Zero To Sixty (BWWM, Sports, Billionaire) (3 page)

Four

              Denise watched as Ansel glad handed customers. It was opening night of a new Honky Tonk bar on the strip. Thankfully this time,
he'd
driven to
her.

              Ansel had insisted on picking her up at her place. She'd argued on the phone with him for a half hour before realizing he would not give up. The man was stubborn as a goat.

              In the end, she'd compromised by having him drive to her, and leave his car at her place. There was no way she was getting into a car with Ansel again. Not after last time.

              He was already at her front door when she realized that her difficult spokesman now knew where she lived. Her big, out of control, childish, overly macho, aggressive, definitely-had-a-crush-on-her spokesman. Not that she thought he was dangerous.

              Well, not criminally dangerous anyway.

             
Dangerous to her peace of mind, most definitely.

              Now his car was at her place  and she had a much, much bigger problem than she'd initially thought.

              Ansel was far too drunk to drive anywhere, let alone back to his place in Malibu. She sighed and started looking for a hotel booking available on her tablet. Every now and then she took a sip of the shirley temple sat on the bar in front of her.

              It's too bad they didn't serve expresso here. Denise was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

              This past week had been one of the most exhausting of her life. Ansel had fought her at every turn, rearranging his schedule to suit himself. Mostly that meant later in the day and being drunk no matter what sort of promotional event she had lined up.

              Not to mention hitting on her non stop.

              She was sure he did that to every marginally attractive woman he came into contact with. Of course, he didn't do that in front of her. In fact, he deliberately ignored every attractive woman in sight. Except her.

              It was an obvious ploy to make her think he wanted more than a roll in the hay.

              The sad thing was, it was working. Ansel didn't just make her feel special. He was making her feel like she was the one.

              He was beyond attentive. And when he wasn't being combative, he was the most charming man she'd ever come into contact with. Add that to his bedroom baby blue eyes, tattoos, and general bad boy with a heart of gold persona and she was having a hard time separating fact from fiction.

              Just the other day they'd gone to an interview for Food and Wine magazine. Ansel had come to his door with a gift for her. A pretty terra cotta pot full of daisies. Denise knew she was expected to want roses. But somehow, he'd known that daisies were more her style.

              She'd tried to turn down the gift, only to find them in the backseat of her car later that night.

              She sighed, realizing that she'd thought of him each time she'd seen those daisies on her kitchen window sill. In fact, she thought about Ansel far more than was healthy. For her sanity
or
her career.

              And yet here she was, watching as a parade of bleached blond women threw themselves at Ansel, one after the other.

              It really was odd how many of them were blond.

              Despite the sheer volume of attractive women hitting on him, Ansel seemed completely at ease. In fact, he responded to the most outrageous offers with cordial, but distant charm. He seemed to have no interest in any of the women who seemed determined to take him to bed, one even going so far as to hand him a pair of panties.

              Red lace from the looks of it. Classy.

              Ansel shook his head politely and turned away, blowing Denise a mocking air kiss. He'd known she was watching him. And he knew it wasn't just because of the job.

              She wondered if he would be accepting those red panties if he was off the clock. He'd turned down a lot of women in the past week. Ever since they started working together.

              Of course that didn't mean he didn't like sex. He made it abundantly clear that he would like a lot of sex, with
her.
But he wasn't vulgar about it. No, he was charming as usual.

              And sensual.

              Very, very sensual.

              Ansel signed another autograph and lifted his glass of bourbon to her in a silent toast. All night he'd been throwing heated looks her way. She knew she was in for yet another tug of war at the end of the night. The thing was, her arms were getting tired.

              For the first time in her life Denise understood why people drank. Ansel had her wound tighter than a spring. For a moment she wondered what he would do if she ever snapped and took him up on his offer.

              He would be shocked at first. Then he'd pounce on her, and carry her to the closest bed. Then he'd be shocked again when he realized how inexperienced she was. The joke would be entirely on him.

              For the first time all night, Denise smiled.

{}{}{}{}{}

              Ansel could tell Denise was getting tired. They'd stayed far later than the scheduled appearance. The bar owner was thrilled. But Ansel's handler looked exhausted.

              Beautiful, but exhausted.

              He wondered briefly if she'd been loosing sleep over him.

              The thought made him smile.

              He was getting to her. He knew it.

              All week long he'd been waging a war against Denise's carefully constructed defenses. Every now and then he saw a crack. A glimmer of the mutual attraction that was simmering between them, ready to burst into a high boil.

