Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “Hey, Ross. Didn’t expect to see you today.”

  Ross shook the hand Martin offered. “Didn’t expect to swing by. But I had some time, so here I am. Everything going well with the test drives?”

  Martin had said so on the phone, but Ross wanted to see his face when he said it.

  The other man nodded. “Oh yeah. Eric’s got the hang of her. He’ll be fine.”

  “When are you pulling out?”

  “In about twenty minutes.”

  “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

  Martin shrugged. “We’ve got time. Didn’t want to get there too early. Too many questions going to come our way when you don’t show.”

  Ross folded his arms over his chest. He’d put the Oxford back on, but he could still smell the oil and grease from Holly’s Jeep. And now the odor of tires and oil and gas in the garage. Smells he loved.

  “Yeah, well, I’m working on it. My dad will come to his senses soon enough. Blackthorne has too much money invested in this team to leave the driving to somebody else.”

  And Ross had too much invested in his own success to let it all go. The future of his motorsport company depended on it.

  Martin’s bushy brows drew down. “Eric’s a fine driver, Ross. You know that. You trained him, and he’s qualified for the series.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Yep. Where is he?”

  “Went ahead of us. He wanted to get to the hotel, get settled in.”

  “I’ll be cheering for you on Sunday. I want the team to win—regardless of whether or not I’m the one in the driver’s seat.”

  Martin squeezed his shoulder. “I know you do. You’re a fine driver, Ross. One of the best. Your daddy will realize it soon enough. Until he does, we’ve got no choice but to go ahead without you.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll see you next week.”

  “You could fly up if you wanted. Join us in pit lane.”

  He could. All he had to do was charter a plane for the short flight. But he didn’t think he wanted to be there with the grit and the noise and the excitement—and not be the one driving. Not this time.

  “I might do that.”

  Ross left the garage and climbed into his truck. Then he went home and entered the big house he’d bought when he’d started spending the season in Kentucky. He hadn’t noticed how lonely it was before. But now he walked across the spotless kitchen with its gleaming stainless appliances, its high-gloss cabinets and marble counters, and he heard the echo of his feet on the terrazzo floors.

  The living room was also big. Also empty. He’d hired an interior designer and given her carte blanche. She’d given him a modern space with clean lines and open spaces that felt, well, empty. Not that he’d noticed it before, but now that he’d been inside Holly’s quaint little cottage, he couldn’t help but think of the small rooms with warm furniture and bright, breezy fabrics. And all he’d seen had been her hallway and living room. He wondered what her kitchen looked like. Her bedroom.

  He imagined a lot of flowery fabric and antiques for some reason. Pink. Lots of pink.

  “Shit.”

  He had to stop thinking about Holly Brooks’s bedroom. In fact, he had to stop thinking about Holly Brooks. He knew he shouldn’t go there with her. She was supposed to be off limits because she was a company employee.

  And yet he wanted to. More than he’d wanted anything in a long time. Was it because he couldn’t race right now? Did he see her as a different kind of challenge, one that could take his mind off of racing for a while?

  Ross stalked into his bedroom, shed his clothes on the floor, and headed for the giant walk-in shower that had no glass walls, no shower curtains. He flipped on the water, knowing it would be instantly hot—though it was probably cold water he needed when he again thought about how Holly looked at him when he’d peeled off his shirt.

  Like she could eat him up. Like she hadn’t had a man in a very long time and she was dying of need. Not that she’d let him see that look for long. She’d quickly masked it.

  Hell, maybe he’d imagined it.

  But what if he hadn’t? Holly was headed for a bar tonight. With friends, sure, but what if she met some guy and looked at him like that? And what if that guy pressed her, took advantage of her?

  Ross growled. He couldn’t let it happen. He didn’t want it to happen.

  He knew it was a flimsy excuse for what he was about to do, but hell, it was enough of one.

