AS EXHAUSTED AS ELLIE WAS from the cross-country flight and light-headed from the single glass of wine she’d had in the lounge—at least she supposed it was the wine that had made her that way—she slept poorly. She kept picturing Aidan O’Keefe in jeans and T-shirt and the way both garments clung to his well-toned body. She kept recalling, too, the warmth of firm muscle when she accepted his arm.
In the sitting room of her suite she finished her croissant and poured more coffee from the silver pot room service had delivered, then she glanced at her watch. A quarter to ten. She’d reviewed the documents Aidan had furnished her and was pleased with what she’d found, assuming of course the reports were accurate. She could page through them again while she waited to be notified that her driver had arrived, but she decided not to.
She wasn’t pleased with her performance the previous evening. She’d played a snoot—played it well, of course—but that had been the wrong approach. She might represent the controlling two-thirds of Satterfield Racing, but there was no point in alienating the other third.
Aidan, in contrast, had been easygoing, generous and considerate, and she’d treated him like hired help. It was unfair and decidedly didn’t reflect well on her.
Shaking her head at her uncharacteristic lack of good judgment, she rose, went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, patted her hair, adjusted the waistband of her slim jeans and returned to the living room. Giving herself one last appraisal in the full-length mirror by the door, she picked up her small shoulder purse, made sure she had her key card and left the suite.
No games today, she vowed, as she rode down in the elevator. Today was business. She had a multimillion-dollar enterprise to evaluate.
She was startled when she stepped into the lobby and found Aidan O’Keefe sitting in an upholstered armchair, long legs crossed, reading a newspaper.
He glanced up and a smile spread across his face. “Good morning.”
No five o’clock shadow—or she supposed she could call it his midnight shadow—and without the dark whiskers the cleft in his chin was even more pronounced. Scruffy hadn’t really been all that bad, but she decided she still preferred his naked skin. As the mental choice of words conjured up other images, heat began to flow into her cheeks.
“I thought you were sending someone else.” Maybe it hadn’t been the wine last evening after all, because that certainly wouldn’t explain her slightly dizzy feeling right now.
“Everybody was busy,” he replied easily, “so I thought I’d pick you up myself.”
“Do NASCAR drivers normally moonlight as chauffeurs?”
He laughed, and the deep, male, rumbling sound stirred a fresh twitter in her midsection.
Uncrossing his legs—pressed jeans this morning and lace-up work boots—he dropped the newspaper on the table beside his chair and rose to his feet. “Shall we?”
He didn’t offer his arm this time, which was disappointing but maybe just as well. She had to focus on things other than this man’s muscles. They moved side by side toward the door and the bright orange Corvette parked at the curb just beyond it.
“Nice outfit,” he said, as he held the door for her. “That green color brings out the gold in your eyes.”
She was stunned, not just by the compliment, but by its specificity. This race car driver was more observant than she’d given him credit for. “It’s teal,” she said, then added, “and thank you.”
He did the gentlemanly thing again and held the car door for her, but this time the courtesy annoyed her, not because he’d done it but because she’d let him. She wasn’t a delicate blossom who had to be coddled, and the sooner he realized that the better.
The trip to Satterfield Racing was different from the ride from the airport the night before. Traffic was heavier, which meant more opportunities for him to weave in and out, but she was also better prepared for his driving skills now. Last night her reaction had been anxiety. This morning it was excitement.
She also had a better chance in the bright daylight, sunglasses in place, to check the guy out. She definitely liked what she saw. The elegant profile. His nose was aquiline and stately, but not overlarge. Somehow she’d missed the dimple in his right cheek last night. Now she found it fascinating. Then there was the athletic body, the dark hair. He, too, was wearing sunglasses, but she hadn’t missed his eyes before he’d put them on. Last night they’d seemed darker. This morning they were mountain-lake blue.
By the time he pulled up in front of a modern, three-story, concrete-and-glass edifice beyond city limits, she decided she might as well forget everything her mother had ever told her about stock car racing. This was no greasy, ramshackle garage.
Aidan switched off the engine and as usual hopped over the door. It was hard not to stare at those long, denim-covered legs as she fumbled with her door handle. She had the door open—to make sure he understood she wasn’t helpless—by the time he reached her side. She probably should have ignored his outstretched hand to help her out of the low seat, but…well, that would have been impolite. Besides, he was so close, she couldn’t possibly avoid him. She slipped her hand into his, only to find her pulse quicken when he pulled her up. Suddenly they were standing face-to-face, mere inches apart. For a moment they froze in place, eye contact masked by their sunglasses.
Unnerved by his closeness, she had to force herself to swivel her head and look around.
The grounds were well maintained. The continuous rows of dark-tinted windows sparkled. The sign that identified the building as the headquarters of Satterfield Racing was prominently displayed and tastefully designed.
Just beyond the automatic, sliding tinted-glass doors was a reception counter, neatly decorated with colorful pamphlets and brochures, single-page handouts and fliers and a variety of decals. An attractively dressed woman of perhaps thirty-five sat behind the counter on a stool.
“Morning, Aidan.”
“Morning, Nell. Nell, this is Ellie Satterfield, Walter’s niece.”
The woman’s professional smile of welcome warmed, and she extended her hand.
“I’m real glad to meet you, Miss Satterfield. Your uncle was a wonderful man. We all miss him a whole lot. If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know.”
