Sweet Carolina (8 page)

“Damnit,” Dell said as he jerked the wheel to
the right to cut off the car making a bid for his track
position.

“You need new tires, Dell,” Caro said.

“No new tires! I've got this,” he said. He
held off the challenge for five more laps. As he came out of turn
four into the front stretch, he throttled up and rubbed bumpers
with the lead car. “Come on, asshole, move over,” he mumbled. The
15 car held his piece of track and Dell eased up against his bumper
again. The lead car shot out ahead of him and Dell followed,
kissing his bumper every chance he got. “Move it, lard ass,” he
said.

“Dell, what are you doing?”

Dell ignored the panic in her voice and
nudged the lead car again.”You wanted to win, Caro, this is how
it's done.” He counted to ten and asked, “Laps?”

“Ten to go,” Russell said.

Dell continued his assault on the lead car,
mentally noting the laps. “Tell me when we get to three,” he said
to whomever was listening.

“Dell…” Dell ignored the warning tone and hit
the lead car hard. The driver almost lost control, but managed to
steer through it.

“Four,” Russell said.

One more. Dell concentrated on his next move.
He saw the checkered line painted on the pavement in the front
stretch as Russell confirmed three laps to go. Dell bided his time.
Split seconds. Through turn one. Turn two. Throttle up into the
backstretch. He dropped down to the inside – mere inches and
pressed the nose of his car against the bumper of the lead car, and
pushed.

He saw the driver of the lead car try to
steer his car back into the groove of the track and fail. As soon
as the left side of his car cleared the right side of Dell's, Dell
throttled up and passed him for the lead.

“Two,” Russell said. “Hot damn, Dell!”

“Dell Wayne!” Caro yelled. “Are you
crazy?”

Dell smiled. Damn straight he was. Crazy as a
loon. “See you in Victory Lane, sweetheart.”

* * * *

Caro pasted on a smile for the cameras and
said all the right things, but inwardly she was seething. Five
hundred laps of insane driving, and Dell acted like he'd won. Well,
he had a trophy, and the purse would keep them in business for a
while longer, but he'd lived up to his Madman nickname. It was
nothing more than luck that had him standing in Victory Lane,
swigging champagne and locking lips with the Miss Double-D Cup. And
his last stunt? Totally unacceptable. Thank goodness it had been
Stillwell he challenged. A lesser driver would have spun out and
taken out half the cars on the lead lap.

By the time they made it back to the hauler,
Caro was ready to explode. “What the hell were you doing?” she
asked. “Is that what you call driving? How many did you shove out
of your way today? Six…? More?” She paced the small lounge because
she had too much pent-up anger to sit.

“Are you complaining?” Dell asked from his
prone position on the sofa. “I won. We won,” he amended. “Isn't
that what you pay me for?”

She stopped her pacing and stared at him.
God, he looked good, and she almost forgot why she was mad at him –
then he ran his hands through his champagne-soaked hair and it all
came back to her. “I'm paying you to drive, not to kill
yourself.”

The words dropped between them like a stone.
Dell stilled. Like an animal sensing its prey, he swung his feet to
the floor and stood. He towered over her, and even though he had to
be exhausted, he looked ready to take on the world. Or one petite
female team owner.

“You know what's killing me, Caro?” he asked
as he closed the distance between them. Caro held her ground. He
smelled of stale champagne and sweat, with a hint of burnt rubber
thrown in. It should have been nauseating, but to Caro, it was the
smell of victory, however won. She lifted her eyes to his as he
slid one foot between her splayed ones and pressed his body into
her personal space.

“Lord knows dying on the track would be
easier than keeping my hands off you every day.” He trailed one
callused finger across her cheekbone, and down along her jaw to her
chin to tilt her head back, telegraphing his next move with his
firm touch. His gaze traveled from her lips to her eyes, giving her
ample opportunity to say no, or to back away, but she couldn't.

His breath was hot against her face. His lips
a mere inch from hers. “I'm going to die right here, Caro, if I
don't kiss you.”

Her heart leapt against her ribcage and her
last grain of sanity gasped for her to run, but died from lack of
oxygen as he pressed his lips to hers. His lips were warm and firm,
and his kiss was sweet, almost tentative at first. In all her wild
imaginings, she never believed Dell Wayne could be so gentle.

She moaned.

