One in a Million (2 page)

T
WO HOURS LATER,
the sun had gone and a misty drizzle hung in the air. As Eli crossed from the hauler to the garage, he tried to revel in the smell of damp, warm pavement, in the babble of excited fans, in the clash of music blaring from the infield and merchandise offers echoing over the PA system.

But Gil's threat to take away the only thing that mattered had sucked all the joy out of the weekend.

In the garage, his team was putting the final touches to the No. 502 car before his practice. A lot of drivers were superstitious about green cars, but Eli never felt anything but lucky behind the wheel of his green-gold-and-white beauty.

If I could get Gil off my back, I'd find my groove again.

“Hey, Eli.” One of the guys clustered around the car hailed him.

Eli plastered on the ready smile they expected. His team liked that nothing got him down, unlike some drivers who let their bad mood pervade the whole operation.

Eli might not be the most reliable guy in the world when it came to dating or early nights. But when it came to facing life's problems with a grin and a shrug, he was a shoo-in.

Kevin Horton, his crew chief, was reading the No. 502 car's setup details on his PC screen with a critical eye. “We'll look at putting in a round of wedge after we see how you go in those turns,” he told Eli.

“Great. The guys had the car in beautiful shape yesterday.”

Kevin nodded approval of Eli's sharing the credit for his eighth-place qualifying. Qualifying well wasn't his problem. The problem was the dozen or so places he'd been losing during the races…when he even finished.

Farther down the garage, Eli saw Dixon Rogers, owner of Fulcrum Racing. Fulcrum was the gold standard, the team Eli had longed to drive for ever since he started racing. Top of the list of teams he planned to approach for a new job, starting Monday. If Gil didn't want him, Eli wasn't about to hang around at Double S. Maybe he should have a word with Dixon now….

Kevin flipped the laptop closed. He glanced over Eli's shoulder. “Your fan club's arrived.”

Eli heard the clatter of high heels on concrete, the breathy giggles and whispered speculation (“Is that really
him?
”). Women. He fought the urge to turn around. A driver in a NASCAR garage forbidden to flirt was like a dieter trapped in a candy store.

“Nice blonde in a tight red T-shirt.” Kevin never failed to spot the talent. “Too bad she's not here for me.”

“Too bad she's off-limits for me,” Eli muttered.

“Looks mighty interested, too,” Kevin commented with a distinct lack of sympathy.

“Maybe one date wouldn't hurt,” Eli said.

“You wanna ask Gil?” Obviously his crew chief knew about Gil's ultimatum.

Eli sighed. “I'll head to the hauler, avoid temptation.”

He turned, and immediately spotted the blonde in the red T-shirt. She was a knockout, with a great smile. He had to walk right by her and her friends; it would be rude to ignore them.

“Hi, ladies.” His gaze lingered on the blonde.

She lowered her lashes in a flirty way. “Hey, Eli, think you can beat Linc out there tomorrow?”

Ha, a question about his job! He had a right, a
duty,
to answer. He took a moment to explain exactly why he would literally run rings around his teammate Linc Shepherd in tomorrow's race, which led to more questions from her and her friends, all charming women. Even if they did press so close it was difficult to get away. The volume went up as they chatted.

He wasn't dumb, he knew they found him especially charming and amusing because of the uniform he wore. He didn't have a problem with that; a guy would be nuts not to enjoy their company. He responded to their requests for autographs, scrawling his signature across programs, notebooks, even one woman's wrist.

“Buy you a drink later?” the blonde asked. “There's a country music bar in town.”

His instinctive response was to say,
Sure.
He needed to take his mind off his worries. And he liked the blonde, liked her wide smile and her sassy tone.

He glanced up, and saw Gil in the garage entrance. Watching with unconcealed irritation. At the same moment, someone grabbed Eli's arm and tugged, which was overstepping the boundary.

He had to lower his gaze to find the culprit: a slight woman, a girl really—she looked about eighteen with a track-logoed ball cap jammed on her head.

“Excuse me,” he said coolly, with a pointed stare at her hand, still on his arm.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said.

