Winning It All (9 page)

Instead, she’d attended her husband’s funeral. She’d watched them lower him into the cold, hard ground. She’d watched her dreams and her future die along with him. And for two seemingly endless years she’d walked through life in a daze.

Suddenly, she was wide-awake.

She glanced down the hall and saw Bryan sitting on his bed. She clenched her hands around the exercise clothes she’d taken off and fought the urge to sit beside him, to rub the frown lines from his forehead. “All finished,” she said with forced brightness. “I’ll start dinner.”

He nodded, and she fled toward the kitchen.

She set the oven to preheat, then retrieved an onion from the pantry and began chopping. Unfortunately, it was mindless work she’d done a million times before, so her thoughts were free to roam.

Bryan had been right. Their kiss had crossed a line. She wished she could be angry at him for touching her, but the recollection of his mouth on hers, his heart hammering beneath her palm, was too powerful and amazing to deny. She searched her conscience desperately for shame—at her unprofessional behavior, at not honoring her husband’s memory—and, for once, found none.

She hadn’t touched a man in anything more than friendship in so long, it was probably natural that she
would eventually have those feelings again. Mere weeks ago, she’d been resentful that the
when
of her healing was still in question.

Had it now begun?

There was nothing shameful about sex, thinking about it or doing it. If her face wasn’t hot and flushed, of course, that argument might be more effective.

It was silly to feel all goofy and teenagelike. But she did. She felt kind of giddy, like she was in the throes of her first crush. Then again, maybe it was the endorphins.

“Can I help?”

She jumped, not having heard Bryan’s approach. He’d dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair was still damp, and she could smell a hint of the soap from his shower. She’d never been this light-headed because of endorphins. No, this crazy feeling was all him. “You can get the pot out of the fridge and set it on the stove, on low heat.”

“I didn’t see this earlier,” he said as he lifted the pot.

“You mean, when you went into a rage about the lack of Go!”

“Yeah, then.” With the pot started, he turned to face her. “We have to have Go! in the fridge. They’re a sponsor.”

“Have you looked at the sugar content of that stuff? No way.”

“We have to have Go! in the fridge. They’re a sponsor.”

She stopped chopping and looked at him. The man could give a mule lessons in being stubborn.

“I won’t drink it,” he said.

“Deal.”

“What’s in the pot?”

“Black beans. I’m making a Cuban specialty.”

“Chicken and yellow rice?” At her surprised look, he added, “Carmen’s been bragging.”

“It’s really pretty easy.” She retrieved the platter of chicken from the fridge, then slid it in the oven. “It’s all in the marinade.”

“You actually
like
to cook, don’t you?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?” When he shrugged, she guessed, “Your ex.”

“She liked going out.”

“With a champion race car driver decorating her arm?”

His face tightened in anger. “I guess so.”

After wiping her hands on a towel, she started water to boil for the rice. “That’s her flaw, not yours, you know.”

“But I picked her, didn’t I? I fell for her beauty, her fake sincerity.”

“Her body,” she added lightly.

“That, too.” He shook his head ruefully. “You may not believe this, but I used to be a pretty hot commodity on the racing circuit. Among women, I mean.”

She swallowed. “I believe it.”

“So, I had all these women after me, right? I pick Nicole. Some judge of character I am.”

“I can see how a man could be dazzled by her. Look at Chance. All he does is stare at her.”

He gazed at Darcy in disbelief. “You did not just compare me to Chance Baker.”

“Hey, you guys are the ones who fell for the same woman.”

“So we did.”

“On the bright side, the accident was kind of a blessing. It showed you who she really was.”

“Sorry to disagree, but I’d rather be married to a hot blonde and be racing for a championship.”

“Even a disloyal hot blonde?” she asked. Surely she hadn’t so badly misjudged his character.

He frowned. “I guess not.”

“And you are racing for a championship. You’re just not the one driving for it.”

“You always manage to put a positive spin on everything—even divorce and career-ending injuries.”

“What good does it do to want to change what’s already happened?”

“This is why I’m in therapy, and you’ve moved on with your life. I imagine the death of a spouse is much more traumatic, and here you are, handling things with much better grace.”

She thought of the light-headed panic she felt whenever she heard emergency sirens, the stashes of
chocolate bars she hid everywhere, how she turned to them when she couldn’t find a way to make it through the day. Even though she knew emotional eating was a big no-no, she couldn’t stop. She’d lied in a huge way when she’d told Bryan she didn’t have any vices.

“I have my troubled moments, too,” she said, not willing to admit how crazy she was.

“You still miss him?” he asked after a moment.

The lump in her throat seemed insurmountable, but she managed to nod, then speak around it. “I do.”

“I miss her, too, sometimes. Well, not
her
exactly. Just someone being there.”