That did it. Dell's hold on decency slipped
from his hands and he filled them with Caro instead. His hand
beneath her chin moved to cup the back of her head while the other
one found her sweet ass in her fire suit and pressed her softness
against his hardness. She moaned again and he devoured her mouth.
She tasted better than any champagne, and beneath the smell of
burnt rubber and car exhaust clinging to her hair, was some flowery
scent: beneath that, pure Carolina Hawkins.

Her lips were everything he dreamed they
would be, and though he'd never been fire suit-to-fire suit with
anyone before, he didn't want to let her go. She was the spark to
his ignition and he went full throttle at her first moan. The
little girl he'd played with as a child was all grown up and she
had his lug nuts in a vise. He wanted her. And if the way she was
kissing him back was any indication, she wanted him equally as
much.

As he fumbled with the closure at the collar
of her fire suit, he mentally checked off the steps to slipping her
out of it altogether. Layers. Too many layers. The fire suit.
Followed by the fireproof layer underneath, then…images of lacy
undergarments flashed through his mind. Did she wear lace under all
the protective gear? God, he hoped so.

He flicked her collar open and fumbled for
the tab on her zipper, all without breaking the kiss. The zipper
parted and his hand slid inside her suit. Undaunted by the Nomex
undergarments, his fingers found skin. Hot, silky skin. He wrenched
his lips from hers. Caro looked up, her eyes glazed with passion,
her rosy lips wet and swollen. His gut clenched. He brushed his
thumb across her stomach, watching her eyes for a cue to continue
or stop. Everything in him screamed to take another lap, full
throttle ahead, but this was Carolina Hawkins, and he wouldn't hurt
her for anything, even for a victory lap.

“Touch me,” she said.

“You're sure?” he asked.

She shrugged one shoulder, then the other,
and the top of her fire suit hung from the waistband. “I'm sure,”
she said as she reached for the hem of the Nomex top and peeled it
up to reveal his hands wrapped around her waist.

Dell swallowed hard at the sight of all that
perfect alabaster skin. It was almost sacrilege to touch it with
his callused hands, but he couldn't let go.

“A little help here, Dell,” she said,
breaking into his reverie.

“Yeah, let's get this off.” He helped her
lift it over her head and off without taking his eyes off the twin
scraps of lace revealed in the process.

Before the Nomex hit the floor, his hands
covered her breasts. The lace scratched his palms in contrast to
the softness beneath. He squeezed both globes, and when she cried
out, he groaned. “Beautiful, Caro. You are so fucking
beautiful.”

“My turn,” she breathed. She fumbled with his
collar. Dell helped her, and before he could decide if it were a
good idea or not, his fire suit hung around his waist, and his
Nomex undershirt joined hers on the floor. He was on fire, and
there wasn't a suit in the world that could protect him from the
flames licking his insides. He burned for this woman. Rational or
not. Sane or not. It didn't matter.

Caro flattened her palms against his chest
and Dell ignited. He framed her face between his hands and brought
her lips up to his. Her hands explored. His lips conquered.
Desperate to taste her, he used his thumbs to tilt her head back
and trailed hot kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and to
the swell of her breasts above her bra.

Her skin smelled like roses and tasted like
cream. He wanted more. He hooked a finger in the top of one lacy
cup and jerked down. One sweet, ruby nipple popped free and he took
it in his mouth. Caro moaned and one small hand cradled the back of
his head, holding him to her while the other slipped around his
waist. The bite of fingernails in his back sent a bolt of lightning
to his groin.

He managed to free the other breast and
shifted his attention to it, testing the weight of the first in his
hand. Nothing had ever tasted, or felt, like this. Like his
Carolina. Sweet. Hot. Magnificent. Perfection.

His head pounded, muffled by the roar of
blood past his ears on its way south. Caro's fingers tightened in
his hair and she tugged hard, dislodging him. He cursed and pulled
her close with a hand at her back. He wasn't through. He'd never
get enough of her unique taste.

“Dell,” she said. The urgency in her tone and
the sharp tug on the back of his skull got his attention. Blood
still rushed past his ears, his scalp hurt, and the pounding – was
coming from outside his skull. “Someone's at the door. We have
to…”

“Get dressed, Caro,” he finished for her. He
grabbed the undershirts off the floor, handing her one as he jammed
his arms into his suit.