“Uh, excuse me?” he said again, confused now.

“I've been trying to get your attention for the past two minutes. I have a message for you.”

That old chestnut. Eli would've smiled if he hadn't been
conscious of Gil's disapproval. The first few occasions he'd heard that line, he'd fallen for it. Even let a woman into his motor home once, on the mistaken assumption that if she'd found her way into the lot she must be legit.

“Tell it to my secretary,” he advised his newest admirer.

The blonde in the red T-shirt giggled.

To Eli's annoyance, Ball Cap Girl didn't let go. “You think I'm a fan? One of
them?
” she asked, astonished, lifting her chin toward the other women.

Now that she mentioned it…she was like a sparrow among swans in her loose-fitting light gray and black shirt, again bearing the track logo, and her dark pants. She stood too close for Eli to see her feet, but anyone that short must be wearing sneakers, not heels.

“Mr. Ward, I work here,” she explained. “Souvenir shop assistant, track tour guide and race-weekend gofer. The message is from Bob Coffman.”

Coffman was the president of the track here at Bristol. Eli registered the name badge pinned to her chest.
Jennifer.
The colorless clothing must be her uniform.

“Bob's a great guy,” Eli said.

Her mouth, which had been pursed with anxiety, relaxed. Turned out she had nice-shaped lips. “He's a wonderful boss,” she agreed as she released his arm. “If we could just step aside from your, uh, friends for a moment, I'll pass on the message.”

With the conversation taking an unfamiliar turn, the other women eased back; now was the time to make a break for the hauler.

“Walk with me,” Eli ordered Jennifer.

Her eyebrows, darker than the brown hair peeking out from beneath her ball cap, drew together over her petite nose in distress. “I'm sorry, Mr. Ward, I didn't make myself
clear. When I said I'm a race-weekend gofer, I meant for
Bob.
I'm very busy.”

“And I'm going this way, so if you want me to hear that message…” Eli grasped her elbow and maneuvered the two of them through the crowd of fans, who parted obligingly.

Despite the noise around him, he heard Jennifer's hiss of alarm.

“We're only going to the hauler,” he reassured her, amused. She obviously took her gofering seriously.

Outside, the drizzle had stopped and sunlight had broken through the gray cloud, piercing in its brilliance. More women converged on Eli, but when they saw him with the track girl—Jennifer—they fell back.

With Eli ignoring Jennifer's protests about how busy she was, they made it to the hauler in record time. Someone should tell her that slow Tennessee drawl wasn't about to hold up a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series driver. It might, on the other hand, warm up a cup of coffee…

Where did that come from?
Eli gave his head a sharp shake. They'd reached the hauler; the automatic door swished open, then closed behind them, cocooning them in silence.

“Okay,” Eli said, still disconcerted by that coffee thought, “I'm Eli Ward, hi.” Duh. Not one of his smoothest lines. He stuck out a hand.

She didn't notice because she was too busy rubbing her elbow where he'd held her—he was certain he hadn't hurt her—and darting little glances around the hauler, her expression a mix of curious and…hunted?

“Nice to meet you, too,” he quipped in the face of her lack of response. “Let me guess, you're Jennifer.”

She fingered her name badge. “Just Jen.”

The badge perched on the kind of sweet curve not even a shapeless uniform could hide. Eli leaned against the counter,
folded his arms across his chest and shot her the intimate smile his female fans adored. “Okay, Just Jen, what does Bob want to tell me?”

This urge to flirt with a sparrow had to be a kneejerk rebellion against Gil's “no women” stipulation.

The sparrow didn't flirt back.

Sure, Jennifer's eyes—brown, unexpectedly light—widened at the sensual vibes he was sending her way. Then she laced her fingers in front of her, like a nun about to pray. “Mr. Ward,” she said sternly, “there are two women in Bob's office. Both from around here, both in varying states of hysteria, both claiming to be your girlfriend.”

Eli pinched the bridge of his nose. Wouldn't Gil love to hear that? “They're not my girlfriends.”

