by Fox, Sutton
“Thank you, Winston.” Lacey smiled charmingly and winked at the waiter, who proceeded to blush to the roots of his salt and pepper hair. He smiled shyly at her and strode briskly away.
“Men. Such entertaining creatures, aren’t they?” Lacey laughed, the jovial sound inspiring everyone else to do the same.
“Mama, you shouldn’t tease him so,” Julia lightly chastised, with a smile in her voice.
“Oh, pish, posh. Lighten up, my dear. You’ve spent too much time in the city. There’s nothing wrong with harmless flirtation.”
Tyler strolled up to their group, crystal tumbler of dark whiskey in hand. “Lacey, you’re absolutely correct. There’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting. Where I’m from, it’s quite an art.”
His voice, soft and southern, flowed over Morgan like warm honey. It dripped slowly across every nerve, leaving a slithering trail of heat in its wake.
Amy stepped forward and rudely placed herself between Tyler and Morgan. The woman all but wrapped herself around him. Ah, so he’s what caught her attention. Morgan stepped back and turned toward the long, gleaming dinner table, refusing to give in to her rising bitch factor.
Just because she’d kissed a guy, didn’t mean she owned him. Didn’t mean she had a right to punch some snooty bimbo in the nose. Okay, being short meant she’d have to punch her in the stomach, but still, it grated on her.
Whoa. Back the truck up. She wasn’t meant for the couples’ scene. Josh had proven that. He’d told her so, on the last night of his life. He’d made a widow out of her, made her believe it in a way she’d never forget. Get over it, Blade.
A quick roll in the hay, maybe. But not long term commitment. What man would hang with a woman who traveled all over the country to more than seventy race dates a year? No man in his right mind.
She laughed quietly at herself. Traveling wouldn’t be a hindrance in another two months. She’d be bankrupt, and her family along with her. There wouldn’t be any racing unless she could win this contest or snag herself another ride.
“You’re from California, aren’t you?” Amy purred at Tyler. Her seductive tones wrenched Morgan from her troubled thoughts. “L.A., right?”
“I live there now. I’m moving back to the South so my daughter can attend school. Originally, I’m at home in Franklin, Tennessee.”
Lacey’s dulcet tones broke into the conversation, “Shall we make our way to the table everyone? If you’ll excuse me, I need to gather up Butch or he’ll never make dinner.”
*
Once he’d managed to pry Amy off his arm, Tyler tried to relax but found it impossible. Amy sat next to him, with Jim O’Bannon on her other side. Finally realizing he wasn’t interested, she turned her charms on Jim, thank God. If she couldn’t have a producer, wouldn’t a racecar driver fill the bill? He’d dated enough shallow women to last a lifetime. They just weren’t worth the effort.
Course after course of elegant food served by uniformed wait staff failed to hold Tyler’s attention or satisfy his appetite. What he hungered for sat across the table from him, laughing and joking with Julia Cameron.
Morgan glowed. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed at Julia’s jokes. Her bold red lips were the perfect frame for sparkling white teeth. The camera loved her.
Her skin, pale and luminous, looked soft and inviting. Tyler wanted to touch, ached to touch, the place just below her ear. Would it feel like silk? Would it smell like roses?
“Some women don’t know what it means to be a woman. They think acting like a man makes them tough. It just makes them stupid.” The sound of Jim O’Bannon’s voice scratched Tyler’s ears like nails on a chalkboard.
“So true,” Amy agreed, running her hand along the back of Jim’s chair, leaning in close to him and looking across the table at Morgan.
Tyler watched Morgan’s shoulders stiffen and her eyes light with brown fire as she glared at Jim. “What’s your problem, O’Bannon?”
“You think you’re so funny, putting that thing in my helmet this morning. You think you’re just great, don’t you?” Jim’s words spit pure venom back at Morgan.
“Oh, get over yourself. You’re the one who left it for me when I first started running this series. I’m just returning your gift. Can’t you take a joke, big man?” Morgan sniped at him, setting her glass on the table before leaning back in her chair.