  He finished the shower in record time and walked into his closet, looking up and down the rows of clothing stacked one over the other. He had custom suits and T-shirts and khakis and holey jeans and—ah yes, cowboy boots.

  Just what he needed for a honky-tonk bar.

  Chapter Nine

  HOLLY LEANED back in her chair and took a sip of her Whisky Sour, made with Blackthorne bourbon, of course, while Amy and Becca flirted with a couple of guys in cowboy hats who’d stopped by their table. Mel was currently dancing with a guy she had the hots for who’d showed up tonight unexpectedly.

  Holly twirled the stirrer in her drink and let her gaze slide across the bar. It was crowded tonight, but it always was for a ladies’ night. The music was loud and the food and drinks were reasonable and plentiful. A basket of fries sat on the table, half-eaten, along with a plate of nachos. Holly scooped one of the chips up and popped it into her mouth.

  “Hey, baby,” a voice said, and she glanced up at a guy who smiled down at her, beer bottle in hand, plaid shirt open to a white T-shirt underneath. Of course he had on a cowboy hat. She liked cowboy hats—and this guy didn’t look bad at all.

  “Hey, there,” she said, ignoring that he’d called her baby for the moment.

  He dragged out Mel’s chair. “You look lonely. Mind if I join you?”

  Annoyance skated at the edges of her awareness. But maybe she was just on edge after those couple of episodes with Ross today. Had he held onto her on purpose in her office when she’d nearly plowed into him? And what about his shirt and the invitation to see his garage? What did that mean?

  “It’s a free country,” she said to the guy as he plopped down beside her.

  “Yeah, woohoo, sure is!” He tipped the beer back and drained half of it.

  Holly wondered how many beers he’d had and whether or not it was time to make her excuses to her friends and go home. They’d been here for an hour already. Surely that was enough time. She’d hoped she’d be more into it than she was tonight, but all she wanted was to be home where it was quiet.

  “What’s your name, doll?” the guy asked.

  Holly smiled tightly. “Well it’s not doll. Or baby. Or honey.”

  He made a face. One of those faces that said he was surprised and insulted at the same time. Hoo boy, here we go.

  “You one of them femi-nazis or something?”

  “You mean a feminist? Yeah, I guess I am.” Asshat. What made men like him think they had the right to act like jerks whenever a woman wanted a little respect? “Maybe this was a bad idea and you need to move on to another table.”

  He took another slug of beer. “Nope, I don’t think so. I like a feisty girl. Makes it more fun.”

  “Makes what more fun? Getting rejected?”

  He threw a look over his shoulder. Probably at his buddies who’d no doubt bet him to come over here and pick her up. When he looked at her again, his eyes were meaner than before. “You’ve got quite a mouth, you know that?”

  Anger started to bubble in her veins. “You’ve got quite a mouth too, sugar. You started out nice but then you had to call me doll. And the insults haven’t stopped since. I’m thinking we aren’t going to work out, baby cakes. So maybe head back over to your friends and try again with someone else.”

  Amy threw a look in Holly’s direction, but the music was too loud for her to hear what was being said. Still, she nudged Becca. The guys they’d been talking to had gone to the bar, presumably for more drinks. Holly gav
e them a look. They both rose and came to her side.

  Asshat looked at the three of them, his expression mean. Then he put the beer down and stood, grabbing Holly’s arm, his fingers digging in deep as he dragged her up. Amy and Becca lunged for her, but he started dragging her toward the rear of the bar, his strength too much for them to stop him. There was a door back there that led outside. People often went out to smoke, or to talk where they could be heard. Holly jerked against his hold but she couldn’t break free. Not yet anyway.

  And the bar was too crowded for anyone to realize that what was going on was more than a disagreement between a couple. Amy and Becca were following, yelling at them, but even that looked like a couple of girls angry with their friend’s boyfriend. Holly cast wildly around for someone she knew, someone who would know that she had no idea who this guy was—but she didn’t see anybody.