“But one of them—”

“End of story,” Eli said, struggling to keep his tone light on what was fast turning into the worst day of his life. “Tell Bob to call security.”

Jennifer pursed her nice-shaped lips and didn't move. “One of them says she's having your baby.”

J
EN WAS SUDDENLY
inclined to believe the pretty, pregnant redhead whose eyes had shone with tears as she talked about her struggle to provide for her unborn child.

All week, Jen's female colleagues had been cooing about the gorgeous NASCAR drivers about to descend on their little track. None of the names were familiar to Jen, who hadn't worked here long enough to see a NASCAR race, but one name had received way more than its fair share of cooing: Eli Ward. Who, if you believed Tracy in accounting, was the sexiest man alive. And who, according to Janelle on reception, had broken more hearts than should be legal.

Jen had taken the gossip with a grain of salt, and continued to reserve judgment through the arrival of the two alleged girlfriends in Bob's office. Bob had warned her not to be sucked in by what might be elaborate ploys to get Eli's attention.

But meeting Eli Ward in the flesh lent a whole new weight to everything she'd heard.

Tracy in accounting was right: Jen had never seen such a good-looking man. It looked as if Janelle was right about the broken hearts, too, given how Eli had been lapping up the admiration of the women in the garage. Admiration that was purely about his looks. According to Caleb in maintenance, Eli wasn't even a good race car driver, always making careless mistakes.

Everything about him shrieked
unreliable.

But the most shocking thing of all…when Eli's fingers had curled around Jen's elbow, every nerve ending in her body had converged on that point, leaving the rest of her feeling rubbery, numb. She'd let him lead her to the hauler like a particularly stupid lamb might follow a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Jen would never, in a million years, have imagined she would be so shallow.

It was most unsettling.

I've been unsettled all day.
From the moment she'd arrived at the track to find it transformed from local raceway to a NASCAR mini-city, powered by a buzz of excitement, all five of her senses had been overwhelmed. Then somehow Eli Ward—with his shaggy blond hair and too-green eyes and devil-may-care grin—had tapped into some mysterious
other
sense.

She was so busy trying, and failing, to excuse her body's extreme response to his touch, she almost missed his reaction to the pregnancy claim. Fleetingly his face paled, his lips formed an unspoken curse-word. Then his pallor receded and he shook out his fingers, as if discarding the redhead's allegation.

“The lady might be pregnant,” he drawled, “but not by me.”

The steel beneath the lazy tone was clearly intended to nix further argument. But if he was as careless in his relationships as Caleb said he was on the track… That poor girl's baby needed a father. Jen squared her shoulders. “She seems quite categorical about your, uh, role in the proceedings and the, uh, consequence. Maybe you should come see her, just to be sure?”

His smile was relaxed, but the gaze that settled on her was emerald-hard. “I missed the spring race here due to injury, which means I haven't been in the area for a year.” He
scratched the back of his head. “Remind me, how long does it take for a baby to grow after a man and a woman…?”

Heat, stupid and naive, climbed Jen's cheeks. Pathetic, after the explicit speculation she'd listened to in the office all week without blushing. But something about Eli even
hinting
at sex… She wrapped her arms around her middle and forced herself to sound calm. “I'm sure you don't need me to explain the facts of life, Mr. Ward.”

She was one hundred percent certain that he possessed far more of those facts than she did.

“You sound like one of my ninth grade English teachers,” Eli said appreciatively. “
One
of them? You were expelled?” Her newly lurid mind envisaged all kinds of inappropriate behavior. Good grief, how did he have this effect on her? “I'm sorry,” she said quickly, “it's none of my business.”

Unexpectedly one side of his mouth kicked up. “You're not related to Gil Sizemore, are you? Did he send you to spy on me?”

Jen didn't know much about NASCAR, but she did know Gil Sizemore was Eli's team owner. “No,” she said. Why on earth would Mr. Sizemore want to spy on his own driver?

“Phew.” Eli thumped a fist to his chest. “You had me worried. That puritanical streak of yours has a real Sizemore flavor.”

