Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) (9 page)

“I won! I won!” Annie’s excited voice screeched a high note. “I get to give you the shoe! You said!” She slid quickly into the booth across from Tyler.

“You did, you are so fast.” Morgan sat next to her, laughing. She bit into her pizza, the look on her face one of pure bliss. To her it seemed to be a gourmet feast. “And yes, you can give me the shoe. First thing tomorrow.”

“What shoe?” Tyler eyed them both. “What devious plans are the two of you making up now?”

Morgan batted her eyes at him and grinned in false innocence, “Not a thing. I promised Annie, if she came back and ate she could give me my good luck charm tomorrow at the track.”

“You use a
shoe
for good luck?” He wondered what size it was. “Where do you put it?”

Her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. “It’s small. It’s just something I keep in my pocket. No big deal.”

More secrets. What could she possibly be hiding that was so important to her? He quickly reviewed her resume in his mind and came up blank. This definitely required more research.

“Won’t you get in trouble, taking one of the contestants out to dinner?”

He had to hand it to her. She’d mastered the art of changing the subject. Unwilling to spoil the mood, he played along.

“Maybe. I thought about it. You did keep Annie this afternoon, and we haven’t done anything we aren’t supposed to. This has nothing to do with racing, so I don’t really see a problem. It’s just my way of paying you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still owe you a pair of shoes, remember?”

He laughed. “Oh yeah. I guess you’d better pay for dinner the next time.”

“Next time?”

*

Annie slept soundly in the backseat of the car like only the very young can do, with her head tilted over sideways. She snored lightly and drooled a little on her pink shirt. Morgan remembered falling asleep in her parents’ car many nights after going to the drive-in movies they loved.

The stars were brilliant diamonds in the darkened sky. All threat of rain had disappeared. A cool evening breeze caressed her skin and gave her a little shiver. Or was it the man?

She shut the car door quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping child. Tyler got out just as carefully and walked her up to the steps of the hauler.

“Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it.” Astonishment filled her as she realized she really meant it. It had been lots of fun playing and laughing with both of them.

“You could’ve let up and let me win at skee ball, you know.”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Never.” She laughed, turning to smile up at him. “I wouldn’t be here if I let people win.” She poked him in the chest for emphasis. “Sir,
that
is a foreign concept in my world.”

Moonlight burnished his hair to russet gold. The light wind wrapped the scent of cinnamon and vanilla around her senses. His face bathed in the pale glow of light, she watched his eyes darken and heat.

He grasped her hand and pulled her close. Fire bloomed in her chest and spread low and deep. Her nipples became hard buds filled with anticipation.

This is wrong! You could lose everything!
Her mind screamed at her to no avail. Her senses on autopilot, she leaned into him, standing on her toes to reach the full lips he offered.

Instinct loosed her primal need, washed away her logic, and filled her with the sharp claws of animal passion.

His arms came around her, stroking her back through her shirt, raising her against him, fanning the towering flames. Their lips met with frightening intensity, no hesitation on either part. Tongues danced, volcano hot, ready and willing, clashing together, turning both of them to molten lava.

She wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him down to her, the other around his waist, fingers searching under his shirt for hot flesh, pulling him in close. She rubbed herself against him, fanatical in her desire.

His hands flowed hot down her back to cup her up tight and rock her against him. A moan slipped from her dampened lips.

Soul to soul, her inner beast recognized his own, lioness to lion, yearning to mate.

Dimly she heard the roar of a car engine. The flashing strobe of headlights covered them for an instant in blinding white light.

Surprise tore them apart. She felt bereft, cool air covering her body where scalding warmth had been. She stared at Tyler in shock as he stood, eyes wide, mouth half-open, gaping like a fish out of water.

He ran a trembling hand through his hair and looked around. She could see the moment realization dawned on him. They were standing in the wide open spaces acting like two love-starved, hormone-high teenagers.

The heat in his eyes cooled, his lips formed a determined line and his hands went into his pockets. He backed away from her like she had the plague.

