Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) (11 page)

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 didn’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.

She could see Eric’s head tilted over in his seat. He’d probably be dozing. She did that sometimes herself. Without the engine running you were in your own little world, encapsulated, waiting.

Adrenaline sluiced its way through her system. Sitting silently, she took deep breaths and released them slowly. A clutch of butterflies entered her stomach.

Her mind came to rest on thoughts of her father. How much her winning this contest would mean to him. In so many ways. Not just the money, although that was prime for her.

She remembered the countless hours he’d spent working on her go-karts, quarter midgets, whatever she was racing at the time. Patiently he’d taught her everything he knew about racing.

Mom would always bring sandwiches out to the shop they’d built on the far side of their house. No matter how many crewmembers or friends came to hang out, there were never too many mouths to feed. Mom always found a way.

What bragging rights they’d have if their daughter made it to FASPRO. She grinned just thinking about it. Spirals of hope twisted to life inside her.

She could do it. She knew it deep inside the most secret part of herself. All the hours of constant practice and never-ending hard work hadn’t bothered her. The missed homecoming football games, proms, and other activities and events she’d sacrificed led her to this moment.

Now that she thought about it, that’s probably what had led her to Josh back then. She’d never had time for much social life, so she fell for the first guy to boff her.

Interrupting her thoughts, the back straight away flagman waved his rolled-up yellow flag in tight circles in the air. The previous race had ended. He gave them the signal to start their engines.

She flipped the magneto switch and pulled her shoulder belts tight one last time. Hands on the steering wheel, she felt the bump of the four-wheeler on the back of the car. It pushed her onto the racetrack and kept pushing until the engine built up enough compression to start.

The car picked up speed as it bumped around the track. It would be a rough race tonight. Jarred and rocked by the suspension and the big soft tires, she could feel the ruts narrower tires had dug in the clay in earlier races. Thin padding in her seat let her body feel every bump to its full potential. Bounced like a paddleball on a string, thrown out at high speed and snapped back so intensely it cracked her teeth together.

They circled, doing their warm up laps, continuing to pick up speed. She rolled past the caution light heading into turn three and it blinked green, on and off. One lap to go.

The green flag waved, and they were off. Like a pride of lions, faster and faster they went, racing to capture their prey, the ever-elusive checkered flag.

*

Morgan stood next to her car grinning from ear to ear. She didn’t think her lips could stretch wide enough to hold the joy she felt. Energy surged through her as she smiled, laughed, and hugged her crew.

Jack and Phil hugged her back, took turns picking her up and swinging her around. They were as excited as she was. She noticed tears in Jack’s eyes, and her heart trembled when he hastily brushed them away.

She’d won! She had done it!

The track announcer’s voice cut through her euphoria with a bang.

“Morgan, how did it feel on the last lap, knowing you were going to win?”

Jeez. She’d forgotten about getting asked dumb-ass questions. What she really wanted to say was,
the track was so rough I bit my tongue, moron! How do you think it felt?

Instead, she ignored the sore spot on her tongue, along with the taste of blood, and smiled at him. “It felt great!” she said. Almost as good as sex, she thought with true enthusiasm.

The cameraman focused in for a close up.

“My father couldn’t be here tonight.” Morgan waved her hand in a broad arc to include Jack and Phil. “And we all miss him.” She looked directly into the camera and smiled holding up her trophy. “This one’s for you, Dad.”

Her eyes filled. She couldn’t help it. This would be the first time she’d stood in victory lane without her dad there to celebrate with her.

Steve patted her on the back. “Great job, Morgan.” Blake slipped his head out from behind the camera and winked at her, giving her thumbs-up before slipping back behind the lens.

She scanned the crowd of well-wishers, searching for one particular face. Her elation dimmed slightly when she couldn’t see Tyler anywhere. Odd, she’d wanted him to be here. To care.

*

A hard knock at the door made Tyler look up from his email. He wondered who would be knocking at midnight. Hopefully it wasn’t one of the film crew. He wasn’t in the mood for dealing with any more problems tonight.

He’d missed tonight’s race and filming while catching up on work he couldn’t get done by being out of his office. He’d missed Annie’s bedtime call, because he’d run down to get a sandwich for dinner, and forgotten his cell phone in the room.

Returning calls and reviewing contracts, time had gotten away from him. Slowly, he got up from his chair and made his way cautiously to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw Morgan waiting on the other side.

What the hell? Curiosity aroused, he opened the door. With one hand on the door frame, he motioned with the other hand for her to come in. Briefly, he paused to wonder how she’d found out his room number. Noticing the lacey camisole and the daisy dukes, he decided he didn’t care. She was here.