Tyler watched the barb hit home. Jim wasn’t but an inch or so taller than she was. Jim flushed bright red and stood up so fast his chair fell over behind him. Fists clenched, he looked at Morgan.
All conversation ceased. The cameras rolled, capturing everyone’s expression from shock to delight.
This is perfect! It would make great television, Tyler knew. Why did it make him feel so slimy to know he was partly the cause of their anger?
He wondered how they’d feel if they knew he’d made the seating arrangements at the table. Deliberately putting Jim across from Morgan so he’d be reminded she’d made a fool of him.
Jim’s bio and his psychological evaluations said he perceived women as second-class citizens. It wasn’t something Tyler liked personally. He’d just looked for possible conflict when choosing contestants. If they were good at what they did and had some quirks, it worked.
So many times he’d done it. Manipulated people, found their weaknesses and exploited them. He was known around the globe for it. His conscience had never bothered him. Until now.
Tyler ignored the niggling little voice, watching Morgan’s reaction to Jim’s combative stance. Her voice soft, she looked around the table making sure she had everyone’s attention.
She leaned forward, picked up her wine glass and took a sip, smiling politely. “You’ll have to forgive Jim. The wine just goes to his head.” Everyone tittered with nervous laughter.
Jim pointed his finger at Morgan. “I won’t forget this, Blade. Your ass is done.”
Butch Cameron’s imposing figure rose from his end of the table.
“O’Bannon, that’s enough.” His commanding voice left no room for argument. Butch looked at Morgan and stared down the other contestants also, erasing their smiles.
“You know if you get a contract with this team, or any other FASPRO team, there will be a behavior clause. If you don’t understand what that means, we can discuss it after dinner.”
Tyler did his best to hold his own temper. Watching Jim rise from the table with clenched fists directed at Morgan made him want to break out his own can of whoop-ass. For one shining moment, he thought about how good it would feel to plow his fist into that sneering face.
Not bothering to pick up his chair, Jim stormed out of the room.
Tyler had gotten the reaction he’d hoped for. Something spicy that would help the ratings. He marveled at Morgan’s reaction to such an asshole. She came off looking smooth and cool, that’s for sure. He wondered just what it would take to get under her skin.
His problem remained. He didn’t feel good about his manipulations anymore. What if someone manipulated Annie like that? Somehow he didn’t think his boss would appreciate his change of heart.
Lacey signaled the wait staff and dessert was served. They quickly picked up the fallen chair, cleared away Jim’s place setting, and went on to serve coffee as if he’d never been there.
*
Her feet were killing her. Morgan didn’t make a habit of spending much time in stilettos, preferring her soft leather driving shoes. Impatient to get them off, she headed for the hauler, hurrying around the corner of the garage. Out of sight, she leaned against the building and slipped off her shoes. Ah, relief! Oh, footsteps. Hopefully it wasn’t spoilsport O’Bannon.
Black asphalt, rough on her bare feet, still held the heat of the day. It felt lovely on her aching feet. The humid night air made her skin tingle with warmth after being caged up in the air-conditioned dining room.
Tyler stepped around the corner as she picked up her shoes and started walking. “Mind if I walk with you?” His soft voice in the darkness
caressed her tired spirit.
Her heart beat just a little faster being close to him. The kiss they’d shared foremost in her mind, she answered slowly.
“Ah, okay, sure.”
They walked toward her hauler while stars twinkled overhead in the clear Carolina night. The smell of honeysuckle lingered in the air, carried along by a warm breeze.
“You sure were coolheaded tonight, dealing with Jim. How do you manage not to lose your temper?”
Morgan thought about her dad’s illness, Lily’s death and how much she missed the rest of her family. When things were in perspective, it wasn’t that hard really. Jim simply didn’t matter to her. He wasn’t worth wasting her energy on.
“It’s not a big deal. He’s just not worth getting my panties in a knot.” Oh, no. She’d said panties. What happened to her brain around this guy? Nothing like making it totally clear she’d been thinking about sex.