A brief salute to his brow, a nod and he was gone. Driving away like the devil herself chased him.

Shaking legs would no longer hold her up, so Morgan sat down hard on the steps, letting the cool darkness soothe her.

Stunned at her feral reaction, she touched her lips with tender fingertips and tasted the salt tang of blood. She wondered how long it would take for the rest of her body to turn into a pile of smoking ash.

Chapter 10

Morning sun, rising over the grandstands, gilded the remaining five contestants with golden strokes. It warmed them as they waited on the pit wall for Butch Cameron and his entourage.

A restless night made Morgan push her sunglasses up snug to hide her tired eyes from the seeking sun and the cameras. She tried not to think about last evening’s escapade with Tyler and what it might or might not mean, ground she’d already covered thoroughly in the early pre-dawn hours.

She couldn’t figure out which was worse, the fact that his kiss had touched her in ways none ever had, or the part she really hated—he’d left her aroused and wanting more. Either way, she pushed it to the back of her mind for later. For now, she had work to do.

“Hey Eric, you ready for all of this?” Morgan stood behind the other contestants as they sat on the wall. Each had brought some of their own personal safety gear. Helmets rested next to them like a row of turtle shells, with gloves tucked inside waiting to be used.

“Oh yeah. I’m ready. You?”

“More than.” Morgan scanned the area and noted the absence of one of them.

“Where’s Jim?”

Eric and Kyle rolled their eyes at her, with Kyle speaking first. “Where do you think he is? He’s right where his brown-nosing butt fits best.”

Butch appeared from around the corner of the garage, headed toward them, followed closely by his wife, Lacey, and an animated Jim O’Bannon.

Gesturing with his hands and talking a blue streak, Jim brimmed with self-importance. He thought he could win this contest by the force of his personality alone.

“What a jerk. Hey, Morgan, you wouldn’t happen to have that little friend of yours with you, would you?” Eric asked, his expression a mixture of curiosity and expectation.

“Little friend.” She had no idea what he meant. “What little friend?”

“You know the rubber one
somebody left for you at the last race in Sunflower, Kansas.”

“Oh, yeah, I do. It’s in the hauler.” She couldn’t help but be inspired. One of the few things racers liked almost as much as racing were the practical jokes they played on each other. Someone had lef
t it for her a couple years ago with a note attached saying she’d need one to run with the big boys. Initially it embarrassed her, but she’d gotten over it. Later on she’d discovered by chance O’Bannon was the culprit. Then she’d kept it around for laughs. And as a reminder of just how good she’d need to be.

“It looks like Jim’s busy for a few minutes. Can you run and get it?”

“Great idea. Watch my stuff.” Blake the cameraman started to walk with her, filming every step. She winked at him and smiled coyly. “Might I have a moment to myself?”

Blake laughed from behind his camera, “Sure, just don’t let anything happen without me.”

“I promise,” she yelled as she jogged quickly to her trailer.

Not even out of breath, Morgan made it back to the pit wall just in time to hear Butch issue instructions.

“Just like all the other challenges, lady and gentlemen, this one is straight up. You’ll each have ten warm up laps and then put down your three timed laps. The fastest average times win. Be sure to use all the safety gear the crew chiefs tell you to and listen to the spotter’s instructions on your radios.”

Butch looked at Jim, perched on the pit wall like a bantam rooster, then at the rest of them. “I’ll have a chance tonight at dinner to speak with the rest of you and get to know each of you a little better. Good luck and we’ll see you tonight.”

Morgan walked up behind Jim and smiled at Eric watching her from a few steps away. Word must have gotten around. The other guys were studiously looking any direction but at them, except for Blake. Camera whirring, he was glued to her heels.

“What’s the news Jim? Got any words of wisdom for the rest of us?”

Jim looked down his nose at her, no small feat since they were almost the same diminutive height. “Yeah, you need to get back into the kitchen. You’re wasting your time.” His attitude came across as just plain arrogant. The continuous sarcasm washed away any remorse she might have felt over what she was about to do.