Guilt nudged her. Much as she loved the grandparents who'd raised her, she tried not to indulge in their habit of assuming the worst of everyone. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “I was just worried about the lady in Bob's office, and I'm sure you'd agree that even with the best of protection, accidents can happen.”
Aargh! Now I'm lecturing him about contraception.

Jen clamped her lips tight before she blurted something even more tactless.

Those hypnotic green eyes sparkled. Surely that wasn't his natural eye color?

“I hope not,” Eli said.

She parted her lips just enough to say, “Excuse me?”

“You said accidents happen. I can't afford another crash this weekend.”

Grateful that he'd let her off the hook, she said sympathetically, “I heard you're not doing too well.”

When Eli gaped, she realized she'd misspoken again.

“I can't decide if your bluntness is refreshing, or just blunt,” he said. “Are you always this…honest?”

“It's the best policy,” she said seriously. “Though I try not to cause offence.”

He chuckled. His gaze roamed her face. “Even your skin looks honest.”

“I—skin can't look honest!” She grabbed hold of the counter, her fingers fumbling against a socket set. He was doing it again, turning her topsy-turvy. Her skin, her
body,
prickled all over. And he knew it, judging by the laughter in his eyes. She was hopelessly out of her depth. “Mr. Ward,” she said firmly, “I don't appreciate being made fun of. And in the unlikely event you meant that as a compliment, I should warn you I'm not about to fall at your feet.”

His grin widened. He looked so vital her heart actually stopped for a fraction of a second.

“Now that's a shame, because my team keeps this floor real clean.” He nodded at the serviceable beige linoleum running the length of the hauler. “If you did want to do any falling, I can assure you there'd be no, uh, hygiene
consequence.
”

He was employing the same kind of stilted language she'd used talking about his supposedly pregnant girlfriend. His eyes danced, mocking her lack of sophistication.

“I think we're done here,” she said stiffly. “I'll deliver your message to Bob.”

“Time we both got back to work,” he agreed. “After all, I'm
not doing too well.
” He echoed her again.

She colored. “If it's any consolation, those twelve women you were flirting with in the garage seemed quite impressed.”

“More like eight,” he said modestly. “But thanks.”

“It wasn't a compliment.”

“Jealous, chickadee?”

She didn't mean to snort, it just slipped out.

Eli guffawed. She had to give him credit for not taking offence. Jen found herself smiling wryly. Now that his face was completely relaxed, she realized he'd been tense before. Genuine amusement softened his mouth, made his lips look—

“I'm up here, chickadee,” Eli said softly.

Jen jerked her gaze from his mouth. Her eyes met his.

There was a moment of crackling silence while they stared at each other. Heat suffused her. Then she blinked, long and hard, severing the contact.

Eli frowned. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”
Going on thirteen.
“Time I left,” she said.

“Yeah. Bye, chickadee.” Despite the teasing nickname, he sounded…remote.

“Drive safely,” she said with sudden vehemence, imagining him caught up in another crash.

Eli tilted his head, his expression a blend of surprise and amusement. “You want to wish me luck, too? Because much as I want to finish in one piece, I mostly want to finish first.”

“I don't really care about that,” she admitted.

He shook his head. “You sure are the strangest race track employee I ever met.”

He escorted her to the automatic door, which hissed open as they approached. Outside, a bunch of loitering women came to attention, craning their necks.

Jen thought she heard a faint groan from Eli. But a sidelong glance revealed he was smiling.

“Eli!” One of the fans waved a program at him. “Sign this!”

Immediately a clamor rose from the rest of the women.

Despite the flippancy that suggested he didn't care much about anything, Jen felt sorry for him. It couldn't be easy, putting a brave face on his poor driving performance.

Then his arm landed across her shoulders.

“So, Jen, do you want to spend tomorrow with my team?” he asked, loud enough for the fans to hear.

Disappointment rippled through the throng.

For one second, the wild possibility that Eli Ward was attracted to her ran rampant through Jen's head.

Twin sensations slammed her. Panic…and excitement. Which one was responsible for the way her brain clouded, her palms turned sweaty, her breath came faster?

