CHAPTER EIGHT
“ARE YOU SURE you’re comfortable with this?”
Bryan, lying on his back, on a portable massage table, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, clenched his hands at his sides. “Oh, sure.”
“I don’t want this to be awkward.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She didn’t move, and though his eyes were shut tight, he could feel her hands hovering over him.
Truthfully, he’d both dreaded and craved this moment since she’d said it was coming the night before. And he wasn’t comfortable in any way.
“Okay, so I’m going to, ah…touch you now.”
Bracing himself, he clenched his jaw. “Go.”
She laid her hand on his thigh; he jolted and sat up.
Eye-to-eye, his hands curled into fists, her hand jerked behind her back, and they stared at each other.
Then her hand cupped his jaw, her other hand slipped around his waist, and her lips were on his.
He pulled her tight against him, realizing he’d accomplished a great feat—he’d kept his hands off her for nearly twenty-four hours. The kiss went on as if they didn’t have to be on pit road in less than an hour. As if qualifying wasn’t about to take place, or there wasn’t the possibility of anybody in his family or on the team walking into his motor home any minute and finding them—
He turned his head. But he didn’t let go of her. He panted to get his breath back. “So it was a little awkward having you touch me.”
She took a step back; he pulled her close again.
“We have to stop doing this,” she said, breathless and looking appalled.
“I don’t see why.”
“I don’t kiss clients.”
“Gotta argue with you there, babe.”
“Babe?” She worked her way out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “Seriously, babe? I’m a professional. You don’t call me names like that.”
He made an effort to control his amusement. Because he suddenly felt really happy. “I apologize for my unprofessional comments.” He leaned back on his elbows. “You want to try that massage thing again?”
Her gaze raked him—from head to toe—then her face turned bright red. “I’m—We’re not—”
At least her frustration had calmed him. He was through pretending—to her or himself—he didn’t want her. Even though he’d been honest with her the night before, he’d wanted to reject those feelings. Today, he was ready to embrace them. Maybe they were both just lonely.
But they didn’t have to be.
Her working for him made things a bit awkward and unconventional, but it wouldn’t be the first time in the small community of racing that a relationship had sprung from professional ties.
Oh, so now you’re thinking about a relationship with her, are you?
He ignored his conscience and his gut telling him neither of them were ready for that. “Come on. I won’t touch you.” Raising his hands to promise innocence, he also forced his expression into seriousness. “I’ve got to go to qualifying. We need to get on with this.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “On with what?”
She was the one who’d grabbed him. But pointing that out at the moment didn’t seem wise. “The massage.” He smiled. “That’s it, I promise.”
“Put on your shirt.”
“But I’m a little tight right…” He slid his fingers across his shoulder. “Oh, about here.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no way.” She shook her head, then visibly drew a deep breath. She paced, glared at him, then stopped in front of him. “Let’s do the knee thing.”
He’d love to know the thoughts jumping around in her head, the reasons she was moving on with the therapy session, but he wasn’t stupid enough to question his bounty.
Obligingly, he grabbed his T-shirt and slipped it on before lying down. Was his bare chest that distracting? The working out had given him a bit more definition, but he was a long way from what he used to be. He barely had a two-pack in the abs department.
He anticipated his physique changing with Darcy’s military-like diet and exercise regimen, but that was a future goal so—
Her fingers probed his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.
Eyes closed, fighting to remember they had to work together to make anything else remotely possible, he let her rub down the muscles in his legs. At some point, his mind went blank and he relaxed. Though a sensual thread certainly lingered, he gave himself over to the clinical aspect of her touch, realizing, for possibly the first time, that Darcy and her program could enable him to walk without a limp, to move easily, to recover some of the man he used to be.
Low music filled the room, and he realized she’d snapped her MP3 player into his stereo system. He’d heard the rhythmic guitar and dancing flutes many times during their yoga sessions. The sounds were familiar and comforting.
How did she always think of details like that?
She knew the right note, the right key, to get to him. And he didn’t believe that was all professional instinct. There was an extra bond between them, something that gleamed in her tawny eyes only occasionally, but that was all the more powerful for its brevity.
“Be still for a minute,” she said, her voice seeming to float over him. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Let go of the negative energy. Push it away.”
Amazingly, he already had. Maybe even from the moment she’d walked into his life.
Her fingertips drifted across his cheek, and he was fairly certain that wasn’t part of her normal routine. “I’m going outside. When you’re ready we can—”
He snagged her hand.
She stilled beside him, though he held only her fingertips. He could hear her breathing and only a hint of the background music. So much of him centered on her. Maybe he had from the first. Maybe being drawn to each other wasn’t sensible, or the path they should have taken, but he’d somehow committed to that fork in the road.
And he had no intention of turning around.
He opened his eyes and found her staring down at him. Her golden eyes held curiosity and wariness. He wanted to know what else she hid. What other secrets and pleasures might be revealed?
“Will there be more kissing?” He threaded his fingers through hers and added, “Just wondering if I should be prepared to have you grab me again.”