Giving a short nod to Eric, she shrugged her shoulders at Jim, raised her eyebrows. “Thanks. Your disapproval means so much.” When would the cretin ever get over her refusal to date him?

Eric called out right on time, “Hey, Jim, got a minute?” When he turned to Eric, Morgan lifted the gloves out of Jim’s helmet and stuffed her little friend deep inside. She put his gloves back into the helmet and climbed quickly over the wall and headed toward the FASPRO truck waiting for its first contestant.

Sleek and shiny, painted the red and green of Cameron Motorsports, the truck silently called to her. She’d never driven this kind of racing vehicle before and she couldn’t wait. Since she’d drawn the lowest-numbered pill, she got to go first. She had to drive it, just had to.

Six hundred horsepower, two hundred less than her sprint car, and thirty-two hundred pounds, a little more than twice the weight. She knew it would be like trying to drive a brick through the air.

She stepped through the window and slid down into the seat. Moving methodically, she fastened her five point safety harness and head and neck restraint. Next, she took her gloves out of her helmet, put the radio earpieces into her ears and put on her helmet. She fastened it, and finally drew on her gloves.

Adrenaline slipped and slid through her body. A clutch of butterflies flitting around in her stomach made her feel at home. She looked over as much as she could, being all strapped in, to see Jack and Phil give her thumbs up.

Since sprint car drivers weren’t allowed to have radios, the voice in her ear surprised her the first time, “Ready, Morgan?”

“Ready.” The crewman fastened her window net and she flipped the switches to turn on the front-end fans, the ignition and then the starter. The engine roared to life and vibrated the seat beneath her.

“Okay, pull out onto the track and gradually pick up your speed.” The faceless voice directed her.

Morgan shifted into first gear—Mmm, the clutch was a little stiff—and brought the truck down pit road to the track entrance. She pulled onto the track headed into turn one. Faster and faster she drove, feathering the accelerator and brake with her foot through the turns. Second gear, she could feel the power of the engine through the slightest of vibrations in her hands on the wheel. Third gear. Raw horsepower made the seat quiver beneath her. And finally, fourth. One-hundred ten, one-hundred twenty, thirty, forty, fifty.

Even though the regular Cameron drivers Johnny Wilkins and Eddie Hanson had warmed up the trucks and run some laps, the track was still a little slippery. They’d set the truck up tight. It wanted to push up just a bit in the corners, but she could work with it. The challenge fed her.

Mind and machine melded. Walls, grandstands and people distorted and blended, nameless shapes, visions blurred by speed. Endorphins flooded her system as she roared around the track. She was born to do this. It was in her blood, in her bones.

Black asphalt called to her, made her soul sing. A yellow brick road she followed willingly to the checkered flag of Oz.

“Great lap, Morgan. Twenty-four point oh-three at one hundred fifty-two miles an hour, just two tenths off the track record. Way to show ’em up, lady!”

She’d never gone that fast in her life. The feel of it, the power she held in her hands, had wrapped around her. The experience was incredible. Her sprint car maybe did one-forty, tops. Hands shaking, stomach quivering, she felt humble and excited at the same time. “Thanks guys, thanks so much,” she whispered into the microphone they’d put into her helmet.

She had to win, not only for her father. Now, for herself.

*

Tires screamed, pieces of metal flew and parts went everywhere as Ryan McCarthy from Indianapolis, Indiana, backed the Cameron’s truck into the wall at one hundred and thirty miles an hour. Spinning around and around like a top, he fought to save it. Losing grip, it finally spun free.

Morgan’s laps were still the fastest, with only Jim O’Bannon left to go. Jack and Phil stood next to her at the wall.

Eric, Kyle and Bobby each had their lap times about a tenth or so slower than hers, respectively. She knew any twist of fate could have changed things. Thankfully fate had smiled on her today.

Ryan climbed out of the truck and waved to let them know he was okay. She felt good that fate was smiling on him too.

Jim O’Bannon was the last contestant to qualify. Butch and Lacey Cameron walked over to the wall to stand with them and watch. Morgan glanced around and noticed somehow drivers, crewmen and television people alike had all made their way to the pit wall, seemingly needing to do something there at precisely that moment.