  He’d reached the door and slapped it open when a hand closed over Holly’s shoulder. She didn’t know who’d come to her rescue and she didn’t care so long as he got her away from this guy. Somehow, he detached Asshat’s hand from her arm, and then he was between her and the other guy.

  She stood behind the man who’d intervened, shaking with fear and fury both. And then he lunged forward, shoving Asshat out the door. Amy and Becca caught up to her at that moment.

  “Oh my God, who is that?” Amy asked. “He got here just in time.”

  “I don’t know,” Holly said, but she pushed her way forward, through the door to where the two men squared off. Her savior’s back was to her. He wore a dark shirt, black or blue maybe, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. Asshat was busy yelling something. And then his entire demeanor changed and his eyes widened. He swayed in place, clearly drunk.

  “Ross Blackthorne? Holy shit, man, I effing love the way you drive. And that wreck—bad break. Sorry ’bout that.”

  Holly gaped at the two of them. “Ross?” she called out.

  He glanced at her, his eyes flashing fire. “Let me take care of this. Go back inside.”

  Her heart started to race. He was here. Now. And he’d saved her from that drunken asshole. “Don’t hit him. He’s not worth it.”

  Asshat’s gaze slid to her. “She your girl, Ross?”

  “Yeah, she’s my girl.”

  Holly’s heart tripped and then sped up. Amy gasped. Becca just said, “Oh my. You got some ’splainin’ to do, girl.”

  Asshat held up both hands. “Man, I didn’t know. I’d have never touched her if I did.”

  Ross growled, fists clenching at his sides. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you shouldn’t touch any woman without her permission. Ever.”

  “She was mouthy. I didn’t mean nothing.”

  Ross took a menacing step forward. “Dude, I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to find out. And when I do, I’ll make life harder on you than you ever thought possible—unless you apologize to the lady and then go away and never come back. I hear you even step foot in this place, I’ll find you. You don’t want me to find you.”

  Asshat turned to her, a completely different expression on his face. It wasn’t meanness this time, but fear. Fear of his idol.

  Geez, the power these race drivers had over their fans. She’d had no idea until she’d met him. Because she didn’t watch NASCAR. Didn’t understand it. But when people loved the sport, they really loved it.

  “I, um, I’m sorry, miss. So sorry. I swear I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again. Swear.”

  “All right,” Ross said. “Now get out of my sight.”

  The guy’s buddies had come outside at some point and were gaping at Ross. Clearly, they recognized him too. Her heart skipped for a second as she envisioned one of them taking a swing at him—because there were bound to be some guys for whom fighting a famous driver would be a crowning achievement, but fortunately neither of them seemed inclined. They grabbed their buddy and herded him toward the parking lot while he kept hollering how sorry he was.

  Ross stalked over to her. Put his hands on her arms. “You okay, Holly?”

  He smelled so good. Like spice and soap and, yes, even whisky. Blackthorne whisky. Not like he’d been drinking it, but like it was a part of him. She supposed it probably was in a way.

  “I’m fine.” She pulled in a breath. “I’m really happy to see you, Ross.”

  His fierce expression didn’t ease. “What happened?”

  “He sat down at my table. And then he called me doll and babe, which you know I don’t like.”

  Ross didn’t look any less angry, but he snorted for a brief second. “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Well, he didn’t like it when I called him out on it. Then he started to drag me outside.”

  “Hey, man—are you really Ross Blackthorne?”

  Holly jerked her gaze toward a man who’d approached them. He practically bounced from foot to foot in his excitement.

  For the first time since she’d met him, Holly saw Ross struggling with his tendency to be accommodating to his fans. The fact he struggled because of her wasn’t lost on her. He wanted to protect her, make sure she was okay. He didn’t want to answer fan questions or be social. He wanted to focus on her.

  It melted her heart in ways she didn’t understand. She put a light hand on his chest, felt his warmth seeping into her skin. Smiled shakily, because it’s all she had. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Talk to your fans.”