              Now it was time to cash in his chips.

              He'd planned his tactics carefully. Drink too much to drive. Wait too long for a hotel. Insist on sleeping on her couch. Charm his way into her bed.

              And stay there, as long as possible.

              He moseied over to where Denise was sitting at the bar, looking as if he had not a care in the world. That was a pretense of course. He had one very specific care.

              No, not a care.
A need.

              "How you holding up darlin'?"

              She gave him a weary smile. It almost made him feel guilty. Almost.

              "I'm alright. I think it's time we got you settled for the night. I can't allow you to drive in this condition."

              "What condition is that darlin'?"

              "Drunk, Mr. Philips. Now if you are ready to go, I got you a room at the Sunset. It's just down the street."

              He leaned against the bar and made a tsking sound with his tongue.

              "Don't think I can do that darlin'."

              "Mr. Philips, I've asked you already not to call me that."

              He grinned at her cheekily.

              "Whatever you say… darlin'."

              She gave him a look that said plain as day 'don't test me.' But he couldn't help himself. How could he resist goading her, when she looked so deliciously prim and proper?

              He slurred his words just a bit so she'd know he was 100% too drunk to get behind the wheel. Ansel might seem plastered but he was entirely in control. He had to be, if he was going to outmaneuver his very intelligent, very desirable opponent.

              "Maybe if you called me Ansel… anyway darlin' I have been kicked out of that particular hotel on several occasions. So I think it's best that I not darken their door again. At least not during such a sensitive time, regarding public opinion."

              He could see the wheels turning in her mind. Click, click, click. She sighed and hauled out her iPad.

              "There wasn't much else available… let me see…"

              He grinned at her, chewing on a swivel stick.

              She glanced up at him.

              "Do you always have to have something in your mouth?"              He just grinned wider, making sure she knew he was thinking all sorts of wicked things. Denise rolled her eyes in response. Yes, she'd gotten the message. Loud and clear.

              "I have to make a few phone calls."

              "There's no need for that sweetheart. Why don't I just crash on your couch? We have an early day tomorrow anyway, don't we?"

              She was staring at him with narrowed eyes. It was obvious she was onto him.

              "Absolutely not."

              "What, don't you trust me angel?"

              "I really must insist that you stop calling me that!"

              "What?"

              "Angel- or baby cakes or whatever imbecilic name you come up with next!"

              "Baby cakes? I would never call you that."

              She looked ready to jump out of her skin. He almost took pity on her. Almost.

              "Sugar britches, maybe. But baby cakes, never."

              Despite herself, she cracked a smile. Then she went back to checking for hotels. He could see he wasn't getting anywhere so he changed tactics.

              "Let's go get a drink then. Somewhere quiet. You can review schedules the whole time and I won't say a peep."

              "Ansel…"

              He leaned in close, grinning at her.

              "I like the way you say my name… Denise."

              She blinked at him, as if she hadn't realized she had said his name. He
was
getting to her. Just not fast enough.

              "Come on, love. I promise I'll be a good boy and stay in the hotel of your choosing. If you have a drink with me."

              She smiled at him ruefully and he felt something inside him crack open. She really did look tired. Vulnerable even. He stopped wanting to pounce on her and started wanting to protect her. In that moment he would have slated a dragon for one of her rare smiles.

              "I'm just far too tired tonight Mr. Philips. Another time."

              He sighed heavily, conceding defeat.

              "I'm going to hold you to that."

Five

              "The jeans. Definitely the jeans. You look HAWT."

              Denise rolled her eyes at her best friend, who was lounging on Denise's bed. Somehow, Sasha always looked like she was lounging. She was the polar opposite to Denise and had been since they met all the way back in fourth grade.

              "I'm not trying to look hot Sash. I'm trying to blend in."

              Sasha pulled a face at her.

              "Well, some people just can't help it. You're gorgeous so just get used to it. Besides, isn't he going to be there?"

              Denise had filled her friend in on the ongoing tug of war the Ansel was playing with her mind. She wished she hadn't mentioned it though. Sasha was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to let go of the idea that this was an epic love story waiting to happen.

              Yeah right, it would have to be called
The Playboy and The Prude.

              That would fly off the shelves.

              Not.

              "Yes of course he's going to be there, it's his race!"

