He kissed her mouth and dipped into her neck. “I know I promised you a bedroom, babe, but you and this car are definitely worthy of each other.”
His tongue traveled over her collarbone, searing the skin. She closed her eyes and slipped her fingers into his hair, wrapping her legs around his hips to bring him closer. Her need for him nearly shook her to the bone.
Who was this woman about to have sex on the hood of a muscle car with a bad boy who smelled like motor oil and tasted like nectar? She pulled out of Beau’s grasp and shimmied higher on the hood.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
She sat straight up and slowly lifted the hem of her tank top over her stomach, then glided it above her breasts. She heard his breath hitch as the striptease revealed her hardened nipples.
She tingled with each whisper of air that touched her skin. When she finally slid the top over her head, she leaned back on her hands, posing boldly for him in the moonlight. His gaze locked solidly on her bare breasts, and she dropped her head back so that her hair tickled her back, feeling like a centerfold and every bit as bad. “You know what, Beau?”
His jaw was slack. He just gave his head the tiniest shake.
“You really do bring out the worst in me.”
He pulled her toward him. “I’m blessed that way.” His voice was raspy and rough, his eyes coal black with desire. His deep kiss quickly intensified, and he eased her back onto the hood of the car. Leaning over her, he supported himself with one hand. Celeste inhaled the potent engine fumes mixed with the delicious fragrance of sex that clung to him.
She deliberately ran her hands over her breasts, stopping to tweak her own nipples into pebbled points, then continued down her stomach to the top of her jeans. “I want you now.” She unsnapped. “Here.” She lowered her zipper. “Right on the 1973 Lemon Twist ’Cuda three-forty with a go-wing.”
He half-smiled, his focus on getting her jeans all the way off. He tugged with one hand, the other dipping inside her underpants. His mouth came down on her breast, sucking at it until she bit back a scream of ecstasy. Then he kissed her torso, her ribs and stomach, and finally removed the last of her clothing. With one hand on her hips and the other on her ankles, he placed her feet on the bumper.
She shuddered as his lips brushed across her abdomen and hip bones.
Every contact seared her skin, her body moving with his mouth’s burning demands as he tasted her. His tongue circled and teased and slipped inside of her. She spasmed and contracted with mind-numbing pleasure as his tongue found her tender nub.
Her climax was so close…. She balled her fists infrustration as he kissed his way back up her body, then stood up, devouring her with a hot, hungry look. He reached into his back pocket and took out a foil pack, biting it while he stripped off his jeans.
The moonlight bathed his magnificent body like a work of art. Staring at him, her heart pummeling her chest and her breath labored and quick, she spread her legs. He ripped the packet open with his teeth, then rolled the latex over his erection, never taking his gaze off her.
Her throat went dry as he positioned himself at her opening. His breathing rough and fast, he caressed her breasts, sliding his hands down her rib cage and gripping her hips.
Then he entered her. His size shocked her, stretched her; the relentless pressure deep, deep inside her hovered between pain and pleasure. Urgent and demanding, he thrust again, his powerful hands gripping her, his face taut with focus and abandon.
Again and again, he drove into her. Pleasure overtook the pain and a delicious, tight orgasm coiled in her. Her nails dug into the paint, then into his shoulders, and she lifted her hips higher to take every inch he offered.
He ground out her name. She bucked against him. As he dropped his head back and came, she spiraled out of control. Together, they held on to each other for one long, wild, uninhibited thrill ride.
They hardly talked on the ride home, kissing as they stumbled across the grass, heading directly for the bedroom. As they opened the sliding glass back door, Celeste didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, her heart raced so fast and her blood pumped so hard with desire for more of Beau. But an unrelenting pounding on the front door, interspersed with repeated doorbell chimes, hit her like a bucket of ice water as soon as they stepped inside the house.
“Someone’s here.” Beau started to walk to the front, and Celeste froze. At this hour? The police…the press…Travis? Beau reached for her. “Come on. We’ll handle whatever it is.”
