Winning It All

by Wendy Etherington

  “You need to get the extra weight off your knee,” Darcy continued matter-of-factly.

  Like he was an overweight blob. “Fine. I am. I’ve already lost six pounds.”

  “Yay for you.”

  “I’ve worked hard for those pounds.”

  “Some. Mostly, you go through the motions.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging me?”

  She ceased her chopping and glared at him. “I’m trying. Up until today I thought you’d stopped grumbling, arguing and complaining every five minutes. But, oh, apparently not. You’ll continue to lose weight and get better if you do as I say. Eat what I tell you to eat, and move when I tell you to move.”

  Had her eyes always had those pale golden stars in the center? Did they only come out when she was angry? No matter how hard he tried to focus on his fury at having his life disrupted and taken over, he couldn’t look away from those stars. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “News flash—that’s exactly what you hired me for.”

  What had started as a heated argument had become intense in another way. The tips of his fingers tingled with the need to touch her. He willed the urge away. He wanted to be pain free. He wanted to make what he could of the cards he’d been dealt. And, yes, he wanted to prove to his ex-wife that he’d moved on.

  Reminding himself of his goals should have calmed him.

  Her eyes flashed with challenge. “Do you want to change or not?”

  He wanted a great deal out of life. She’d helped him to see how much was really possible, how far he could go. She’d made him wonder about the future. Not just the team’s future, but his own.

  But, mostly, just then, he wanted to kiss her.

  He flung his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, laying his hand against the side of her face to angle her head. He didn’t think or wonder or even breathe, he simply drew her close. He absorbed her energy and fire.

  She responded for a moment. He forgot his goals and responsibilities for the same moment.

  Then she jerked back out of his reach.

  Breathing hard, her eyes wide, she laid the back of her hand over her lips, as if she was shocked or ashamed or both. “What are we—”

  She turned away.

  He leaned back against the kitchen counter. What had happened to him? She was an employee. She wasn’t to be handled. Maybe there was some chemical attraction between the two of them. No doubt they were both lonely. But his actions were inexcusable.

  So why had he felt better during those few seconds than he had in four years?

  Still, he couldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry. I—” He scraped his hand through his hair. “Talk about crossing a line.”

  “We shouldn’t be—”

  “I know.”

  “We’re supposed to be—”

  “Professionals.”

  “I don’t want—”

  Now there he couldn’t honestly stop her. Because he did want. He wanted her.

  Very much.

  “We need to run,” he said abruptly. Exercise released endorphins, right? Any feeling was better than the regretful, but still needy one zipping through him at the moment.

  “Run?” Her gaze zoomed to his. “You can’t run.”

  “Sure I can.” I can run away from these feelings. From you and…everything else. “Let me throw on some shorts.” He headed toward his bedroom in the back.

  “Get sweats or a jacket,” she called. “It’s cold out.”

  The fact that she’d argued so little told him that either she was knocked as off balance as he was, or she was so pissed she simply didn’t care if he collapsed at her feet.

  When he came out, she was pulling on a hooded sweatshirt. The GRI logo was stitched across the front in bold red letters. Parker’s or Cade’s generosity, no doubt. Why didn’t he ever think about giving her anything? Was their relationship—their professional relationship—so all about him that he never thought of her beyond the moments they trained together?

  The problem, he decided as they walked silently out of the motor home and into the dark, chilly night, was that he thought way too much about her. Her honesty and genuine caring for others, the shadows behind her bright smile. She was a woman determined to be positive, even when she lived with so much pain.

  He understood pain, even if he didn’t know how she kept her positive attitude.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said as they stepped onto the track after walking from the motor home parking lot.

  Being Thursday night, the track itself was quiet, the grandstands dark and deserted. There were floodlights on around the motor homes and parking lots. Night-lights of sorts to all the fans, drivers, owners and media people who would be flooding into the track over the next several days, preparing for the weekend of racing.

  Bryan glanced from Turn One, across Start/Finish, then back to Turn Four. There was no one around. “It’s fine. Several drivers are dedicated runners, though. I’m surprised they’re not out here.”

  Her gaze connected with his. The gold stars were visible again. Somehow, both haunting and sexy. “That’s not what I meant.” Then, she pumped her arms and took off in a brisk, but controlled jog, straight toward the first turn.

  Other than giving him tips on his pace, warning him to slow down and walk at certain intervals, she said nothing during the run. He’d been so busy feeling guilty himself, he hadn’t realized that she probably had guilt of her own.

  According to Parker, Darcy had been devoted to her husband. Had his death, like Bryan’s injury, caused a shift in her world that had changed her entire outlook? She seemed like a woman who gave her whole heart to everything and everyone, so he didn’t doubt her concern.

  We shouldn’t be doing this.

  She meant him. Them. Whatever craziness had brought them to the point of him grabbing her and kissing her.

  Then being unable to forget those amazing moments. Even when he knew he should.

  When she called a halt to the run, he followed her lead, walking back to the motor home to cool down. She retrieved bottles of water, then took off her tennis shoes and sat cross-legged on the floor.

  Yoga.

  He joined her, and in a few moments, in a quiet voice, she began calling out the now-familiar names of poses. He kept his eyes shut. The routine that had been a trial a few weeks ago had somehow become sensuous. If he watched her slim body move through the asanas in his current state, he’d never get his mind off the idea of touching her.

  Though he normally felt calmer after yoga, he opened his eyes to find her watching him. And his heart pounded again.

  “Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asked.

  “No, I—” He resisted the urge to ask to join her. He needed cold water and lots of it. “I’ll get you some clean clothes to change into.”

  Out of breath—and not just from the exercise—sweaty, his thoughts racing, he sat on his bed and listened to the water run. He fought to dismiss the visual his imagination provided. He closed his eyes, which didn’t help.

  This whole…whatever between them wasn’t viable.

  They were working together on a project. The same as his engineers worked on chassis and engines. The same as the marketing team produced logos and promos. The same as the office staff answered the phones, sent faxes and e-mails.

  And all those, lofty, professional thoughts went out of his mind the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing his clothes.

  THEY SMELLED LIKE HIM. Spicy and enticing.

  His clothes should have smelled like laundry detergent. Instead, she imagined Bryan sliding them on after a long day at the office, or collapsing in front of the TV to watch whatever sports event or news happened to be on at the time.

  She couldn’t dismiss the intimate connection, no matter how many times she reminded herself that she’d loved and married another man. That he should be the one she fantasized about. She should be kissing him.

  Inste
ad, 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.”