He laughed. She liked the sound of it. Deep and male, it rolled out, bringing a smile to her lips.
“I didn’t see Annie at the testing this morning.” She didn’t want to mention she’d noticed he hadn’t been around either. “It was probably a good thing, given the nature of my joke.”
“Yeah, probably so. She had a bad night and wasn’t feeling well so I stayed in with her.”
Man, oh, man. This guy just can’t be for real. “Who’s with her now?”
“Stephanie flew back in mid-afternoon and took her to my Mom’s house for a few days.”
“I hope somebody gets airline miles. Didn’t Stephanie just leave yesterday? Wasn’t your other sister having a baby or something?”
“Yeah, Jessica. An eight-pound girl, Emma Joyce York. Born at one this morning. Her older brother Jacob is very proud.”
“Congratulations. That’s so sweet. So, you’re an uncle, again.”
“That’s me, Uncle Tyler. Five times now. Great kids, every one of them.”
Lucky kids, Morgan thought. He cared so much. She could hear it in his voice. They mattered to him.
“Your sister has five kids?” she queried.
“No. Jessica has two, now. Patty has three. Chris, Sarah and Kate.”
“Oh, so you’ve got three sisters? Are you the oldest?” Morgan amused herself by realizing she was truly interested in this man. She hadn’t been curious enough to ask about a guy’s family in a long time. Well, since Josh, if she was honest with herself.
“No, Patty’s the oldest, and then Jessica, I’m third and Stephanie is the youngest.”
“Three sisters.” Morgan laughed. “I bet bathroom space was premium at your house.”
“Fortunately, we had more than one.”
Okay, enough touchy-feely for one night. Morgan yawned as they reached the back of the hauler, still parked with the row of others. She stretched and rolled her shoulders a bit, trying to relieve a spot of tension left over from the evening and the close proximity of one hot, hunk of man. Even if he had no real place in her life.
“Please tell Annie I missed her. And I haven’t forgotten what I promised her. She’ll be coming back, won’t she?”
“I’ll tell her. She’ll be joining us again, not in Georgia, but when we reach Tennessee she’ll be there. What did you promise her?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, running his hand through his hair. “Now I remember. Something about a shoe?”
“She’ll remember. She’s a bright little girl.”
Morgan couldn’t help herself. She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pulled him near and breathed in the hint of cinnamon. Laying her head on his chest, she squeezed him gently.
She spoke softly. “Congratulations, again. And thanks for the escort.”
His hands slid slowly up her sides, over her back, and her skin tingled where they came to rest on her bare shoulders. She hugged him, pressing her breasts firmly against him. Busy hands traveled up to cup the back of her head and tangle through her hair as he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her temple.
The innocence of the gesture, with heat simmering underneath, spoke to her. It made her feel worthy, like he valued her.
Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in just one more kiss, Morgan thought as she stood on her toes to reach his lips. Nope, it wouldn’t hurt a thing. She clung to his heat and felt the cold when he stepped back.
“I’m sorry. You’re welcome. Hell. I don’t know what I mean.” He jumbled, his words coming out in a rush. “I just know I can’t do this again.”
Feeling rebuffed, Morgan stepped away from him. She took a deep breath to clear her head.
“I didn’t think we were ‘doing’ anything. It was a hug and a kiss. Simple.” At least, she told herself, it would be simple. Didn’t she mean it?
Before she could think any more about it, she walked around to the side of the transport and opened the door. She looked back at him, could see the struggle in his eyes, in the line of his body moving a few hesitant steps forward. Men always had to complicate things.
His hand reached toward her as she stepped up one step, and then another. She watched it fall to his side when she stepped in and closed the door.
*
The noise engulfed her. Fans cheering, people screaming for their favorite driver. The announcer’s energetic voice blasted out names and hometowns, sponsors and car numbers. Driver introductions were underway.
Morgan felt cheered by the knowledge this would be their last night in South Carolina. After this evening’s event, they’d all head south to Georgia for challenge number five.
She marveled at the power. The excitement seemed to come at her from every direction. She’d been to FASPRO races before. Being in the grandstands had been exciting. It didn’t hold a candle to being in the pits.