She could see Jim strap himself in the seat, take his gloves out and put his helmet on his head. He struggled with it for a moment, then jerked it off and peered inside. An angry bellow came from the greenhouse area inside the truck, where he sat strapped in. His voice, loud and angry enough to capture everyone’s attention, made them all look.

“Dammit, Blade!” Jim’s voice roared; at the same time his hand shot out the driver’s side window.

It threw out a pink gel filled dildo with the words ‘You’re a dick’ written down the side in black magic marker.

Everyone laughed.

*

Dinner would be a fancy affair, catered at the racetrack, on the tower terrace in one of the VIP suites overlooking the oval. Morgan dressed carefully in what she called her good clothes. Snug little black dress, freshly shaved legs smoothed with shimmering lotion, and strappy black stilettos.

She plumped her cleavage into the halter neckline of her dress and smiled at the ladies in the mirror. There. Let the guys compete with these.

She combed her chin-length, mink-colored curls, and finally gave up. Her curly hair just had to have its own way. Mascara, eyeliner and murder-red lipstick completed her toilette.

Jack and Phil were hanging around outside, joking with Blake and Steve Gable, the director. When she stepped out the door, conversation stopped. They all stared at her.

She smoothed her dress, looked down at her shoes and then back at them. “What’s the matter, I have egg on my face or something?” Arms held out from her sides, she glared at them.

Jack smiled and winked at her. Phil coughed, and Blake was the first to recover his voice. “You—you just look different out of your fire suit, that’s all.” He peeked at her from around his camera, then snuck quickly back behind it, zooming in on her.

“That’s my girl.” Jack came up to hug her. He pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, take this in case you need it.”

“Aw, Jack.” Genuinely touched, the familiar motion made her eyes water. She hugged him close for a moment, and stepped away. She took the handkerchief and tucked it into her bra.

“Yer daddy says to knock ’em dead.”

“Oh, you talked to him? When? How is he?”

“Yeah. Just a little while ago. He’s hangin’ in. This new stuff seems to be helping him feel better. Your momma sends hugs.”

“Thanks, Jack. Maybe he’ll be better when we get home.”

He looked at her, emotions swirling in his eyes. “Maybe so, little girl, maybe so.”

News of her father’s improved health raised her spirits. Excitement weaved its way through her supple muscles, making her feel strong and happy to be alive. With a broad wave to Jack and Phil, she turned to Steve and Blake. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”

*

China and crystal gleamed in the soft candlelight. Warm cherrywood tables, polished to a high shine, stood proudly decked with Longwood sterling flatware and fine cream linens.

Tyler ignored it. It wasn’t much different from dinner at his parents’ house. He’d grown up with wealth and privilege, so he tended to ignore the details. People were usually the focus of his attention.

He sensed a change in the air change the moment she entered the room. It felt as if the world inhaled, then, satisfied, released its breath. He could swear his heart stopped, for just a moment. Incredible. Having never seen her in anything but jeans or a fire suit, he stood there, speechless. By silent acknowledgement, every male head in the room turned toward the door.

He’d told himself all day he couldn’t afford any entanglements. Annie had to be his first priority. He’d make it so. When he saw Morgan walk in, every feeling he’d felt the night before came rushing back to swamp him.

Hunger, need, and desire fought for supremacy inside him. He didn’t want to recognize them, but they all fit. Willing or not, his feet led him to her, his body a supplicant, waiting to worship at the altar of Venus.

“Tyler, it’s good to see you.” With a laugh in her seductive voice, Morgan’s amaretto eyes sparkled with mischief. She held her hand out to him in a formal manner, as if meeting him after a long absence.

Two could play this game. He grasped her hand and pulled her in close to him, air kissing both her cheeks. “You’re in over your head,” he whispered softly in her ear. The sweet smell of roses muddled his thoughts. Maybe it was the roses, maybe it was the dress. Hell, he had no idea.