She Who Dares

by Jane O'Reilly

  She’d sold another two cars, the Mercedes and the Jag, and the day at auction had brought in three new beauties. Between the work needed to bring them up to scratch, and the general repairs and other day-to-day business of the garage, the two of them had barely had any time to eat, let alone talk. Her hand had healed enough that she could do some of the smaller jobs if she was careful.

  But now it was Friday lunchtime, the Misses and Motors contest was only a day and a half away and they’d finished in plenty of time. The Dino had an entirely refitted interior, and the paintwork was factory pristine.

  Sebastian caressed the front windscreen with a soft yellow cloth. ‘She certainly is lovely.’ He gave Nic a strange look from beneath long, dark lashes. If she let herself, she could interpret what that look meant. She’d have to be dead not to recognise the sexual heat the two of them generated, even if she couldn’t explain it. Not that it mattered. She didn’t have the confidence to get close to him again.

  ‘Start her up,’ he said, resting his muscular forearms on the roof, twisting the cloth between his fingers. ‘I want to hear her roar.’

  Nic felt an almost overwhelming sense of longing, mixed with the oddest sense of regret as she walked in to the office to collect the keys. It was as if she’d been running for so very long and suddenly the finish line was in sight and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to get there. Once the car started, it would be that particular journey finished, and she’d have to move forward to the next step — her own transformation. She knew she’d been putting it off. Since the disaster at the hairdressers, when she’d turned not into Marilyn Monroe but Morticia Adams, she’d been too scared to try anything else. She might not like how she looked now, but it was already safe and familiar.

  Which was absolutely ridiculous. This was her dream. A Ferrari was not made to hide under a blanket, and to keep it there was cruel. The door to the little safe clicked open, and Nic grabbed the keys, strode back into the workshop, opened the driver side door and planted her backside firmly in the seat. Key in the ignition, a quick twist, breath held. The engine whined, coughed, died.

  She tried again. This time it didn’t even bother to splutter. Checking the fuel gauge, she pumped the accelerator, crossed her fingers and prayed for third time lucky.

  Nothing. Silence filled the workshop, a thick, acrid cloud of shock and disappointment that tasted like dirt. How could it not start? It had been in reasonable condition when she’d bought it, and she’d taken care of it. Kept it tucked away in the workshop, away from the elements. It wasn’t like she’d burned out the engine blasting it round the country lanes or up and down the bypass. She’d protected it.

  And now it was nothing more than a pretty shell, and a pretty useless one at that. ‘Why won’t it start?’ she said, forcing the words out through a throat that hurt. Sebastian moved to the front. Through blurry eyes, she saw him gesture to her to open the bonnet. ’We fixed the outside. There was nothing else wrong with it. How can something look so wonderful and be broken?’

  ‘Appearances can be deceiving,’ he shrugged. He lifted the bonnet, disappearing out of view behind the sheet of glossy lipstick red. ‘Get over here and help me out.’

  Side by side, they bent over the engine, and Nic fought to blink away the tears that filled her eyes. What an idiot she was. Just minutes ago, she’d been in the office getting her knickers in a knot about getting the car finished, and now it wasn’t even fixed enough to start. She’d been so focussed on making it look right, knowing that the judges at Misses and Motors would want to see something spectacular.

  It was hardly going to impress if she had to take it there on the back of a tow truck. A hot tear trickled down her cheek, but she barely noticed, too busy trying to hold in the sob lingering in the back of her throat.

  A strong arm came up around her shoulders and pulled her into a hard, male body. ‘Do not get emo on me,’ Sebastian said roughly. ‘I need your mechanical brain in full working order so we can get this pumpkin fixed.’

  ‘I’m not sure it can be fixed,’ Nic managed, her senses swimming as the scent of his cleanly washed t-shirt and warm skin enveloped her. It was a simple gesture, nothing more than a show of friendship, yet it was loaded with a sexual undertone that neither of them could deny. She turned into him, angling her hips and thighs level with his, her mouth seeking his mouth.

  They got within a whisper of each other, noses touching. Time stopped.

  Then they both stepped apart, gazes still locked, but bodies no longer in contact. She watched his chest heave, watched the tiny little flicker of a muscle in his cheek, watched him rake the hair back from his face in a gesture that had become as familiar to her as the husky sound of his voice and his scent, and she couldn’t believe what she’d almost done.

  ‘Could be a problem with the ignition,’ she said tightly. ‘Sometimes the wiring corrodes.’

  ‘We should check the battery and the spark plugs too.’

  Nic nodded. ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Jump start?’ he suggested, his voice calm. Too calm. ‘I could bring one of the others round, see if we can get her going.’