She moved her gaze to his. “Yeah, me, too.”

“I like having someone to eat with at night, like we’ve been doing. I know it’s your job to cook, but I like it when you stay and have dinner with me.”

If he’d said those words to her yesterday, she wouldn’t have thought much about them. Tonight, though, after that kiss, his comments were more personal, intimate even. “I’m flatter—”

“Who else would I complain to about steamed fish and vegetables?”

She swatted him with the towel. “Sometimes, Bryan Garrison, you are not a nice man.”

He grinned, and she knew he’d been teasing about dinner. He did like her company. Apparently, he also had a thing for her lips. “Speaking of nice…I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“That wasn’t nice?”

His eyes lit like blue flames. “It was…” He couldn’t seem to find the words. “You work for me.”

“I know. You’re a client, and I don’t kiss clients.” Truthfully, she didn’t kiss anybody. “But we seem to have this chemistry between us.”

His gaze remained locked on hers. “Yes, we do.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

He walked a few feet away, and she wondered if he was as confused, intrigued, nervous, yet excited, as she was. It shouldn’t be possible to feel all those emotions at once, but meeting Bryan had brought parts of her back to life that she thought had died with Tom. She couldn’t deny she felt something for Bryan that she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long, long time.

But he was in pain and lonely; she was in pain and lonely. Could anything come of them turning to each other? Or could it be just that simple?

“Do you want to know what we
should
do, or what I
want
to do?” he asked her finally.

“Want,” she whispered.

“I want to kiss you again.” He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Actually, I want to do much more than kiss you.”

Oh, boy.
She pressed her lips together. “Okay, well…”

He was not only a client, he was still hung up on his ex-wife. Was she crazy to risk involvement in his tangled emotions? Had she been alone for so long that
any man’s desire was a compliment? Or was this whole business a problem she wasn’t prepared to deal with?

“These…
wants
will complicate things between us,” she said.

“Only if you don’t feel the same way.”

She could hardly believe they were having this conversation. They were barely getting along a few weeks ago. That kiss had catapulted them into a new arena, though she could hardly deny she’d been attracted to him from the first moment they’d met.

“Darcy?”

She jerked her gaze to his. “I do feel the same way. I just—” She wanted to laugh at herself, and them, for being so serious about a single kiss. “We have to be the two most romantically wary people on the planet. Maybe we’re just lonely.”

“I wasn’t lonely before you showed up.”

“But earlier you said you missed having dinner with someone.”

“I did. I do—but that only started a few weeks ago. After you showed up and starting feeding me every weekend.”

How he could look annoyed about something he enjoyed, she had no idea. But then they’d promised each other honesty. She supposed they were getting it. “I was perfectly content, too, you know.”

“Super. What’re we going to do about all this?”

The timer on the oven saved her from deciding or replying.

She served the plates of tender, baked chicken over the black beans and yellow rice, adding chopped, raw onions on top. They ate for a while in silence, other than Bryan’s compliments about the dinner. Darcy always enjoyed the hearty dish, but she was too distracted tonight to fully appreciate her efforts.

As Bryan rose to clear the plates, she remembered something that had her choking on her water. “You have a massage scheduled tomorrow.”

“Massage?”

“It’ll help relieve the stiffness in your knee.”

“I figured. There’s a massage therapist at the track?”

“Sure there is.” Her heart rate zipped into overdrive, even as the practical parts of her went into panic mode. “Me.”

“A
RE YOU SURE
you’re comfortable with this?”

Bryan, lying on his back, on a portable massage table, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, clenched his hands at his sides. “Oh, sure.”

“I don’t want this to be awkward.”

“It’ll be fine.”

She didn’t move, and though his eyes were shut tight, he could feel her hands hovering over him.

Truthfully, he’d both dreaded and craved this moment since she’d said it was coming the night before. And he wasn’t comfortable in any way.

“Okay, so I’m going to, ah…touch you now.”

Bracing himself, he clenched his jaw. “Go.”

She laid her hand on his thigh; he jolted and sat up.

Eye-to-eye, his hands curled into fists, her hand jerked behind her back, and they stared at each other.

Then her hand cupped his jaw, her other hand slipped around his waist, and her lips were on his.

He pulled her tight against him, realizing he’d accomplished a great feat—he’d kept his hands off her for nearly twenty-four hours. The kiss went on as if
they didn’t have to be on pit road in less than an hour. As if qualifying wasn’t about to take place, or there wasn’t the possibility of anybody in his family or on the team walking into his motor home any minute and finding them—

He turned his head. But he didn’t let go of her. He panted to get his breath back. “So it was a little awkward having you touch me.”

She took a step back; he pulled her close again.

“We have to stop doing this,” she said, breathless and looking appalled.

