Home at Last Chance

by Hope Ramsay

  Kenny’s gaze shifted a little. “C’mon, Sarah, let’s take this somewhere else. The big, important race car driver has a problem with us being here.”

  “Sarah’s staying here.”

  “The hell she is,” Kenny bellowed, coming forward a couple of steps and taking a wild-ass swing.

  Tulane ducked and instinct took over. He turned and came back at Kenny with a hard right cross that caught the engineer square in the nose. Tulane felt the cartilage in Kenny’s nose crunch. Blood exploded out of the man’s nostrils, and he staggered back a few steps, wailing in pain.

  “Shit, Tulane, goddamn you, you sonofabitch.” Kenny brought both of his hands up to his face, the blood splattering his shirt and his hands. “What the hell is wrong with you, anyway? You’re such a loser.”

  The epithet knifed through Tulane. How many times had people called him that? “I didn’t want to hurt you. I told you to leave.”

  Kenny just stood there swaying a little.

  Dammit. He had worked so hard to avoid a fight. He didn’t want to fight. He’d been trying to get on Kenny’s good side for weeks and weeks.

  But what was a man supposed to do in a situation like this? Stand there watching Sarah get manhandled?

  No frigging way.

  “I think it’s broken,” Kenny whined.

  “I’m sure it’s broken. You ought to find some ice for it before it swells up on you. I’m sorry I had to do that,” Tulane said in a shaky voice.

  He turned his back on Kenny, giving him a chance to take a little revenge if he wanted. But Kenny was a college boy who knew better than to get into fights. Kenny was well-educated and mature. And Tulane was just a hick from the sticks.

  Tulane heard him moving away, muttering curses and insults.

  Tulane turned back toward Sarah. She sagged against the motor home, eyes closed, her face as pale as his momma’s bone china. Her cotton T-shirt had been ripped apart at the shoulder, exposing the pale lace of her bra. Three dark bruises in the shape of fingerprints had begun to darken her upper left arm. She cradled her left hand against her chest, a little smudge of blood welling out of a scrape along the knuckles.

  His insides went haywire. Every instinct propelled him forward with the single-minded knowledge that his honor and his manhood depended on keeping this woman safe.

  “Honey?” His voice came out as ragged and hoarse as his out-of-control emotions.

  She opened a pair of unfocused eyes. The rum punch had taken a serious toll on her. “It’s okay, Sarah, I’m here,” Tulane said. He wanted to catch her up in his arms and hold her tight and tell her the bullies were never going to hurt her again. But he held back. The last thing she needed was some jerk making a sudden move on her.

  “I’m so dizzy,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to be—”

  She never finished the sentence. She bent over, clutching her stomach, and upchucked her dinner all over the toes of her silly high-heel boots and the hems of her tight blue jeans.

  Tulane finally found the no-head zone he’d been searching for all day. He simply stopped thinking about everything except Sarah Murray.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Hey, honey, wake up.”

  Sarah fought against consciousness. Waking up this morning was going to be an unpleasant experience. So she curled in on herself, pulled the soft comforter closer around her neck, and burrowed deeper into the pillow. A hand with warm, rough fingers and a gentle touch caressed her temple.

  “C’mon, it’s almost eight, and I know you have business to take care of,” a low-pitched voice whispered near her ear. Warm breath heated her skin. The voice spoke in a lovely accent full of dropped syllables, and soft consonants, and blurred vowels. The voice was as gentle and safe as the hand stroking her temple. She could listen to this voice for all of eternity.

  But the voice kept talking about stuff that she didn’t want to think about right now. Like a dinner tonight with the governor of Delaware.

  The governor of Delaware!

  Reality came crashing down on her like a ton of bricks.

  Sarah opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. Wicked pain prickled through her frontal lobes, her stomach gave a queasy roll, and a raft of humiliating memories filled her head.

  She shut her eyes and groaned.

  This elicited a little chuckle from Tulane. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her temple as if he were some kind of gender-confused Florence Nightingale. “C’mon, now, I’ve got a couple of aspirin and about a gallon of water for you.”

  She tried to sink deeper into the bed. “No more, please,” she croaked as she remembered Tulane feeding her copious quantities of water last night. She had become intimately acquainted with the toilet in the motor home’s surprisingly sumptuous bathroom.

  “C’mon, you’ve got to get up. You can’t hide out all day.”

  She opened her eyes and squinted up at him in the semidarkness. Bless the man for having drawn the mini-blinds in his richly appointed bedroom on wheels. “Why would you be hiding out?” she asked in a rusty voice. “I’m the one who embarrassed myself.”

  She was also the one who had decided to try kissing Kenny. Why had she done that?

  “C’mon, get yourself up,” Tulane said as he dragged her up to a sitting position. She looked down at herself. Her top had been replaced by Tulane’s favorite Alabama T-shirt. The soft cotton hung off her body like a nightgown, and it smelled of him.

  She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

  Then she remembered that she had barfed all over herself, which was why Tulane had helped her into his T-shirt.

  “C’mon. You need these,” Tulane said, his voice serious in the dim light. Sarah gazed up at his outstretched palm where a couple of aspirin tablets rested. She snagged them and popped them into her mouth and then accepted a glass of water from him.