She glared at him. “Hey, you grabbed me, too. The grabbing is, in fact, tied—one each.”
“Who do you think will be the first one to break the tie?”
“Not me.”
“Then I will.”
“No.”
“Why?” It was a reasonable question, though she looked even more annoyed. He liked that she was flustered. It was cute, and she could hardly find too much fault with his honesty. That was her credo, right?
“Don’t smile at me like that,” she said with that guarded look still in her eyes. “You’re supposed to be bitter and brooding.”
“I don’t feel like doing that today.” In fact, he could almost call what he was doing flirting. Very weird. And though he was seriously out of practice, the instinct seemed to come naturally when he was with Darcy.
“You didn’t seem to think the kissing was so hot last night,” she said.
“Oh, it was hot. I just didn’t think it was smart.” He’d also been embarrassed by his impulsiveness. These days he thought through his actions very carefully before he made them. “But knowing you have as little self-control as I do has changed my attitude. I’m all for more kissing.” Keeping a hold on her hand, he sat up. “Wanna try again?”
“You’re a client.”
He scooted off the massage table. “Not anymore.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Nice work on the knee, by the way. It feels better.”
“You’re welcome, but you’re changing the subject. I don’t go around kissing clients.”
“Good.” He tucked her arms around his neck. “I’m possessive.”
She
squirmed, but he held her by her waist. “Bryan, I really need to—”
“Kiss me. Let’s try again. On purpose this time.”
While he puckered, she searched his gaze. He had no idea what she was looking for and was reluctant to say anything more and screw up his chances.
“Okay,” she said quietly a moment later.
Her eyes were still full of anxiety.
It wasn’t a promising start.
Before he could question their decision, or she decided to back out, he leaned toward her, cupping her face in his palm. He stroked his thumb across her jaw, then laid his mouth over hers.
His memory hadn’t exaggerated the wild, swooping feeling in his stomach, or the taste and smell of vanilla, plus something fruity, spicy, unique to Darcy.
Her lips trembled, and his heart lurched in response. What had started out as teasing had become something else. Serious. Meaningful. It had been a long time since anything in his life but the race team and his family meant something. Concern crawled over him like a rash.
But neither did he want to let go of her.
He wasn’t sure why she made him feel this way—good, excited and worried all at the same time. Having her around was simply better than not. He wasn’t sure he was capable of deeper thought than that at the moment, even though the admission that he wanted and needed someone else was a fairly revolutionary idea.
When he finally pulled back, she looked as dazed as he felt.
He slid his thumb across her velvety skin. “Yeah. I’m all for more kissing.”
“We, um…seem to be pretty good at it.”
He smiled. “We certainly do. Why don’t—”
A knock at the door prevented him from suggesting that she come with him to qualifying. If she was going to hang around and be part of the team—and he sincerely hoped she was—she might as well learn how everything worked.
Reluctantly, he stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. “Come in!”
Cade stuck his head around the edge of the door. “You ready?”
“Sure.” Bryan glanced at Darcy. “Come with us.”
“No, I—” Her face flushed, and she cleared her throat. “I need to start dinner.”
“Cade goes out fifth. You’ll be back in no time.” He gave his brother a meaningful look. “Won’t she?”
It might have been a while since they’d worked in tandem to accomplish more than winning races, but Cade apparently got the vibe that Bryan wanted to be with Darcy. Helpfully, he turned on the super charm that had dazzled women all over the country before he’d fallen hard and fast for his wife.
Walking inside, he approached Darcy, sliding his arm around her waist. “You work too much, slaving over a hot stove to feed this guy.” He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “Which everyone in the family appreciates, by the way. He would live off burgers and fries if it was left up to him.”
Darcy sent Bryan a superior look. “Don’t I know it.”
“You’ve been such a great influence on him,” Cade added.
“Well, I was hired—” Darcy stopped, her gaze jumping to Bryan’s. The subject of employee/boss was one she obviously didn’t want to go into. “We’re making progress, and I’m not slaving. I like cooking.”
Cade nodded, but steered her toward the door. “Still, everybody needs a break.”
“I did do a lot of the prep work earlier,” she said. “But I can watch qualifying from here.”
“TV’s great, but you’re part of the team now. You need to watch the action from our perspective.”
The guy was a master. If Bryan had had to convince her to come with them, she’d have refused on principle. Since his brother already had the door open and was in the process of escorting Darcy out, Bryan figured he needed to move fast. “I need to put on some jeans. Will you two try not to bond too solidly against me while I’m gone?”
Darcy turned to Cade. “Has he always had an aversion to fish, or is it just the way I’m preparing it?”
Bryan rushed back to his bedroom as he heard Cade begin an explanation of family fish fries back when they were kids. With her mind on food, Darcy had probably dismissed the massaging and kissing completely. He’d have to work later to get her thoughts back where he wanted them.
He changed quickly, not wanting Darcy to spend too much time with Cade. He’d rather her not compare his brother’s lighthearted charisma and compliments with Bryan’s own tendency toward moodiness.
