After dinner, everyone had retired to their rooms. There was not much hope the race would be run, but they had to be rested and ready in case it was. That was why Liz did not call Rick later that night to try to find out what was going on with him, if anything. After the race, she’d make it a point to hang around for a one-on-one chat. So what if he didn’t like her? She was his PR person and was there to help if he’d let her. If he didn’t, well, at least she’d know she had tried.
The next morning Liz opened her drapes to a winter wonderland. The snow was already up to the hubcaps of the cars in the motel parking lot and still coming down heavy. There was no way the race would be run.
The phone rang. It was Mack, confirming it. “But the good news is that according to the latest weather bulletin, this is a fast-moving front. It should be out of here by midday and then it’s supposed to warm up. Things should be melted by morning, and the race is set to run then.”
“And meanwhile we stay over and play in the snow,” she said, looking forward to it. “See you at breakfast.”
Liz was not prepared for such weather. She had jeans and a heavy jacket but no gloves or boots. As she made her way along the sidewalk to the motel restaurant in the front, she decided she had spoken too soon about snow games.
And that was when a huge snowball hit her right on the side of her head.
It was Benny, and before he could roll another, Liz had scooped up a handful of snow and made one of her own. She threw and hit him dead center in his face.
“Hey, you’ll pay for that.”
He took off after her as she tried to run down the snow-covered walkway.
“In here,” someone shouted, yanking her into a room as she ran by.
“It’s us against them,” a bevy of sportswriters chorused. “Get ready, we’re going to hit ’em hard.”
Liz was amazed to see ice buckets filled with snowballs. “What have you guys done? Stayed up all night getting ready?”
“That’s right,” cried a writer she recognized from Atlanta as he opened the door to throw a snowball at another driver.
Quickly it became an all-out war. The media against the drivers. Liz joined in the fun and got in her share of dead hits. But she took a few herself, and it wasn’t long before she was soaking wet, her hair stringing down.
Anxious for a hot bath and dry clothes, she rolled one last, huge snowball and threw it without really looking.
It hit Rick square in the back of his head, breaking apart to run down the collar of his brand-new leather racing jacket emblazoned with their sponsor logo. Liz had just passed the jackets out to the team the day before.
He whirled about to identify his assailant and locked eyes with Liz.
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the giggle she was trying to hold back. “Oops.”
“Oops, indeed,” he roared, and started toward her.
Liz was right in front of her room and turned around to try to fit her key in the lock. Her hands were cold and shaking, and she did not make it in time.
Rick was upon her.
“Now you’re going to pay. Ruin my jacket, will you?”
“Hey, it’s not ruined,” she protested as he grabbed her and pulled her out into the snow-covered parking lot. “And if it were, I’d get you another one, and—”
That was all she had time to say before they reached a snowdrift and he put his hand on the back of her neck and bent her over to wash her face in snow.
He stood back, hands on his hips, looking quite proud of himself. “There. We’re even.”
“Not yet,” Liz cried, scooping up snow and flinging it wildly.
He grabbed her, laughing all the while, and they rolled, over and over.
Mack walked by, heading for the restaurant, and paused to shake his head and tell them they were both crazy and would probably catch pneumonia and die. Then he continued on, dismissing them as pesky children.
Rick was on top of Liz, holding her wrists with one hand while he used his other to throw snow on her. Suddenly, abruptly, he stopped. “He…he might be right,” he said slowly, then got to his feet, pulling her up along with him. “I guess we got a little carried away.”
“The hidden child within us,” Liz said, no longer cold. How could she be with him standing so close? “I can’t remember the last time I had a snowball fight.”
The others who had engaged in the playful combat had drifted away, wanting dry clothes and warmth.
“I guess so,” Rick murmured, dusting off his jacket.
“It isn’t ruined, is it? It’s leather, and—”
“It’s fine. Just wet. I’ll go back to my room and hang it up to dry.”
She looked down and laughed at herself. “I look like a snowman getting ready to melt. What a mess.”
“That makes two of us.”
He walked away, and Liz resisted the temptation to stand out in the cold and watch him. It made her feel so wicked to lust after his retreating butt. He had a nice one, all right.
But so had Mike and Craig, and they’d done their best to ruin her life. She was not going to let it happen again.
Besides, Rick couldn’t stand her, so that made him easier to resist.
She hoped.
Still, as she stood in the shower, the hot water streaming down, her heart began a heavy, strong beat as heat began to creep through her. A restless feeling, aching and throbbing, stirred inside. She felt her breasts tighten as she soaped them, remembering how it had felt when Rick had been lying on top of her. Had he felt them, too? Her jacket had come open. Her sweater had been wet and plastered against her. She hadn’t been wearing a bra.
What if he had suddenly caressed them and begun to knead her flesh beneath his palms? Could she have pushed him away? Feeling a tingling between her legs, she knew she could not have. He had, in those few moments of frolic in the snow, awakened instincts and needs she had tried to quell and bury within to focus instead on her career. Now she found it frightening that he had so easily been able to make her body aware of such strong emotions.