When Celeste saw a petite figure through the leaded glass of the front door, she exhaled. “It’s Kaylene.”
The little hurricane of a woman pushed her way in before Beau could fully open the door, mascara streaked down her face, her blond hair pulled into a hasty pony-tail. “Where in God’s name have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been callin’ for hours.”
“What’s the matter, Kay?”
“It’s Travis. He’s in intensive care.”
“What happened?” Beau asked sharply.
“His kidneys just quit runnin’, that’s what. They’re gonna rip ’em both out and put that poor man on dialysis for as long as it takes to get a donor.” Her voice cracked. “Why can’t he have mine or yours, Beau?”
“The doctor wants a family member, Kay,” Beau said quietly. “It’s the best chance for success.”
“He don’t have no family!” She stomped one booted foot. “He’s gonna die, Beau!”
He took her in his arms and stroked her head. “Shhh. No he’s not.” He gazed over her head at Celeste, the desire that had darkened his eyes a few minutes ago now gone.
All she could see was the plea for what he’d always wanted most from her.
Chapter
Twenty-five
Beau convinced Celeste to get herself some breakfast, and sent Kaylene into the office to update the staff and maintain some level of normalcy, but he refused to leave his post at Halifax Hospital’s intensive care unit. Travis would be prepped for surgery in the next hour, and Beau wouldn’t move until they took him into the OR. Letting his head fall back against the wall, he took in a shaky breath, filling his head with the antiseptic odor of the hospital.
He tried to take his mind back to the pleasures of the previous night, but every time he did, he heard Celeste’s voice…not crying out his name as she rocked with passion, but saying what he wanted to hear, needed to hear. Yes, I’ll do the operation.
He’d had no idea how much he was asking when he stormed the Guggenheim looking for some rich girl with a spare body part to give away. This was a huge, life-altering sacrifice for a man she barely knew and didn’t exactly like.
“You look like hell, Lansing.”
Beau’s eyes popped open, and he blinked at the round face and easy smile of Tony Malone. “Thanks, dog.”
Tony sat down and looked at the darkened glass and tightly pulled blinds of the ICU. “Any change?”
Beau shook his head.
“I have some news,” Tony said.
Beau turned his head toward him, not liking the sound of his voice. “Does it get any worse than this?”
Tony smiled tightly. “Yeah. All of the Dash funds were frozen yesterday. They pulled every single dime that wasn’t already allocated and then moved five million dollars from an escrow account, leaving Chastaine with nothing for the rest of the season.”
Beau felt the dizzy sensation of smacking another car so hard it shook his brains loose. “How do you know?”
“Kaylene got a call from the bank, and she’s fit to be tied. I tracked down Wag at home, who has, oddly enough, not shown up for work for two days. He hemmed and hawed, but I get the picture that he’s been working for Harlan under the table for a while now.”
“What the hell does Harlan want?”
“A way out of Chastaine. We’re just not big enough for him anymore. He wants more drivers. More victories. More money.” Tony’s gaze moved back to the ICU. “Travis bein’ sick’ll only help his
plans.”
“Where is he?”
“Harlan?” Tony shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”
Beau reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he found the white card he’d tucked in there the day before. “Do me a favor. Call this detective from Pennsylvania. He’s probably still down here with McMathers. Tell them both what you just told me.”
“Sure.” Tony frowned and took the card. “You think Harlan’s guilty of murder, Beau?”
“I think Harlan’s got a lot of explaining to do.”
Over Tony’s shoulder, Beau saw Celeste approaching with a McDonald’s bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She looked as tired as he felt, an old NASCAR sweatshirt pulled over her T-shirt, her hair uncombed, and flip-flops on her feet. She was still incredibly beautiful with that amazing regal walk, but unrecognizable as the docent he’d first seen in New York.
She smiled tentatively at both of them. “Hi, Tony.” She held the bag and coffee toward Beau. “Best I could do.”