  ‘Let’s check everything first,’ Nic said, hating herself so much it hurt. ‘I want to make sure everything is absolutely perfect. Then we’ll jump her if we need to.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said. He glanced away, then back at her again. ‘Nic?’

  ‘What?’

  Those green eyes glittered. ‘Do that again, and I won’t step away. You need to remember that.’

  There was so much confidence, so much fierce arrogance in his words that her fears imploded in an instant, replaced by a powerful, electric pull low in her belly. She had to focus, had to think about the job in hand, had to remember why she had to resist the temptation no matter what. ‘Sebastian?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Truth or dare.’

  ‘You seriously need to ask?’

  Nic caught his gaze and held it, though it cost her everything. ‘I’m asking you to step away. You need to remember that.’

  By six that evening all the relevant engine parts had been inspected and cleaned. Sebastian had talked her down from a total rebuild, though she’d been tempted. She’d finally conceded that a pretty car with no engine was even worse than a pretty car with a dodgy engine, unless she wanted to be the only Miss without a Motor. Her muscles and brain ached, and she’d done a lot less work than Sebastian.

  She watched as he eased a curvy little TVR with two tone paint into the workshop and proceeded to attach jump leads between the two batteries. As she’d predicted, she’d found a problem with the wiring for the ignition, and as Sebastian had predicted, the Ferrari hadn’t taken too kindly to being hidden under a sheet for six months and had a flat battery to prove it.

  Pressing her fingertips together, then holding her index fingers tightly against her lips, Nic closed her eyes. ‘You do it,’ she said. ‘

  ‘Oh,’ Sebastian replied. ‘I will.’

  She heard the click as he opened the door to the Ferrari, heard the seat sigh as he settled himself in to it. And then she heard nothing. For the longest heartbeat, she heard nothing.

  She opened her eyes, her whole body frozen. Sebastian turned his head, his bright green gaze slamming into hers. He winked.

  And with a flick of his wrist, the workroom was filled with the most beautiful sound Nic had ever heard. A low, throaty growl that rose to a snarl when he touched the accelerator and all eight valves opened up. ‘Now that,’ he shouted over the sound of the engine, ‘is a roar. Come on. Let’s take this baby out for a test drive.’

  Nic dashed forwards, unhooking the leads from the battery and closing the bonnet as if it was made from glass. He looked so damn perfect sat in the driver’s seat of her Ferrari. She glanced back over her shoulder at the TVR, its paintwork a definite raspberry-pink from this angle. She turned back to Sebastian, nerves on fire, heart pounding. ‘Race me,’ she shouted.

  ‘What?’ He lea
ned out of the car, but didn’t loosen his possessive grip on the steering wheel. The Ferrari had waited so long to be out there, to be seen, to be loved. It deserved someone like Sebastian at the wheel.

  ‘I’ll take the TVR,’ Nic yelled back, twisting her fingers into the front of her overalls, knowing the risk she was taking. ‘You take the Ferrari. I want to see what she looks like.’ I want to see what everyone else sees, she thought suddenly, and the thought felt very strange.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  She nodded frantically, wanting to get out there before she changed her mind and shoved him over to the passenger side. ‘Show me what you can do,’ she said, realising all too late quite how sexually suggestive that sounded.

  Dark brows flicked up, and green eyes flashed. ‘I’m ready whenever you are.’

  Nic stumbled away and lowered herself into the TVR, not quite in control of her limbs. She was used to fast cars, and temperamental fast cars at that. She knew how to coax them into submission. But right now she was as clumsy as a novice. The TVR stalled twice before she got it off the forecourt and onto the road. Sebastian drew up alongside, the window down, his arm hanging loose over the side, apparently unaware that he was blocking the other side of the road. ‘We’ll take Bridger’s Road towards mine, then cut through to the bypass. Then the coast road back here. Winner chooses the forfeit.’

  He revved the Ferrari gloriously, and gave the TVR a once over. ‘It’s not too late to swap cars.’

  Nic gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She put her foot to the floor. The TVR leapt forwards, leaving the stunning Ferrari and it’s even more stunning driver behind. The TVR was a sexy drive, there was no denying it. The early evening sun was shining, and the paintwork would flash between bright pink and deep petrol blue depending on the angle. It was a car for an attention seeker and didn’t pretend to be anything else.