“I don’t see why.”

“I don’t kiss clients.”

“Gotta argue with you there, babe.”

“Babe?” She worked her way out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “Seriously,
babe?
I’m a professional. You don’t call me names like that.”

He made an effort to control his amusement. Because he suddenly felt really happy. “I apologize for my unprofessional comments.” He leaned back on his elbows. “You want to try that massage thing again?”

Her gaze raked him—from head to toe—then her face turned bright red. “I’m—We’re not—”

At least her frustration had calmed him. He was through pretending—to her or himself—he didn’t want her. Even though he’d been honest with her the night before, he’d wanted to reject those feelings. Today, he was ready to embrace them. Maybe they
were
both just lonely.

But they didn’t have to be.

Her working for him made things a bit awkward and unconventional, but it wouldn’t be the first time in the small community of racing that a relationship had sprung from professional ties.

Oh, so now you’re thinking about a relationship with her, are you?

He ignored his conscience and his gut telling him neither of them were ready for that. “Come on. I won’t touch you.” Raising his hands to promise innocence, he also forced his expression into seriousness. “I’ve got to go to qualifying. We need to get on with this.”

She glared at him suspiciously. “On with what?”

She was the one who’d grabbed
him.
But pointing that out at the moment didn’t seem wise. “The massage.” He smiled. “That’s it, I promise.”

“Put on your shirt.”

“But I’m a little tight right…” He slid his fingers across his shoulder. “Oh, about here.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no way.” She shook her head, then visibly drew a deep breath. She paced, glared at him, then stopped in front of him. “Let’s do the knee thing.”

He’d love to know the thoughts jumping around in her head, the reasons she was moving on with the therapy session, but he wasn’t stupid enough to question his bounty.

Obligingly, he grabbed his T-shirt and slipped it on
before lying down. Was his bare chest that distracting? The working out had given him a bit more definition, but he was a long way from what he used to be. He barely had a two-pack in the abs department.

He anticipated his physique changing with Darcy’s military-like diet and exercise regimen, but that was a future goal so—

Her fingers probed his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.

Eyes closed, fighting to remember they had to work together to make anything else remotely possible, he let her rub down the muscles in his legs. At some point, his mind went blank and he relaxed. Though a sensual thread certainly lingered, he gave himself over to the clinical aspect of her touch, realizing, for possibly the first time, that Darcy and her program could enable him to walk without a limp, to move easily, to recover some of the man he used to be.

Low music filled the room, and he realized she’d snapped her MP3 player into his stereo system. He’d heard the rhythmic guitar and dancing flutes many times during their yoga sessions. The sounds were familiar and comforting.

How did she always think of details like that?

She knew the right note, the right key, to get to him. And he didn’t believe that was all professional instinct. There was an extra bond between them, something that gleamed in her tawny eyes only occasionally, but that was all the more powerful for its brevity.

“Be still for a minute,” she said, her voice seeming to float over him. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Let go of the negative energy. Push it away.”

Amazingly, he already had. Maybe even from the moment she’d walked into his life.

Her fingertips drifted across his cheek, and he was fairly certain that wasn’t part of her normal routine. “I’m going outside. When you’re ready we can—”

He snagged her hand.

She stilled beside him, though he held only her fingertips. He could hear her breathing and only a hint of the background music. So much of him centered on her. Maybe he had from the first. Maybe being drawn to each other wasn’t sensible, or the path they should have taken, but he’d somehow committed to that fork in the road.

And he had no intention of turning around.

He opened his eyes and found her staring down at him. Her golden eyes held curiosity and wariness. He wanted to know what else she hid. What other secrets and pleasures might be revealed?

“Will there be more kissing?” He threaded his fingers through hers and added, “Just wondering if I should be prepared to have you grab me again.”

She glared at him. “Hey, you grabbed me, too. The grabbing is, in fact, tied—one each.”

“Who do you think will be the first one to break the tie?”

“Not me.”

“Then I will.”

“No.”

“Why?” It was a reasonable question, though she looked even more annoyed. He liked that she was flustered. It was cute, and she could hardly find too much fault with his honesty. That was her credo, right?

“Don’t smile at me like that,” she said with that guarded look still in her eyes. “You’re supposed to be bitter and brooding.”

“I don’t feel like doing that today.” In fact, he could almost call what he was doing
flirting.
Very weird. And though he was seriously out of practice, the instinct seemed to come naturally when he was with Darcy.

“You didn’t seem to think the kissing was so hot last night,” she said.

“Oh, it was hot. I just didn’t think it was smart.” He’d also been embarrassed by his impulsiveness. These days he thought through his actions very carefully before he made them. “But knowing you have as little self-control as I do has changed my attitude. I’m all for more kissing.” Keeping a hold on her hand, he sat up. “Wanna try again?”

