, he used his thumbs to tilt her head back and trailed hot kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and to the swell of her breasts above her bra.
Her skin smelled like roses and tasted like cream. He wanted more. He hooked a finger in the top of one lacy cup and jerked down. One sweet, ruby nipple popped free and he took it in his mouth. Caro moaned and one small hand cradled the back of his head, holding him to her while the other slipped around his waist. The bite of fingernails in his back sent a bolt of lightning to his groin.
He managed to free the other breast and shifted his attention to it, testing the weight of the first in his hand. Nothing had ever tasted, or felt, like this. Like his Carolina. Sweet. Hot. Magnificent. Perfection.
His head pounded, muffled by the roar of blood past his ears on its way south. Caro's fingers tightened in his hair and she tugged hard, dislodging him. He cursed and pulled her close with a hand at her back. He wasn't through. He'd never get enough of her unique taste.
“Dell,” she said. The urgency in her tone and the sharp tug on the back of his skull got his attention. Blood still rushed past his ears, his scalp hurt, and the pounding – was coming from outside his skull. “Someone's at the door. We have to…”
“Get dressed, Caro,” he finished for her. He grabbed the undershirts off the floor, handing her one as he jammed his arms into his suit.
“Be right there,” he called to whomever was at the door. Thank God, whoever it was had the decency to knock instead of barging in. He zipped his suit and fisted his undershirt in his hand. He helped Caro fasten her collar back in place, and when she was all dressed, he dipped his head for one last kiss.
“We aren't through,” he said, liking the flush on her cheeks and the way her lips looked after he tasted them. “Come in,” he called.
Caro turned her back to the door, grabbed the race book from today's race and began to study it as the door opened. Russell stepped inside.
“The car passed inspection. We'll be loaded in a few minutes,” he said.
“Thanks, Russell,” she said without turning. “Is the chopper ready? Dell and I need to get back to the hotel so we can get cleaned up and on the road.”
“Chopper's waiting for you. I've got a cart outside to take you to it.”
Dell moved to the door. “Thanks, Russell. We'll be right there.”
Russell glanced from Dell to Caro and back again to the undershirt fisted in Dell's hand. He moved to the door. “Okay, then.”
Dell closed and locked the door. “You okay?” he asked.
Caro turned. Her lips were puffy and her cheeks still held a healthy glow from their encounter. “I'm fine. We need to go. It's a long way to Las Vegas.” She headed for the door and Dell blocked her way.
“We aren't through, Caro.”
“Yes, we are, Dell. We can't do this…you're a driver, and I own this team. It's not…we can't…”
He almost felt sorry for her, but if she'd felt half the passion he did, she had to know this wasn't something they could ignore. But he wouldn't push her to do something she wasn't ready to do. “Okay, Caro. We'll do this your way, for now. But we aren't through – far from it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Caro reached for the door latch, and Dell let her go. She'd never… Never felt anything like the toe curling, bone-melting heat that ravaged her body. Never dreamed she could want…need anything as bad as she wanted and needed Dell Wayne. Thank God, Russell came looking for them, or no telling how far she would have let it go. Even now, her breasts craved his touch, and other places ached for what might have been.
Wrong. It was so wrong. She wasn't stupid. Rumors flew around the race circuit faster than a car without a restrictor plate. You couldn't be a woman in a man's world, especially one as driven by testosterone as this one, and not be subject to improper conjecture: but there was no reason to add reality to the fiction. She. Would. Not.
She scooted to the far side of the bench as Dell climbed into the electric cart beside her. She. Would. Not. Touch him. No matter how badly her fingers itched to feel all those hard muscles again. Oh, God. Why did it have to be Dell Wayne?
The chopper ride to the resort north of Phoenix took a lifetime, and when she met Dell later for dinner, she realized cold showers were totally overrated. One heated look from those blue eyes of his, and every want, every need came rushing back, only hotter and more urgent than before. She took the seat across the table from him, determined to put as much distance as possible between them.
“We can't do this,” she said by way of greeting.
Dell lowered the menu in his hands and grinned. “Have dinner?” he asked.
“Don't be dense, Dell. You know what I'm talking about.”
“We haven't done anything,” Dell said, returning to his menu, “to my everlasting regret.”
“Regret all you want, but making a success of this team is my primary goal right now, and I'm not going to blow it for a quickie in the hauler.”
Dell lowered the menu again to look at her. The lazy grin was gone, replaced by a granite façade. “Two things, Caro.” He paused until she met his gaze. “One: I don't see ho
w our personal relationship has any bearing on whether Hawkins Racing succeeds or not. And two: what makes you think it was going to be a fast lap? I know when to go slow, and honey, we might have gotten off to a fast start, but there wasn't going to be anything quick about it, I assure you.”
Caro clutched her menu as if it might sprout wings and fly at any second. Dell's assertion didn't do anything to shore up her resolve, but she wasn't going to tell him. She put on her best “business etiquette” face and said, “To address your issues…Number one: there are enough people waiting for me to fall on my face, or at the very least, steer Hawkins Racing into the wall without making the rumors of sexual favors a reality. If you don't think I know about the track talk, think again. I know what they're saying about me, and I know if the rumors became true, I'd lose even more ground. I've got plenty to prove, Dell – to myself, and to everyone who has ever said a woman can't own a successful race team.
“Number two: I've seen no evidence to indicate you've ever done anything slow.” He opened his mouth to protest and Caro cut him off with a wave of her hand. He closed his mouth and she continued, using the opportunity to change the subject to the one they should be discussing anyway. “I don't know what's gotten into you, Dell Wayne, but you've got to rein in your impulses – on the track. You took too many chances today. Yeah, you won, but there were any number of stunts that could have ended badly for you and the car. You were lucky today – that's all. You didn't win because you were the best driver, or because you had the best car. You won because you were lucky.”
“If you think that, you don't have any business running a race team. You may have something to prove, Caro, and I don't mind you using me to do it, but I drive to win, and as long as I'm the one in the car, I'll decide how best to go about it.”