  “I don’t want to,” he said, his voice low and angry. “I want to get you out of here.”

  “Sign his ball cap or whatever. Then I’ll go with you.”

  Because she wanted out of there as much as he wanted to take her. But more than that, she wanted to go with him specifically. She’d thought she’d get to the Boot tonight and meet a guy she might want to see again. She realized now that what she really wanted was to spend time with Ross Blackthorne.

  Oh God, she was so screwed. He was all wrong for her—and he wasn’t the kind of guy who stayed with one woman. She knew that. But maybe being with him was like driving a racecar. The thrill of the ride might be worth the regret once it was over.

  Ross closed his eyes for a second. She saw pain in his expression. Pain and sorrow and even, surprisingly, uncertainty. About what?

  But then he opened his eyes and gave her arms a squeeze before turning to meet the gaze of the man who still stood hopefully by. He held out his hand and the guy took it enthusiastically.

  “Yeah, buddy, I’m Ross. How are you?”

  ROSS DIDN’T KNOW if she’d still be there when he was done talking to the group of guys who crowded outside to discuss the race in which he’d flamed out—plus his other races this season—but when he finally managed to excuse himself and turn, she was there. Leaning against the wall, looking beautiful with her lustrous red hair and sparkling eyes. She wore a pale blue dress with buttons down the center and cowboy boots that had a bit of glitter. And she smiled softly when their eyes met.

  There were three women with her, which he didn’t notice until he took a step toward her and they all crowded in close as if protecting her. Inside, the music thumped and people hollered, but outside it was marginally quieter. At least enough so that you could have a conversation.

  “Girls, meet Ross Blackthorne,” Holly said. “Ross, these are my friends—Amy, Becca, and Melissa, aka Mel.”

  He’d thought Mel was a guy when Holly’d mentioned the name earlier. Mel was definitely not a guy. Mel was tall and curvy and gorgeous. His usual type, from the top of her blonde head to the bottom of her long legs. Legs that went on for days.

  He looked at her and felt… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  But when he looked at Holly? His insides lit up like a thousand fireflies whirled beneath his skin.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said to all three of them.

  “What are your intentions with our girl here?” Mel asked.

  Ross blinked. He would have laughed, but these ladies were serious. They stood close to Holly as if planning to do battle i
f he provoked them.

  “My intentions are to get her out of here.”

  “And then what?”

  “Hush, Mel,” Holly said, her pretty skin flushing. It might be dark outside, but there was enough light that he could tell. And even if there wasn’t, he was pretty sure he knew when Holly was blushing by now. He knew by the way her head tipped down, the way she tried to hide her cheeks behind a curtain of hair. The way she peered up at him beneath her lashes.

  “Holly?” he asked.

  She took a step toward him. Caught his hand when he held his out for her. God that felt right. Why did it feel right?

  “I’m ready.”

  He tugged her into his side, slipped his arm around her body. It was the first time he’d been this close to her. Sparks snapped inside him in response.

  “You sure about this, Hols?” Mel asked her friend.

  “It’s fine,” Holly said. “I’m ready to get out of here. Y’all stay and have fun.”

  “Okay. But you hurt her, Ross Blackthorne, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Mel called out as Ross and Holly started to walk away

  “Mel,” Holly groaned over her shoulder. “Enough.”

  Ross stopped and turned back to the tall blonde. “Holly is safe with me. I promise you.”

  Mel frowned and folded her arms over her chest. “You better be right about that.”

  “Bye, Mel,” Holly said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Mel didn’t say anything else and nobody stopped them as they slipped between cars. Ross had an urge to grab Holly, turn her and push her against a parked car so he could kiss her.

  But he held that urge in check because the first time he kissed Holly, it wouldn’t be in the parking lot of a bar. She deserved better than that. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and she hadn’t tried to pull away. He led her to his truck, opened the passenger door, and helped her inside. She didn’t protest that she could open her own door. He took that as a good sign.