He took it and thanked her. Tony stood, slipping the card into his pants pocket. “I’ll let you know what happens, Beau.” He nodded to Celeste and looked toward the ICU. “And I’ll keep praying.”
Celeste took the vacated seat, then dropped her head on Beau’s shoulder with a sigh.
He unwrapped the breakfast sandwich, the whiff of butter and egg reminding him how empty his stomach was. He ate in silence, quietly sipping his coffee. Celeste’s breathing fell into the steady rhythm of sleep. When he finished, he gently eased her down, making his lap a pillow for her.
As she nestled into place, he stroked her hair away from her face, studying the beauty of her bones, the creamy white skin and long, dark lashes. As he traced her profile with one finger and felt the soft puff of air as she exhaled, an indescribable ache pulled at his chest.
He knew this feeling. He knew it.
It felt just like when he was going to lose and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. No winning strategy could take him to the front of the pack; no speed or coordination or sheer racing brilliance could get him where he wanted to be. He’d lost the race. There was something he wanted so damn bad he could taste it, but it wasn’t meant to be his.
And it wasn’t just her kidney anymore.
The staccato tap of high heels pulled him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see a woman walking purposefully toward them. Her imperial gait reminded him of the way Celeste had carried the McDonald’s bag as if it were a Gucci purse. The woman wore an expensive peach-colored pantsuit, the color complementing her remarkably beautiful face.
She was studying him intently, and he straightened on the bench. What a picture they must make—a disheveled couple sleeping in a hallway with remnants of fast food crumpled on the floor. Well, shit, it was a hospital, and they’d been there all night. Why was she staring at him like he had two heads?
She stopped in front of them. Gracefully, she bent at the knees, lowering herself but never dropping her chin from its haughty, refined angle. That angle. Perfectly parallel to the ground. He suddenly knew exactly who she was.
She reached forward and touched Celeste’s shoulders with manicured fingertips. “Honey. Wake up.” A delicate hint of perfume replaced the smell of Egg McMuffin.
Celeste’s eyes fluttered and she turned toward the woman’s voice and scent. “Mother?”
Then she jolted up from the sofa, shock brightening her green eyes. “Mother! What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t get her name, but a lovely, vivacious lady at Chastaine Motorsports told me I could find you here.” Elise stood as she spoke, and Celeste did too.
“But what are you doing here?” Celeste repeated, shaking her head in disbelief. “How did you know?”
Elise raised one aristocratic eyebrow, and a hint of a smile played at her lips. “I saw you on television.”
“When?”
“Right after you left, on the Fourth of July. At the end of the race in Daytona.”
Celeste glanced at Beau as though another witness could make this statement any more believable. “Does Dad know?”
Elise looked directly into her daughter’s eyes. “I’ve left Gavin.”
Celeste opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Beau stood and offered his hand. “I’m Beau Lansing. You must be Elise Bennett.”
Before she could respond, several nurses came around the corner with an empty gurney and one announced, “We’re taking him to the OR now. There’s a waiting room on the fourth floor, but don’t rush. It’ll be a few hours.”
Elise stared into the ICU as the door opened, and Celeste took her hand. “We’ll meet you down there, Beau. We’re going to go have a cup of coffee.”
Elise nodded. “I hope you’ll tell me the whole story.”
Celeste tossed Beau a quick look as they walked away. “Only if you tell me yours first.”
Elise took a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped a few crumbs from the Formica table before she set her bag down. She studied her daughter, ignoring the noise of the busy cafeteria. Celeste barely resembled the woman she’d last seen accept an engagement ring at a country club in Darien.
Elise took a sip of coffee, trepidation tightening her throat. “Did Travis find you?”
“No.” Celeste looked at her own cup. “Beau did.”
“Why? How?”
“Why is a long story.” Celeste folded a paper napkin absently. “How is the Internet.” She leaned back and shot Elise a challenging look. “I said you first.”