He’d always been the more serious of his siblings. There was a time he’d thought that was simply because he was the oldest, but the accident and his retirement from racing had brought out a cynical edge that seemed natural and yet sometimes scared him with its intensity. He didn’t want to be angry, resentful and demanding all the time. He just was.
And he didn’t do compliments well. Maybe because his ex had expected them constantly and never seemed to think he appreciated her enough. Or gave her enough jewelry to show his devotion.
Stop thinking about her.
He smoothed his hands over his black T-shirt and considered changing into something more polished, which he did rarely these days. Most owners dressed more formally—button-down shirts and khaki or black slacks. He wore his jeans, T-shirts and stubble-covered jaw like a badge of honor. Silly, in a way.
He met Darcy and Cade outside the motor home, and she walked between them toward the garage, head high, the awkwardness over their kiss apparently forgotten.
Bryan decided they could overcome her unease with a little more practice. And he was more than willing to go through that particular routine, over and over, even though it was already just right.
DARCY WALKED TO PIT ROAD with Bryan and Cade, moving through groups of other teams, media and a few fans. Despite the rather intimate job she had with Bryan, she hadn’t seen much of the public side of the Garrisons. She only knew that when Bryan left the motor home he was headed into a very visible and competitive arena.
As she prepped Friday night’s dinner, she always watched qualifying on TV. Now, as she looked around, gazed into the grandstands and at the cars being pushed through inspection or toward pit road, she realized she was part of the show. She felt a rush of pride and adrenaline. She was a cast member in this traveling circus. Maybe not as vital as a driver, crew chief or spotter, but still part of something larger and greater than she had on her own.
Watching the behind-the-scenes process of putting on a spectacle as large as a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series event was surreal and amazing.
For one thing, people swarmed Cade like bees on a honey hive. Reporters stopped him for quotes or on-camera interviews. Fans, though there were significantly less of them on qualifying day than race day, hopped around with hats, die-cast cars and programs to sign. Other drivers nearby received the same treatment.
The members of other teams they passed and greeted were serious, but there was an element of good-natured anticipation in the air. Uniformed officials walked or stood nearby, supervising every aspect of the event. Bryan told her that around seventy-five officials traveled to all the races and supervised the proceedings. As opposed to sports like football and baseball, where only two teams competed per venue per event, NASCAR racing hosted at least forty-three teams, thirty-six weeks a year. It made for a massive undertaking in staffing.
And that was just the stats for the officials—which she was at least somewhat familiar with, seeing as her uncle had been part of the show for many years. Everywhere, there were both uniformed and non-uniformed members of individual teams. She saw and met people like the guy who changed the tires during pit stops, the engineer who helped with race strategy and technical issues with the engines, and the public relations reps who represented various sponsors and drivers.
She probably looked like a wide-eyed child, staring and gawking, pestering Cade and Bryan for more information and explanations. They knew all the answers, though, and she realized this brand-new world to her was second nature to them.
They approached the garage stall assigned to Cade’s No. 56 red-and-white car with the Huntington Hotels logo plastered on the hood along with various other sponsors—one of them being Go!, Darcy noted—filling up the sides and back.
Having been through inspection already, the team was apparently getting ready to roll the car out to the track, so Cade could take his qualifying laps. Here, she finally found some familiar people, since she’d been helping the GRI hauler drivers—who, oddly enough, also served as team chefs—make breakfast and lunch for the team members over the last few weeks.
“Hey, Darcy.” Allen, the team safety coordinator, grinned at her. “The boss man’s lookin’ pretty good. You need to put Rex on your diet now.”
Rex, the jack man, who was six feet four inches of solid, bulky muscle, shook his head. “You wish you had this body, man.”
“Lean and mean is the way to be,” Allen said. “Right, Darcy?”
She glanced from Allen to Rex, who looked as though he could body slam her with his pinkie. “Rex looks fine to me.”
Before Allen could reply, one of the other guys caught the eye of a trio of young, attractive women as they walked by.
The guys around the garage worked with noise, confusion, fans and media wandering in and around their pit box “offices” without pausing. They paused for exactly two things—attractive females and military flyovers. Otherwise, you couldn’t budge their attention with a crowbar.
The trio of women flipped their hair, giggled and waved.
“Rex, I believe those young ladies are trying to get your attention,” Darcy said with mock surprise.
Rex snorted. “Right.” He elbowed Cade, who was standing beside him. “Your fan club’s here.”
Cade, whose girl-watching days were behind him, nonetheless sent his team a smug smile. “It’s a tough job.” Then, to the ladies’ great surprise and delight, he walked over to them.
After signing autographs, he brought them back with him, introducing them to the guys.
Darcy smiled over his generosity. The guys worked from sunup until way past sundown and were entitled to a break. Talking to a group of pretty women probably ranked high. And though Bryan stepped away from the flirting and did little more than nod politely, he was a big distraction anyway. The fans watched him out of the corners of their eyes with a mixture of awe, curiosity and thinly disguised desire.
Winning It All Page 9