  “Drink it all.”

  She obeyed. There was something in the timbre of his voice that said she would find even more trouble if she didn’t.

  She handed the empty glass back to him. Tulane was clean-shaven, clear-eyed, sober, and dressed in a pair of khakis and a golf shirt bearing the logos of Ferguson Racing and Cottontail Disposable Diapers. The logo shirt was white today, instead of pink—a little change that she and Deidre had both managed to agree upon. This was his uniform at the track when he wasn’t wearing his pink flame-resistant driver’s suit.

  “Is it really eight?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. And I have to get myself down to the garage. Qualifying starts early. And according to my sources, you have an early meeting with the catering department up at the Dover Downs Hotel to go over tonight’s shindig.”

  She drew her knees up and rested her head on them. “I’m going to be late, aren’t I? My clothes are—”

  “I had Kyle bring your suitcase over from the hotel this morning, along with your purse and laptop and BlackBerry. I turned the BlackBerry off, but I’m thinking you probably better turn it back on and check your messages.”

  Sarah groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to disappear. Everyone on the team must know what had happened last night. She could count on the good ol’ boys down in the pits laughing their redneck heads off about it.

  “Sweetheart,” Tulane said softly. His hand found her back and began massaging it gently. His touch felt too good. “Pull yourself together now, and listen to me, okay?”

  She nodded but kept her eyes closed.

  “Lori should have known better than to give you that punch,” he said. “That stuff is deadly.”

  “I didn’t know it was spiked until I stood up and the universe tilted.”

  “Lori didn’t tell you there was rum in the drink?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Well, let that be a lesson. The next time someone hands you a fruit drink, you should ask.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good, you do that, because I’m the one who’s going to
pay the price for what happened last night.”

  This sent a wave of concern washing through her. “Why would you take the blame for anything? You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

  “You don’t remember everything that happened, do you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she let every embarrassing memory flood through her. “Uh, yeah, I think I remember most of the important parts. Like where I got drunk and threw up on myself and you stayed with me all the way through the dry heaves. Uh, thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Aw, shucks, honey, wasn’t nothing, just your average Prince Charming stuff.”

  At the humor in his voice, she opened her eyes. But Tulane wasn’t smiling.

  “Actually, that’s not the part of last night I was talking about,” he said. “I’m talking about the stuff that happened before you threw up.”

  “You rescued me from Kenny?”

  “What I did was to break Kenny’s pretty little nose. His face isn’t ever going to be the same. Kyle told me this morning the doctors down at the emergency room said he would probably need surgery to fix it so he can breathe right.”

  Sarah pressed her forehead down onto her updrawn knees. “I don’t remember that part. But I remember being so relieved that you came and rescued me.”

  “Well, thanks, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to get sent off to the principal’s office one more time. Jim Ferguson is going to rip me a new one. There just isn’t any way a driver pops his engineer in the face without there being repercussions. The racing association is going to hear about this, and they’ll investigate. They could put me on probation. And I hate to think what your boss lady would think about this, since she wants you to spy on me. They could ruin my career over this.”

  Sarah heard the misery in his voice. He was trying to behave himself, and she had ruined it for him. He wasn’t a bad boy at all. He was a guy trying to get ahead in his career, just like she was trying to get ahead in her career. All of this was her fault—right down to his pink driving suit and car.

  She looked up again, and their gazes caught and held. Sarah’s body quickened like it always did whenever Tulane looked her square in the eye. Boy, she was hopeless.

  Tulane’s gaze shifted just a little, downward toward her left shoulder and then farther to her left hand, which was wrapped around her knees. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple recoiling, while a muscle ticked in his lean cheek. Sarah could have sworn that Tulane was angry at her. She probably deserved it, too. But she was not going to admit that.

  “I’m sorry,” she said instead. Mother always said that an apology was the best policy when one had made a big mistake.

  “Look,” he said in a hard voice. “Breaking the rules is not a good way to get ahead in life. The racing association can get you for it. Deidre can get you. The press can run your name into the mud. I want you to stop trying to be something you aren’t. It isn’t safe. I would feel terrible if anything had happened to you. Is that clear?”

  Apparently apologies didn’t work for Tulane. He seemed even angrier. But there wasn’t anything she could do about that.

  “I need to get going,” Sarah said, ignoring his question. She inched to the side of the bed and stood up gingerly, feeling a draft on her backside. She headed toward the bathroom in search of a toothbrush.

  “Sarah,” he said to her retreating back. She didn’t respond. She reached the bathroom, picked up Tulane’s toothbrush, and applied toothpaste to it. She popped it in her mouth just as he arrived at the door.

  “Sarah, tell me you understand what I’m talking about here. Kenny could have hurt you. You do understand this, don’t you? You’re kind of naïve when it comes to some things, you know?”

  She ignored him, although she was oddly aware of the intimacy of this scene—especially the fact that she had his toothbrush in her mouth, and he didn’t even seem to care.

  He leaned his body against the doorway and folded his arms across his chest. She spit out the toothpaste and rinsed.

  “Where’s my suitcase?” she asked.