Tugging at the sleeves of her jacket, Elise stalled. She’d practiced this a hundred times on the airplane and a hundred more in her rental car. “What do you want to know?”
“The truth,” Celeste said quietly. “I want to know what happened with you and Travis.”
Elise sighed. How could she tell her daughter what she’d experienced? Then she remembered the way that race car driver was caressing Celeste’s face when she’d walked up to them, the tender look in his eyes. Maybe Celeste would understand.
“Didn’t Chas tell you the story?”
Celeste folded her arms on the table and looked at her mother. “Travis has no idea who I am.”
“He doesn’t? You haven’t told him?”
“No. I wanted to get to know him first, before he knew who I was.”
Elise narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Not yet,” Celeste said with a definitive shake of her head. “I’ve waited long enough for answers. Tell me the story.”
Elise stared into the black depths of her coffee. “It was during one of our family winters in Palm Beach when I was nineteen. Chas was working at a garage, and I took my father’s car in. I’d had a little accident the night before and I needed someone to fix the fender.” For a moment, Elise could think of nothing but the look on that boy’s face as he rounded the corner of the garage and offered to help. She smiled to herself. “I was swept right off my feet. He was funny and handsome and sexy and earthy.”
“Earthy,” Celeste repeated softly. “Well, he’s that.”
The old defensiveness tightened Elise’s shoulders, hearing the voices of the people she loved. Who supposedly loved her. “Go ahead, Celeste, say what everyone else did. ‘He’s all wrong for you, Elise.’ ‘He’s Gomer Pyle, Elise.’ ” She shook her head. “They were right. He might as well have lived in a foreign country and my world was just as unappealing to him. So when I, uh…when it became obvious that we had lost a gamble with the rhythm method, your grandfather handled the situation for me.”
“Why didn’t you marry the father of your child?” Celeste asked, leaning forward.
Elise’s eyes filled. “I ask myself that every day.”
“Did he not want you? Did he not want…me?”
Regret folded her heart at the break in Celeste’s voice. She should never have made her daughter live in darkness. And she should never have agreed to live a lifelong lie. She should have listened to that
boy who screamed on her front lawn, who threatened her daddy, who cried and begged her to come home with him.
“He wanted you,” she finally said. “And he wanted me.”
Celeste stared at her. “He did?”
Elise nodded. “Most definitely.”
“Then didn’t you love him?”
Oh Lord, she certainly did. But everyone convinced her it would be a mistake. “I didn’t know what I wanted. Except”—she looked directly into Celeste’s eyes—“I knew I wanted you. And Daddy’s solution—to marry me off to the new young executive in the bank who’d shown a lot of interest in me—seemed to be the only way I could keep you forever. Of course, giving my child a proper last name appealed to my parents, and to me.”
Celeste hugged herself as she listened. “But why did Travis take twenty-five thousand dollars to cease and desist?”
How did she know that? Elise frowned at her, silent.
“I’ve been to your box in the attic,” Celeste said. “I found it when I was fourteen.”
“Ohhh…all these years…honey, I’m so sorry. He didn’t take it. My father shoved a check at him, and Chas tore it up.” Elise closed her eyes, remembering her tears as her lover sputtered and swore and finally drove away in a noisy bucket of bolts that he had driven from Florida to Connecticut. He’d shown up in it with as much pride as a knight on a white stallion, but left without rescuing his fair maiden.
“But my father was worried that he wouldn’t go away. He managed to get it into Travis’s bank account before you were born but after I’d married Gavin. Travis signed the letter, once he’d finally given up. And I was glad. I hoped it would keep him…safe.”
“ ‘Something happened that made me want to die.’ ” Celeste said the words so quietly that Elise barely heard her.
“What was that, honey?”
“Losing you. That’s what made him want to die. Not fathering a baby he didn’t want.” Celeste shook her head, and then let out a soft, quick laugh. “Who would have thought that of Travis? Spitting, cussing, gritty Travis loved you so much that he wanted to die.”
Killer Curves Page 23