“I can't,” she said with absolute certainty.

Eli stepped closer, so close his eyes were brilliant.
He must wear colored contact lenses….

“You understand I just asked you on a date, right?” he said, more quietly, so the fans couldn't listen in. “You'd spend tomorrow with me, up until the start of the race. Then watch the race in my pits.”

Oh, yes, she understood all right. Not
why,
not at all, but certainly
what
.

Jen stepped back into the hauler, clear of the automatic door's attempts to close. A part of her wanted to shriek
Yes
in response to his invitation. “It's not possible,” she managed.

He carried on blocking the door. “Are you married? Engaged?” His eyes alighted on her bare left hand.

“No.” She wrapped her right hand over her left.

“Seeing someone?”

She shook her head.

“Because you and I had a connection a moment ago,” he said. “So I can't see why you'd refuse.”

He'd felt it, too? “You and I…wouldn't work,” she said, flustered.

“I wasn't asking you to marry me.” He was trying not to smile, with limited success. How silly she must seem to him! “I just want a little company,” he continued.

“Mr. Ward, there are dozens of women outside who'd jump at the chance to date you. Most of them prettier than I am, all of them less blunt, I'm sure. Why me?”

He shrugged. “Why not you? You make me laugh.”

Jen hadn't heard many pickup lines in her life—in fact, she'd never been picked up by a stranger—but she was pretty sure
Why not you?
followed by an admission that he was laughing at her, wouldn't cut it with any self-respecting woman. Eli Ward had the sense of entitlement that came with celebrity.

“I'm ordinary.” She'd decided long ago that she didn't do crazy things, that she wanted an ordinary life, with all the trimmings: ordinary job, ordinary home, ordinary man…“I'm not interested in dating a man like you.”

I'm not,
she told her protesting hormones sternly.

His expression turned quizzical. “I'm not
ordinary
enough for you?”

Okay, when he said it like that, it sounded weird.

“Some things just don't go together,” she explained. “You're a lion, I'm a housecat. You're a peacock, I'm a duck.”

“A sparrow,” he corrected.

Ouch! “Whatever,” she said tautly.

“Sparrows are much cuter than ducks.” He reached out, tweaked a strand of hair that had escaped her cap.

A flood of lightness spread through her. “Mr. Ward, this conversation is—”

“Extraordinary?” he suggested.

She huffed a laugh. Which meant she let down her guard and found herself drowning in those eyes again. “I like ordinary guys, with regular jobs,” she insisted, unfortunately breathless. “You drive a race car, you're larger than life with your long hair and your fake green eyes…”

“My
what?
”

“No one has eyes that green unless they're wearing colored contacts,” she pointed out. “I know you have a…a sex-symbol image to uphold, but if you wanted them to look real, you should have chosen a more natural shade.”

“A sex-symbol image?” Eli hooted with laughter, drawing stares from the women outside. “Talking to you, chickadee, is like driving a race car blindfolded.”

She clutched at her throat. “Tell me you've never done that.”

“Of course I haven't.” He eyed her as if she was crazy. Then he smirked. “Funny you should say that stuff about a sex symbol…did you know I was labeled
Mr. Irresistible
in
Now Woman
magazine earlier this year?”

“I did not know that,” she admitted.

“Does that make you want to spend tomorrow with me?”

She shook her head, not trusting her mouth to form the word
No.

“I should've guessed you would have extraordinary powers of resistance,” he mused.

Darn it, she wanted to laugh again. “Mr. Ward, I'm leaving.”

“You called me a peacock, I called you a sparrow, I think that qualifies us for first name terms, don't you—” his smile turned knowing “—Jen?” He drew the syllable out, long and deep.

Jen sucked in a breath. “Goodbye, Mr.—Eli.”

Her verbal stumble brought his gaze to her lips. “I think I'll come talk to Bob,” he announced.

“Why?” she asked, alarmed. “There's no law against refusing to date you, is there?” Folk around here were so nuts about NASCAR, it wouldn't surprise her if she'd committed a cardinal sin.