“Be right there,” he called to whomever was
at the door. Thank God, whoever it was had the decency to knock
instead of barging in. He zipped his suit and fisted his undershirt
in his hand. He helped Caro fasten her collar back in place, and
when she was all dressed, he dipped his head for one last kiss.

“We aren't through,” he said, liking the
flush on her cheeks and the way her lips looked after he tasted
them. “Come in,” he called.

Caro turned her back to the door, grabbed the
race book from today's race and began to study it as the door
opened. Russell stepped inside.

“The car passed inspection. We'll be loaded
in a few minutes,” he said.

“Thanks, Russell,” she said without turning.
“Is the chopper ready? Dell and I need to get back to the hotel so
we can get cleaned up and on the road.”

“Chopper's waiting for you. I've got a cart
outside to take you to it.”

Dell moved to the door. “Thanks, Russell.
We'll be right there.”

Russell glanced from Dell to Caro and back
again to the undershirt fisted in Dell's hand. He moved to the
door. “Okay, then.”

Dell closed and locked the door. “You okay?”
he asked.

Caro turned. Her lips were puffy and her
cheeks still held a healthy glow from their encounter. “I'm fine.
We need to go. It's a long way to Las Vegas.” She headed for the
door and Dell blocked her way.

“We aren't through, Caro.”

“Yes, we are, Dell. We can't do this…you're a
driver, and I own this team. It's not…we can't…”

He almost felt sorry for her, but if she'd
felt half the passion he did, she had to know this wasn't something
they could ignore. But he wouldn't push her to do something she
wasn't ready to do. “Okay, Caro. We'll do this your way, for now.
But we aren't through – far from it.”

Chapter Seven

Caro reached for the door latch, and Dell let
her go. She'd never… Never felt anything like the toe curling,
bone-melting heat that ravaged her body. Never dreamed she could
want…need anything as bad as she wanted and needed Dell Wayne.
Thank God, Russell came looking for them, or no telling how far she
would have let it go. Even now, her breasts craved his touch, and
other places ached for what might have been.

Wrong. It was so wrong. She wasn't stupid.
Rumors flew around the race circuit faster than a car without a
restrictor plate. You couldn't be a woman in a man's world,
especially one as driven by testosterone as this one, and not be
subject to improper conjecture: but there was no reason to add
reality to the fiction. She. Would. Not.

She scooted to the far side of the bench as
Dell climbed into the electric cart beside her. She. Would. Not.
Touch him. No matter how badly her fingers itched to feel all those
hard muscles again. Oh, God. Why did it have to be Dell Wayne?

The chopper ride to the resort north of
Phoenix took a lifetime, and when she met Dell later for dinner,
she realized cold showers were totally overrated. One heated look
from those blue eyes of his, and every want, every need came
rushing back, only hotter and more urgent than before. She took the
seat across the table from him, determined to put as much distance
as possible between them.

“We can't do this,” she said by way of
greeting.

Dell lowered the menu in his hands and
grinned. “Have dinner?” he asked.

“Don't be dense, Dell. You know what I'm
talking about.”

“We haven't done anything,” Dell said,
returning to his menu, “to my everlasting regret.”

“Regret all you want, but making a success of
this team is my primary goal right now, and I'm not going to blow
it for a quickie in the hauler.”

Dell lowered the menu again to look at her.
The lazy grin was gone, replaced by a granite façade. “Two things,
Caro.” He paused until she met his gaze. “One: I don't see how our
personal relationship has any bearing on whether Hawkins Racing
succeeds or not. And two: what makes you think it was going to be a
fast lap? I know when to go slow, and honey, we might have gotten
off to a fast start, but there wasn't going to be anything quick
about it, I assure you.”

Caro clutched her menu as if it might sprout
wings and fly at any second. Dell's assertion didn't do anything to
shore up her resolve, but she wasn't going to tell him. She put on
her best “business etiquette” face and said, “To address your
issues…Number one: there are enough people waiting for me to fall
on my face, or at the very least, steer Hawkins Racing into the
wall without making the rumors of sexual favors a reality. If you
don't think I know about the track talk, think again. I know what
they're saying about me, and I know if the rumors became true, I'd
lose even more ground. I've got plenty to prove, Dell – to myself,
and to everyone who has ever said a woman can't own a successful
race team.