“You’re a client.”

He scooted off the massage table. “Not anymore.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Nice work on the knee, by the way. It feels better.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re changing the subject. I don’t go around kissing clients.”

“Good.” He tucked her arms around his neck. “I’m possessive.”

She squirmed, but he held her by her waist. “Bryan, I really need to—”

“Kiss me. Let’s try again. On purpose this time.”

While he puckered, she searched his gaze. He had no idea what she was looking for and was reluctant to say anything more and screw up his chances.

“Okay,” she said quietly a moment later.

Her eyes were still full of anxiety.

It wasn’t a promising start.

Before he could question their decision, or she decided to back out, he leaned toward her, cupping her face in his palm. He stroked his thumb across her jaw, then laid his mouth over hers.

His memory hadn’t exaggerated the wild, swooping feeling in his stomach, or the taste and smell of vanilla, plus something fruity, spicy, unique to Darcy.

Her lips trembled, and his heart lurched in response. What had started out as teasing had become something else. Serious. Meaningful. It had been a long time since anything in his life but the race team and his family meant something. Concern crawled over him like a rash.

But neither did he want to let go of her.

He wasn’t sure why she made him feel this way—good, excited and worried all at the same time. Having her around was simply better than not. He wasn’t sure he was capable of deeper thought than that at the
moment, even though the admission that he wanted and needed someone else was a fairly revolutionary idea.

When he finally pulled back, she looked as dazed as he felt.

He slid his thumb across her velvety skin. “Yeah. I’m all for more kissing.”

“We, um…seem to be pretty good at it.”

He smiled. “We certainly do. Why don’t—”

A knock at the door prevented him from suggesting that she come with him to qualifying. If she was going to hang around and be part of the team—and he sincerely hoped she was—she might as well learn how everything worked.

Reluctantly, he stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. “Come in!”

Cade stuck his head around the edge of the door. “You ready?”

“Sure.” Bryan glanced at Darcy. “Come with us.”

“No, I—” Her face flushed, and she cleared her throat. “I need to start dinner.”

“Cade goes out fifth. You’ll be back in no time.” He gave his brother a meaningful look. “Won’t she?”

It might have been a while since they’d worked in tandem to accomplish more than winning races, but Cade apparently got the vibe that Bryan wanted to be with Darcy. Helpfully, he turned on the super charm that had dazzled women all over the country before he’d fallen hard and fast for his wife.

Walking inside, he approached Darcy, sliding his arm around her waist. “You work too much, slaving over a hot stove to feed this guy.” He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “Which everyone in the family appreciates, by the way. He would live off burgers and fries if it was left up to him.”

Darcy sent Bryan a superior look. “Don’t I know it.”

“You’ve been such a great influence on him,” Cade added.

“Well, I was hired—” Darcy stopped, her gaze jumping to Bryan’s. The subject of employee/boss was one she obviously didn’t want to go into. “We’re making progress, and I’m not slaving. I like cooking.”

Cade nodded, but steered her toward the door. “Still, everybody needs a break.”

“I did do a lot of the prep work earlier,” she said. “But I can watch qualifying from here.”

“TV’s great, but you’re part of the team now. You need to watch the action from our perspective.”

The guy was a master. If Bryan had had to convince her to come with them, she’d have refused on principle. Since his brother already had the door open and was in the process of escorting Darcy out, Bryan figured he needed to move fast. “I need to put on some jeans. Will you two try not to bond too solidly against me while I’m gone?”

Darcy turned to Cade. “Has he always had an aversion to fish, or is it just the way I’m preparing it?”

Bryan rushed back to his bedroom as he heard
Cade begin an explanation of family fish fries back when they were kids. With her mind on food, Darcy had probably dismissed the massaging and kissing completely. He’d have to work later to get her thoughts back where he wanted them.

He changed quickly, not wanting Darcy to spend too much time with Cade. He’d rather her not compare his brother’s lighthearted charisma and compliments with Bryan’s own tendency toward moodiness.

He’d always been the more serious of his siblings. There was a time he’d thought that was simply because he was the oldest, but the accident and his retirement from racing had brought out a cynical edge that seemed natural and yet sometimes scared him with its intensity. He didn’t want to be angry, resentful and demanding all the time. He just was.

And he didn’t do compliments well. Maybe because his ex had expected them constantly and never seemed to think he appreciated her enough. Or gave her enough jewelry to show his devotion.

Stop thinking about her.

He smoothed his hands over his black T-shirt and considered changing into something more polished, which he did rarely these days. Most owners dressed more formally—button-down shirts and khaki or black slacks. He wore his jeans, T-shirts and stubble-covered jaw like a badge of honor. Silly, in a way.