              She stared at her overnight bag on the floor. She'd packed another pair of jeans in there as well as some knit tops and pajamas. It was just 24 hours, right? She didn't need anything fancy…

              Still, Denise grabbed a simple black Herve Lager bandage dress and neatly folded it on top of her toiletries. Her black high heeled boots went with everything, which is why she liked them.

              "Happy now?"

              Sasha rolled over on the bed and wiggled her eyebrows.

              "Ecstatic. Now, have you gotten a wax lately?"

              "Sasha, I am not going to bed with a client! No matter what he looks like."

              Sasha pouted.

              "Well if not him, who? Girl your you-know-what is going to turn into a pumpkin if someone doesn't get in there soon."

              Denise threw the sweater she was thinking about wearing on the plane toward her friend, hitting her in the face. Sasha just laughed and shook her head.

              "No cardigans. Try that leather jacket we got last year. I know you still have it, even if you never wear it."

              Denise rolled her eyes but walked over to the closet. She pulled the jacket out, slipping the snug fitting leather jacket over her shoulders. She glanced in the mirror. It
did
look pretty good on her. Sasha let out a low whistle.

              "Now I know you are gonna have a good time! Very LA and very rock and roll."

              "Stop!"

              "Please Dennie! Wear it for me? Do it for me?"

              Sasha was fluttering her eyelashes foolishly. Denise had to laugh despite herself.

              "It?"

              "Him. Do him."

              "If you think he's so hot, you should go out with him!"

              The moment the words flew out of her mouth she wanted to snatch them back. A hot, uncomfortable feeling had filled her almost immediately. For some reason, Denise didn't like the idea of Sasha and Ansel getting to know each other.

              She didn't like it at all.

              "Uh uh. This one's for you Dennie. Come on, let's go."

              Denise followed Sasha out to her Range Rover. Having a best friend was almost as good as having a boyfriend. Better even. After almost twenty years of friendship, Sasha was still willing to drive her to the airport.

{}{}{}{}{}

              Ansel slid out of the window to the cock pit. He'd just taken a run with the new tires his crew chief Delaney had talked him into trying. They had better traction but were more likely to burn. It was a toss up. But Ansel never overworked the car, he was more likely to skid out on sharp turns. So for him, it probably  made sense.

              Ansel almost always listened to Delaney. The older man had taken him in hand when he'd first started racing and causing trouble. Ansel had liked to talk smack and gotten into a lot of scrapes as a result. Delaney had bailed him out and put him on the straight and narrow.

              Well, more or less.

              "Here."

              Ansel caught the sports drink in mid air.

              "Thanks Jess."

              "No problem
Jack
."

              The guys all liked to give Ansel a hard time but it was done in good fun and with considerable admiration. Most of his crew had been with him for the better part of a decade. Ever since he started winning. Which was more or less right away. Even before he was legal.

              Donnie was checking the engine when he let out a low whistle. Even before he turned around to see what he was looking at it, Ansel knew. He felt it in his gut.

              She was here.

              It'd been three days since he came down to prep for the race. Four days since she'd dragged him to a promotional event. It was hard to believe, but he'd missed her.

              A lot.

              Denise was wearing something far more casual and rock and roll than he was used to seeing her in. A tight leather jacket that hugged her top curves and tight, worn in jeans that hugged the bottom.

              And what a bottom it was.

              Damn but she looked good!

              "Why do they call you Jack?"

              He flushed. He should have warned the guys not to call him that around Denise. He glared everyone into silence. Everyone except Delaney, who was intimidation-proof.

              "Because he fuc- beg pardon m'amm- he
makes love
more than a jack rabbit."

              Denise looked appalled.

              Damn. He felt like he was taking two steps forward and three steps back with this woman. And that was more like half a mile in the wrong direction.

              "Thanks a lot man."

              "What? It's true."

              "You're an asshole."

              He smiled at Denise.

              "A gross exaggeration."

              She rolled her eyes.

              "Whatever you say… Jack."

              He grinned at her, liking this playful side of her.

              "Are you hungry?"

              She cocked her head at him.

              "Famished."

              "Come on, let's get something to eat."

              "I really just want to go to the hotel and eat room service in bed."

              "I'm down with that."

              "
Alone
Ansel. We just have to go over a couple of things…"

              "Come on Denise, live a little. It can be a working dinner. I know how much you love your expense account."

              He could tell she was vacillating so he pushed harder.

              "I know the best little rib joint, and it's on the way to the hotel. You gotta eat doncha?"

              She sighed heavily and threw her hands up, conceding.

              "Alright Ansel you win. Lead the way."