“Thank you,” Ellie said, removing her glasses.
Aidan did the same and led her around the counter to the main lobby that had all the hallmarks of a museum. Stock cars formed a row down the middle and glass cases containing all sorts of items lined the walls. Uniforms, helmets, hats, gloves, emblems, along with mysterious pieces of equipment, which Ellie assumed were automotive parts. Written explanations accompanied most of them. In one corner was a video-viewing module.
Aidan pointed to a gaudily decaled stock car that gleamed under high-intensity pin lights. She knew it was a Monte Carlo only because the name was boldly emblazoned on the hood.
“That was my first car in the NASCAR Busch Series. It’s been restored, of course. And that—” he motioned to a crumpled mess of distorted steel a few yards away “—was my first NASCAR NEXTEL Cup car.” He grinned. “It obviously hasn’t been restored. I flipped twice and rolled four times in that baby.”
“My God,” she exclaimed. “How badly were you hurt?”
“Hurt?” He shook his head. “Walked away without a scratch.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He stanched the impulse to take offense at being called a liar. Instead he laughed and moved on.
They arrived at a steel door with a wire-mesh safety-glass window.
“This is where the real work gets done.”
He used an electronic key card to open it. They were immediately greeted with the clang of metal being hammered, the shrill scream of pneumatic tools and a medley of smells—lubricants, electrical ozone and hot rubber.
Yet the bay she stepped into could have been a car showroom. The spotless floor was painted a shiny, light gray, and the fluorescent fixtures suspended from the steel rafters overhead flooded the high-ceilinged room with daylight brightness. After a few moments she realized the people she saw in clean white jumpsuits were actually working under the hoods. Nearby were tall, shiny red square containers on casters. Giant toolboxes with a myriad of doors and drawers.
Aidan introduced her to a man of about forty-five with a square face and ruddy complexion. Unlike the others, he was dressed in chinos and a long-sleeved collared cotton shirt of orange and green, which she now recognized as the team colors.
“Ellie, this is Mace Wagner, my crew chief. He’s the guy who does all the work and gives me most of the glory.”
Mace extended a warm, meaty hand. “Please to meet you, Ms. Satterfield. My condolences on the loss of your uncle. We thought the world of that man around here.”
Over the following two hours Aidan and Mace walked her through a series of shops where they built stock cars, which, she soon learned, were not stock at all but meticulously crafted custom creations that only resembled the cars they were named after. Even then, she soon learned, appearances could be deceiving. They had no doors, no head or taillights, and to her amazement, no speedometers or gas gauges.
As she observed men, and a few women, going about their work, she found herself drawn in, intrigued and fascinated by what they were doing, and it occurred to her that for none of these people was it a job. More like a proud calling.
She measured, too, their responses to Aidan O’Keefe. They liked the man, welcomed his company. She understood why. He was laid-back, a man without affectations or pretenses.
“SHARP WOMAN,” Mace remarked when, a few minutes after noon, Ellie excused herself to use the ladies’ room.
She may have come across as a spoiled brat the night before, but this morning, Aidan had to admit, she was a businesswoman who asked intelligent questions and listened attentively to the answers.
“Have you gotten down to the nitty-gritty yet?”
Aidan shook his head. “I gave her our financial reports and audit to review last night. She hasn’t said if she has. It was pretty late and she’d had a long day, so maybe she hasn’t.”
“I wouldn’t waste any time,” Mace said. “You can be sure Fulton won’t. And if she’s as eager to sell as we suspect, she’ll probably take the first offer that comes along.”
Aidan disagreed. “She may be a spoiled rich girl, but she’s not stupid. She’ll play us off against each other.”
“Which is a good reason for getting on her good side and staying there. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Fire away. At this point I’ll consider anything. Well, almost anything. If you want me to kiss Fulton…”
“Please,” Mace responded with a gagging sound. “It’s lunchtime and I need my sustenance.” He patted his belly, which was considerably wider than Aidan’s. “No, what I’m going to suggest is a lot more palatable.”
Aidan regarded him expectantly.
“Kiss Ellie.”
“What?” Aidan stammered. “What the deuce are you talking about?”
“Well, kiss up to her. She’s hot for you, Aidan. You probably haven’t seen the way she looks at you, but I can tell you everybody else around here has.”
“You’re crazy.” Kiss Ellie. The notion had crossed his mind the evening before. A silly impulse which he had nobly resisted.
Mace laughed. “More like she’s crazy for being turned on by a goober like you, but she is. Take advantage of it. Woo her.”
“Woo her? Have you started reading nineteenth-century romance novels or something?”
“I’m telling you she’s got the hots for you, my friend. Okay, so maybe you don’t have to bed her, though why you wouldn’t—” he caught Aidan’s chastising expression and retreated “—but you can certainly share some time with her.”
“I’ve got a race to run and a daughter to raise,” Aidan objected, “or have you forgotten those little details?”
“Why do they have to be mutually exclusive?”
“I’m not using my daughter—”
“I’m not suggesting you do. You know I’d never do that. What I am saying is spend as much time with Ellie as you can. Get to know her. Overwhelm her with your considerable charm, such as it is. Let her get to know you…and Annie. The better she likes you the less inclined she’ll be to sell us out from under you.”
Aidan wasn’t pleased with the notion, but he had to admit it had merit. Not the part about wooing her but about being friendly, letting her see more of the human side of the business.
As for kissing her…