“Hello, Morgan. Come in. What’s wrong?” Tyler looked closely at her. She didn’t look like anything was wrong. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat and holding a bottle of champagne out to him. He took the offered bottle and worked at opening it.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She kept on grinning at him. “Got any glasses around here?” She surveyed the room, gaze coming to rest on the king-size bed. If it was possible, her smile got even wider. She turned to look at him with a speculative gleam in her shining brown eyes.

Oh shit. His palms started to sweat. Why did he feel cornered in his own hotel room?

“Uh, sure.” He beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, carrying the bottle with him, to grab two tumblers. Champagne-filled glasses kept his hands busy when he came back into the room. He handed her one and sat down in his desk chair, placing his glass on the desk next to his laptop. Distance, yeah, keeping his distance was good.

“Is this some sort of celebration?” He knew she’d won tonight. Steve had left a voicemail earlier. There just hadn’t been time for him to do anything about it. The last thing he’d expected was for her to show up at his room.

“You bet it is.” She smiled again and sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a bit. “I won.”

He had a moment to wonder if she was checking the firmness of the mattress. She tilted her head back and drank the champagne in one long, endless swallow. He watched the muscles in her throat work, and it made his body tighten. She licked her full pink lips, set the glass on the nightstand and rose from the bed.

“Congratulations.” His mind went blank as she walked toward him. It couldn’t be more than ten steps. It seemed like one hundred. Time slowed, his focus narrowed. A feral gleam darkened her brown eyes almost to black as she came to him. Her unfettered breasts swayed with her movement, proud nipples erect, demanding attention through her pale pink camisole.

Sweat gathered on his brow in a light film. His hands held the edges of his chair in a death grip. He almost stuttered when he asked, “Is there something else you need at this late hour?”

She stopped at the edge of his chair and looked him almost eye to eye. “Just the answer to a question.”

“Okay. Shoot.” Good, great. He’d give her the answer and she’d go.

“Why didn’t you want to kiss me the other night?”

Oh, God. He could swear she almost purred it. Honesty
.
Honesty was the best policy. She had him so wrapped up, if he lied he’d never remember it anyway.

“It...it…” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I’m just not a one-night-stand kind of guy.”

She laughed.

She actually laughed at him. Again. When his blood found its way back to his brain, he might be insulted.

“Really.” She grabbed his hands from their hold on the chair. She swung one leg over one side of the seat and did the same with the other so she straddled him.

Of their own accord his arms closed around her, his hands cupping her firm ass. He could feel her heat through the thin shorts she wore.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, crotch to crotch, cheek to cheek. Heat sizzled between them. His whole body flared to life as if he’d been held apart from feeling anything, until now.

“Well, what if I’m a one-night-stand kind of girl?” she murmured in his ear.

He really wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. He believed doing that cheated both people. Casual sex didn’t do it for him. He wanted to know his partner.

The lady simply drove him mad, beyond his own boundaries. Why he responded this way, to this particular woman, remained a mystery to him. She rubbed her entire body against him in a feline gesture.

Her feminine aroma, layered with the scent of roses, tickled his nose and caressed his soul in a way no other woman ever had. He slid his hands up her back, grasping the hem of her top in the process. He raised it off her, wanting—no, needing—to feel the softness of her skin against him.

There hadn’t been anyone since Cindy. There’d been plenty of offers; he just hadn’t been interested. His body certainly made its interest known this time. She’d have to be dead if she couldn’t feel him hard and throbbing against her core.

Tyler almost stopped when he heard it. Almost. His niggling little voice of reason.
Don’t do this
. She ran her hands through his hair, stroked his scalp with her nails. It spoke again.
It’s a bad idea, you’ll regret it
.

Super-heated blood roared through his veins. Needs, older than time, demanded his flesh be sated. Passion for this woman filled him and drowned the voice in his head.

Silken skin moved under his hands as he traced her spine, her shoulders, her tiny waist. A living thing, thriving from his touch. Feeding him, heating him, she thrilled him. More. Much more.

He paused. And couldn’t think why he shouldn’t do this. She rubbed her warm center against him, legs open wide, pressing, welcoming. A groan burst from his oxygen-starved lungs. His erection strained, jumped, ached behind the confining denim material that now felt a size too small. Raising himself off the seat, he ground himself against her. He needed to be inside her. Feel her, possess her.

Passion slew his conscience with hunger disguised as sweet torture. Compelled, he smoothed his hands over her belly, up her rib cage to cup her breasts. They filled his palms, a gift she offered. Unable to refuse, he lowered his head to taste.

He circled one peaked, rosy nipple with his tongue, even as he caressed the other. Close to her skin, he inhaled her fragrance. Roses and the musk of woman. Her delicate scent edged him onward as he rested his head against her lushness, savoring the feel of her, the taste, the wonder.

For this moment, he wasn’t famous. He wasn’t a father, a son, a brother. Although he was all those things, he was none. Freedom born of desire claimed him for its own. He found his strength in surrender, gave himself up willingly to the woman who rode him. Simply a man.

*