  “In the living room.”

  She pushed past him and made her way down a little hallway and through the galley. He followed her.

  “Sarah, I’m trying to talk to you.” His voice held an edge to it.

  “Yeah, well, I hear you.” She reached the living area. Her suitcase sat on one of the long leather couches that lined the bulkhead. She pulled it down onto the deep carpet and started rolling it back in the direction of the bathroom.

  She got as far as the galley before Tulane leaned one hand across the archway, blocking her path.

  “And?” he said.

  She inched her chin up, trying to block out the headache and that familiar tingly feeling that vibrated through her whenever Tulane got this close.

  “And what?” she asked.

  “Do you understand that we’re in trouble, and it’s time for us both to grow up and be mature?” He said this slowly, like he was talking to a child.

  “Okay, that’s fair. I guess I was naïve and stupid about the spiked fruit juice.”

  “You were stupid about more than the punch.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like wearing those boots and tight jeans.”

  “Wait one minute. What was stupid about that? And where is the rule that says I can’t wear high-heel boots?”

  “Those boots are not you, babe.”

  “Don’t call me that. I tolerate ‘honey,’ but I am not a ‘babe.’ ”

  “You’re right on that score.”

  Fury, white and hot, slammed through her, and she reacted without thought. She lashed out, slapping him across the cheek with all her might. The sheer force of the attack stunned her. She had never hit anyone in her life, let alone a man who had just spent the better part of the last night being kind to her.

  Sarah stared up at him, trying not to be shocked at herself as she watched a little red stain color his left cheek. Remorse immediately flooded her system, tempered by fear.

  She braced herself for his fury, only it didn’t come. Instead, his lips twitched. She hadn’t hurt him. She had amused him.

  All remorse evaporated.

  “You have to stop now,” he whispered, leaning in closer to her, invading her space without even touching her. “You need to lose the high heels and the tawdry makeup and quit trying so hard. It’s no wonder Kenny got the wrong idea. You shouldn’t be messing around with jerks like Kenny.”

  “What do you mean? Kenny is okay. He even has a mother in Ypsilanti that he’s devoted to.”

  “Yeah, and he put bruises on you. Stay away from him, you hear?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, Tulane, but it’s not your business. And besides, I’ll bet Kenny didn’t know the juice was spiked either. Kenny is usually a sober and serious sort of person. How was I supposed to know that a little alcohol would turn him into an asshole?”

  “Asshole?” Tulane said, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “When did you learn to say that word? I’m pretty sure I didn’t teach you that one.”

  Sarah raised her hand to slap him again only he was faster this time, catching her wrist in a grip that was as overpowering as it was gentle. Unlike Kenny’s touch, Tulane’s wouldn’t leave a mark.

  “Play nice,” he whispered. Then he did the unexpected, pulling her hand forward instead of pushing her back.

  In the next instant, he pulled her right in to his chest, placing her hand on his shoulder, letting it go, and then cupping the back of her head as he pulled her up into the most erotic kiss she had ever experienced in her life.

  Not that she had that much experience in the kissing department, but she was pretty certain Tulane Rhodes wrote the book on deep, sexy kisses.

  His lips, so unbelievably warm and soft, closed over her mouth. His tongue glided over her sensitive flesh in little tight circles as he explored every nook and cranny of her mouth. He kissed like a virtuoso. He knew every move and just the right rhythm; he found p
laces she didn’t even know existed, and he brought them completely to life.

  The kiss tasted like Heaven itself, with hints of toothpaste and overtones of coffee, all overlaid with the taste of him. He tasted dark, and mysterious, and complex.

  She pressed up on tiptoes, everything they had argued about forgotten in her surprise that he was even interested in doing something naughty like this. She slid her hand up into his short hair, the texture spiky against her palm as she rubbed it against its pattern of growth.

  Tulane made a funny noise deep in his throat. He pressed himself against her hand at the same time that his own traveled all the way down her spine coming to rest on her bare, naked backside.

  Liquid heat flooded her system.

  He squeezed her butt cheeks, then cupped her bottom and pulled her right off the floor, forcing her to spread her legs and wrap them high around his hips. He fell back against the galley’s countertop and rocked his pelvis against her.

  Reaction bubbled up her windpipe and exploded into a noise that was completely inarticulate and utterly necessary.

  The man had rhythm in every part of his body—especially his tongue and his hips. She felt like a play toy, and Tulane had her key, winding up the mainspring inside her until it felt like it would surely burst.

  Just as this thought crossed her mind, Tulane twisted his mouth away from hers and said one of the FCC’s seven forbidden words.

  He loosened his grip on her backside and leaned forward, pressing her against the refrigerator and letting her front slide down his body until she was back on her feet. He placed a little chaste kiss on her temple, brushed the hair out of her face, and then tucked her head under his chin.

  “I’m sorry about what just happened,” he murmured.

  Of all the things he could have said, that had to be the most humiliating. She pushed against his chest, and he let her go, just like a gentleman should. She really needed to go now. Embarrassment flooded her.

  “I’ve got to get dressed.” She tried to turn away from him toward the hallway, but he continued to block her passage.