There was more, more of everything. It put her senses into overdrive. More noise, engines running, conversations, generators, equipment, and people yelling to be heard, even though half of them wore headsets.
The heady smell of exhaust mixed with smells from steaks and hamburgers being grilled over open flames, popcorn popping and cotton candy being spun at the concession stands.
Golf carts dodged war wagons loaded with tools and computer equipment, dollies loaded with tires, everything being shuffled from place to place. People everywhere, busy doing something. It was incredible. She loved it.
Her hands dampened with perspiration while she waited for her turn to go up on stage. The remaining five reality-series contestants were being announced and filmed tonight as part of a new ad campaign for the series.
The series was half over and apparently ratings were dropping just a bit. Morgan felt glad she didn’t have to worry about that part. There were enough other things for her to worry about. She missed her family. Hopefully, she’d be able to talk to them soon. According to the contract, Morgan wasn’t supposed to call them. If they didn’t give her permission, she might just call anyway.
She could hear Julia on stage laughing at something her father said. It made her smile to think Julia had been blessed with a great family.
Eric elbowed her and winked. “That sure was a show last night at dinner. Cool as a cucumber, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, whatever.” She’d like to forget about last night, completely. Nervousness made her check the zipper on her driver’s suit. Her fingers felt for the closure, made sure it was fastened tight, then she pulled the zipper all the way up.
She couldn’t figure out which debacle had turned out worse. The scene with Jim at dinner, or being rebuffed by Tyler afterwards. Jim she didn’t care about, Tyler she did. Whoa. Nope, absolutely not going there.
Kyle chimed in, “What did Butch mean about a behavior clause?”
“You moron, you were supposed to ask Butch if you didn’t understand. It means you agree to not do anything purposefully to embarrass yourself, the team and, most importantly, your sponsors.” Morgan rolled her eyes. She’d thought everyone knew.
Well, maybe everyone except Jim. Or maybe he just did
n’t care. He came around the corner toward them as the group received their call to enter the stage. He did his usual macho thing and pretended she didn’t exist. Funny, she’d existed quite literally when he’d wanted to get in her pants. Jerk.
Lights blinded her when they walked on stage. Cameras flashed and people cheered. She smiled into the light, raised her arm and waved.
She imagined this must be how Miss America felt receiving her crown. All tingly with excitement and filled with delight.
The thought made her smile wider. She was a beauty queen, all right. Five foot two, wearing a fire resistant suit.
Chapter 12
Morgan rested quietly in her favorite place, the driver’s seat of her sprint car. It hugged her body snugly from her shoulders down to where her hips fit perfectly in the bend, to her thighs, held comfortable and secure. The familiarity of being strapped in by the five-point seat belt made her feel at home. Even so, it helped her understand what life might be like as a turtle. She could move her arms and legs; that’s it. It was enough.
She looked through the open space in the raised visor of her helmet. Verdant growth lined the staging lane of the racetrack. It amazed her. Forest, so thick and tall she couldn’t see over or through it, surrounded the acreage of the three-eighths-mile clay oval. Brilliant, blinding green.
Humidity pressed in on her, made her palms damp inside her driving gloves. Moisture trickled down the side of her face and between her breasts.
Fine, red dust rose over the track in a coppery cloud. It reflected in the lights illuminating the racing surface. A thin sheen of red would coat every available surface before the evening ended.
Dust everywhere. Funny, in Colorado it was brown. In Nebraska it was black, and here, in Georgia, it was red. Still, no way of escaping the damn dust. She hoped her helmet sealed tight tonight or she’d be breathing the stuff.
While she waited for her turn, she could hear the race before hers taking place. The sound, muffled by her helmet and earplugs, came to her from far away, like a housefly in the window.
She’d qualified second row outside. That put her in fourth place behind Bobby. Eric Wilson, her friend from Wichita, waited in his car next to her. Kyle sat on the pole. Jim O’Bannon, the creep, had broken a radius rod and would have to start last.