She suddenly realized she was breathing heavily, bosom heaving, and scolded herself. This was lust, pure and simple, as well as betrayal by her own body.
She could not let it happen.
Turning off the water, she wrapped a towel around her and dug her hair dryer out of her bag.
This was silly. To allow herself to become aroused in a ridiculous snowball fight was absurd. Here she was actually imagining how it would have felt for him to touch her intimately, while he was probably thinking how immature she was.
“Okay, okay,” she said out loud to the mirror and her flushed reflection. “Get a grip here. The guy hates you. He enjoyed wiping your face in the snow, and he couldn’t wait to get away afterward.”
She dried her hair, put on makeup and found a clean pair of jeans and a sweater she’d thought to pack just in case.
Her stomach gave a hungry rumble, and she went into high gear to finish dressing. No way was she going to let herself get in the same shape as she had in Daytona.
When Liz reached the restaurant, she met Mack coming out the door with two paper sacks. “Hey, you’re too late. They just shut down and won’t open back up till five. But you’re in luck. I was picking up the order Rick phoned in, and if you want to take it to him you might be able to make him share. I happen to know there are two hot chocolates in there and an extra doughnut.”
He thrust the bags into her arms.
“And where are you going? Why can’t you deliver it?”
He winked. “The boys just got a little card game together in Benny’s room, and I think they’ve actually found a pizza delivery place with four-wheel drive. But don’t tell our sponsor,” he added conspiratorially. “It’s a rival company. See you.”
Liz was too hungry to be shy about asking Rick for handouts. She went straight to his door, knocked and, when he answered, promptly said, “I’ve been elected delivery boy, and for my tip I’ll take the extra hot chocol
ate and doughnut. The restaurant was closing when I got there.”
He almost smiled…but didn’t. “What happened to Mack?”
“Card game in Benny’s room.”
“It figures. Come on in. I’ll dig out your share.”
Stepping inside, she closed the door after her to shutout the bitter cold wind. If a warming trend was coming, it sure had a long way to get there.
Rick took the sacks to the dresser and opened them. He took out two drink containers and a cardboard box that smelled of bacon, eggs and hot buttered biscuits. “Want any of this?” he asked tonelessly. “There’s plenty.”
“No. Just the chocolate and doughnut.”
Glancing about, she felt like an intruder. It was so intimate. His suitcase was opened on the second bed, which was still made, shaving stuff on the bathroom sink.
Her gaze went to the other bed. The covers were mussed, but it looked cozy, and she had a brief, scalding image of lying there with him, her head on his shoulder, his arms tight about her….
“Here.”
She jumped, almost spilling the white foam container of hot chocolate he handed her.
“Sit down and drink it. You look like you could use it, and it’ll be cold by the time you get to your room.”
She could not tell if he was merely being polite but decided it didn’t matter. It was nice to sip the chocolate then and there, while it was warm. She also noticed he was using a plastic fork to scoop eggs and bacon onto one of the biscuits and prayed it was for her.
It was.
And she all but wolfed it down. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to look like a glutton.” She laughed self-consciously. “But we went to dinner so early last night, and it’s almost lunch-time.”
“It’s okay.” He took his food and sat down on the side of the bed and began to eat. “If we hadn’t gotten into that silly fight, you’d have made it to the restaurant before it closed.”
“Well, normally they’re open for lunch, but it seems they had such a crowd because of the snow they’re running out of food and have to try to find a way to get more.”
He picked up the remote control, clicked it and began to channel-surf. Liz figured it was a hint he didn’t want to make conversation and supposed she should take her food and leave. But she didn’t want to, instead seizing the opportunity to try to get to know him better and perhaps figure out why he didn’t like her. “So what do you do with yourself when you aren’t racing?”
He gave a sarcastic sniff. “And when would that be? We’ve got a thirty-four-race schedule, and they plan to open two more tracks in the future. With makeup dates, there’s precious little time left.”
“So what do you do with it when you have it?” she persisted. “You don’t have any family, do you?”
He gave her a sharp glance, then turned back to the TV. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s my job. I do your press releases, remember? I need to know everything about you.”
“There’s nothing to know. I race. I work on the race car. I read about racing. It’s my life. That’s it.”
“But surely you’ve got some hobbies.”
He shrugged. “Nope. But when I have time I like to be outdoors—hunting, fishing, hiking. Whatever. I just like being in the open air.”
“What about girlfriends?”
This time the sharp glance lingered to become one of annoyed challenge. “Now don’t tell me you need to put anything like that in a press release.”
She could have kicked herself for going there. “Sorry. I was just curious. Sometimes it helps to know a little bit about a person’s private life, so you can understand them better.”
“Well, don’t worry about my personal life.” Then he surprised her by asking, “What about yours?”
“What…what about mine?” she stammered.
