CHAPTER SIX

 

Caro pretended to work as Dell left her office, folder in hand. Good lord! Why wouldn't he go away? Dell Wayne was a distraction she didn't need. It was bad enough he looked like sin in a fire suit and drove like a demon, but Dell in tight jeans and a T-shirt was more than any woman should have to deal with. If there were any doubt whether racecar drivers were athletes, one look at Dell dressed like that, and the naysayers would shut up. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the man, and his body-hugging clothes outlined every hard muscle.

Ever since the night she went to his home to offer him the job, inappropriate thoughts about peeling his clothes off and touching every sculpted muscle she found, ran through her mind on an endless loop that kept her on edge, and horny. Denial was pointless. Dell Wayne was too luscious, too damned hot for words. He made her want and need things she'd been successfully ignoring for a long time.

Caro stared blankly at the parts order in front of her. Focus. She needed to concentrate on her work. The garage couldn't function without parts and tools, and she was going to be on the road for at least the next two weeks.

Two weeks. On the road. With Dell. She gave a moment's consideration to booking a different hotel from the one where he would be staying, but this close to race day there wouldn't be a decent room available within a hundred miles of Phoenix. She'd simply have to keep her distance. Just because they would be in the same hotel didn't mean she had to see him any more than absolutely necessary. Besides, he probably had women in every city on the circuit, and if he didn't, he wouldn't have any trouble finding one, or one hundred.

Moreover, she reminded herself, there were enough rumors going around about the state of their relationship, and there was no reason for her to add fuel to them by being seen with him outside the garage. She smirked as she signed the purchase order for the parts and moved on to the fuel and tire requisitions. Did people think she didn't hear the comments they made behind her back? As soon as she walked into her first owner's meeting, the rumors began to fly about whom she was sleeping with, and why. The world of professional stock car racing was the original old boys' club, and few had any place for a woman among them. Much less one her age.

She'd heard it all. She was too young. She didn't know cars or racing, or her head from a lug nut, even though she'd grown up on the racing circuit, hanging out in most of their garages at one time or another. She'd spent more time in the Hawkins Racing garage than in school in the days before her father sent her away. And as much as she hated those years away, they'd been a gift of sorts. They'd given her the freedom to learn everything she could about cars without her dad interfering. If she'd stayed, he would have controlled her access to the scientific and mechanical data she'd consumed like other underage kids did alcohol – and she'd done it all without her dad knowing a thing about it.

She was capable of providing knowledgeable input on the car's performance, and she had ideas that would make Hawkins engines run better. Convincing everyone else her ideas would work was going to be hard. And she'd never be able to do it if she were sleeping with her driver, or anyone else connected to racing in any way. From the NASCAR officials down to the pit crew, they were all off limits.

That meant her life was her work. Even if the company could afford the kind of staff it needed, Caro would still be here, putting in ridiculous hours by anyone's standards – because she had something to prove.

She needed to prove to NASCAR, to the fans, to her team and to herself her dad had been wrong. Maybe they were right to believe not just any woman could own and run a successful race team, but there was one woman who could. Caro Hawkins could. And she was going to prove it or die trying.

* * * *

Dell throttled up as he came out of turn three, only to throttle back down again as he made it into turn four. With the backstretch ahead of him, he throttled up again and made another run at the lead. Only twenty laps to go, and victory was within his grasp. The adjustments Caro ordered to the fuel injection worked. After four hundred and eighty laps, the car still purred like a kitten, and ran like a cat with a pitbull chasing its ass.

“Nineteen to go,” Caro's voice came through his headset. “We've made a good showing today,” she said.

“We're not through yet,” he countered. Not by a longshot. He'd be damned if he was settling for second when there was only one asshole between the checkered flag and him. It was all in the timing. He checked the fuel cell gauge and mentally calculated if he had enough to finish without pitting. He'd been getting good mileage all day – a benefit of Caro's adjustments. Tires were another thing. The new pavement here ate tires.

“Can somebody calculate the fuel for me?” he asked as he ticked another lap off. “I think I can make it if there isn't a caution, and if I don't have to make more than one run at the leader.”

“Calculating now,” Caro said. Dell waited. Finally, she came back on. “It's going to be close, Dell. If you had fresh tires…”

“I'm not pitting now. Five more laps and I'm making my move.”

“You don't have to do that, Dell. Hold your position,” Caro said.

“Behind you,” Jeff warned from the spotter's roost above the press box. “Closing fast.”

“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.”