“You got a boyfriend? Engaged? Married? Kids? See, Liz, I don’t know anything about you, but you’re asking about me all the time. Fair’s fair.” His grin was slow and lazy. He set the paper plates aside and leaned back against the pillows. “So tell me all about you.”
Liz took several sips of her chocolate and then said, “No boyfriend. Engaged once upon a time. No children. I’m afraid that’s all there is to know about me.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve been wanting to ask you why on earth you’d want to work in a man’s sport.”
“That—” she struggled to keep from choking on a burst of laughter “—is so sixties, Rick. There are no men’s sports, or women’s, either, for that matter. Even in football, there are women coaches now. So I hardly think stock-car racing could be considered for men only. Do you have any idea how many women producers there are working in NASCAR TV productions? Women actually behind the cameras?” She shook her head at his absurd notion. “You’re really behind the times.”
Thin, tight lines about his mouth were the only hint of annoyance over her ridicule. “Well, I haven’t seen one get down and dirty in a garage yet like you did, so I guess that’s to your credit.”
“That was a one-time-only performance, thank you,” she said with a perky nod. “But if need be, I’d do it again.
“Now it’s my turn to ask questions,” she rushed on, not giving him a chance to say anything. “I think it’s really weird how you’ve got such a thing against women around racing.”
He came right back at her. “Not all women. You see, I don’t give a damn how many women are around at a track, just so they aren’t around me. They’re a nuisance.”
Liz felt the familiar wave of anger starting to flow over her. Rick really knew how to push her buttons and get her riled, but she was going to hold her temper if it killed her. “And you consider me a nuisance?” she asked sweetly. “I should think you’d be grateful I’m doing such a good job. Everyone else on the team seems to be.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
He was still channel-surfing, not looking at her when he spoke, which she found quite annoying. “But you’re saying I’m a nuisance.”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Even though I’ve got you more press coverage than you’ve ever had before?”
“I’ve never had a sponsor before that could afford to hire PR. So how do I know someone else couldn’t have done the same?”
“You,” she said, drawing a deep breath and letting it out in an exasperated rush, “are the most ungrateful person I think I have ever met. But I’ll bet if you had a man doing your PR, you wouldn’t consider him a nuisance.”
“I would if he’d fainted when I spun out.”
Liz did not, at first, grasp his meaning and was stunned when she did. “That…that is not why I passed out,” she said tightly, angrily, her vow to hold her temper tossed aside. “I was dehydrated. The heat got to me. Plus I hadn’t been eating like I should. I was also exhausted.”
She stared at him in wonder. “But you actually think it was because I was so upset over you wrecking? I didn’t even know you had. Besides, I’ve seen a few drivers wreck, and I didn’t faint over them, so what makes you think you’re so darn special?”
She got to her feet, throwing her empty chocolate cup into a wastebasket with a vengeance. “I swear, Rick, I don’t know why I even bother trying to get along with you. You are absolutely the most pigheaded—”
Rick was off the bed in a shot to grab her arm and keep her from rushing out the door. Already her hand was on the knob, and he was not about to risk anyone seeing her upset. Especially coming out of his room. He didn’t care that she was mad. He just didn’t want speculation as to why. “Listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” She looked up at him with green eyes shooting red daggers of fury.
“Maybe I thought you were taking things too personal, getting too close to the team, to me. I apologize, Liz.”
“Fine. But you still don’t think I can handle the pressure, do you?”
He continued to hold her tightly. “Well, I guess we’re all going to find out
, because things can only get rougher. Racing is not a gentle sport, Liz.”
“Don’t worry about me. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
He let her go and ran irritated fingers through his hair.
“Sorry I ruffled your feathers again,” she said. “But quite frankly, I doubt you could work with any woman, so I’m not going to take any of this personally.”
It was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her till they were both breathless. To fight the notion…the temptation, he coolly suggested, “Maybe I should talk to the folks at Big Boy’s and see if they could assign somebody else. You and I just seem to rub each other the wrong way.”
“Not a chance,” she mustered the bravado to say. “They love me. They won’t replace me unless I ask.
“And if I were you,” she paused after opening the door, “I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen.”
After she was gone, Rick felt like smashing something. But he didn’t. Instead he threw himself across the bed to stare up at the ceiling and wonder, not for the first time, why, every time they were together, they sparred. Evidently, she was the type to carry a grudge and would never get over his prank when they first met, which was probably for the best.
No, he corrected himself.
There was no probably to it.
It was best, because if they did get along, he might be tempted to yield to the feelings he was fighting so hard against. This way was better. If he couldn’t get rid of her, as he’d hoped and planned to do, then let them be mortal enemies. He’d do his job, cooperate with any public appearances…anything that was asked of him.
Other than that, he’d avoid her like the plague.
He continued to stare up at the ceiling. He’d had races postponed when he was running the short track circuit, and he’d always found something—someone—to keep from getting bored.
He reached for the phone.
It had been a long time, and he was more than ready.
Race To The Altar Page 9