  ‘And what about the Ferrari?’ she thought, easing off the accelerator just a little, and feeling the thrill right down in to the pit of her stomach as it drew level. It hugged the curves of the road, every inch the mechanical racehorse that she’d dreamed it could be. People grinned when they saw the TVR. They came to a complete standstill when they saw the Ferrari. For just those few seconds, they were transported somewhere else, to a life of glamour and excitement and danger and excess, and that, more than anything, was what she sold. Never mind the metal and oil and leather.

  It was all about the dream.

  When she got behind the wheel of that car, she wouldn’t be plain, uninteresting Nic Sinclair. She would be someone else.

  She would be the sort of woman who was bold enough to go bed with a man like Sebastian Prince. Someone with attitude. Attitude was sexy. Sebastian had tons of it. Her knuckles whitened on the wheel, and she didn’t even notice that she’d taken her foot off the gas until Sebastian went roaring past her in a flash of red

  Jolted back into reality, Nic fought to concentrate on the road and her speed. She could not think things like that. She must not. Sebastian was way out of her league, in every possible way. Only a complete masochist would start to tempt themselves with the idea that going to bed with him was an option.

  But it appeared that she was a complete masochist, because now the idea had not only taken root in her head, it was accelerating faster than the top speed of the TVR. I can’t want this, she thought desperately, as the driveway of his rented house came into view. I can’t ever have this, and it’s wrong of me to want it.

  She veered left, cutting the gap between the TVR and the Ferrari dangerously short. If Sebastian got back to the garage first, he’d be in control of the forfeit, and if he asked her to sleep with him, she wouldn’t be able to say no. But the fallout would destroy her.

  Winning the race was her only option.

  And she would do whatever it took to make it happen.

  In the driver’s seat of the Ferrari, Sebastian kept one eye on the road and the other on Nic in the rear view mirror. She drove like a pro, her style sharp, totally in control. If anything he’d say she intimidated the car, not the other way round.

  And she was chasing his bumper like a woman hell bent on winning. He grinned. Someone wanted to set the forfeit real bad. Well, after their week of skirting around each other, pretending they weren’t in that zone of total, sexual awareness, he’d just about had his fill. Frustration was overrated as far as he was concerned.

  She wanted that forfeit? She’d have to take it from him, because he had no intention of giving it up. ‘Who is the pro here?’ he asked, toeing the accelerator a little harder as the TVR cut the space down even more. ‘You think you can take me, princess? Go right ahead and try!’

  He’d never raced a woman before. He’d certainly never raced a woman for sex, and the thrill of it heated his blood. He’d grown used to the way his body felt tight around Nic, but now it was downright hard. An image of her breasts pushing against thin cotton flashed into his mind, and he groaned.

  He was going to win this damn race, and then he was going to screw Nic Sinclair senseless. Slipping one hand down, Sebastian adjusted the front of his jeans as best he could, then fixed his gaze on the road.

  They clung together all the way to the bypass, Sebastian not giving an inch. The Ferrari sprawled across the road and he used every single one of those inches to keep her at bay. He could almost sense her frustration. It brought a smile to his face. ‘That makes two of us.’

  The road widened, split, the one narrow lane giving way to two. Flat. Straight. Wide. She whipped the TVR straight into the outside lane, and Sebastian sat the Ferrari across the middle of the road. The challenge was clear. She either sat behind him, or she picked a lane and forced her way through the gap. The question was which one would she choose?

  He knew what he’d do, but his knowledge was different, technical, based on his understanding of slipstream and road surface, not governed by the rules of the Highway Code ingrained through years of road driving.

  She clung to the outside lane and accelerated up behind him, engine snarling. The Ferrari roared as he tested her nerve, wanting to see just how hard she’d go to get ahead. The TVR drew alongside until they were perfectly aligned.

  Sebastian glanced across. Dark, glossy hair curved round a face so delicate it could have been made from porcelain. She was chewing on her bottom lip, small hands on the steering wheel, her focus total.

  And in that moment something inside him changed, though he couldn’t say for the life of him what it was. But he could feel it like a punch to the gut. Like an explosion, making his ears ring and his heart pound. Like a car tumbling into a ravine at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

  Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The stench of burning rubber and smoke filled his nostrils, and he could taste blood. He smacked his left hand against the passenger seat, groping blindly for the body of his co-driver, found only empty space.

  What the…

  Then it was gone. And he found himself in the driver’s seat of a vintage Ferrari, racing a woman for sex. He touched the brake, and the speedometer needle flicked to the left. He touched the brake again, fought for air, found it. Weeks of keeping that memory locked down, of refusing to think about the crash, of not needing to think about the crash, and his subconscious had decided to drag it up now? Son of a bitch.

  The TVR shot past him, cutting into the inside lane, planting its wide rear end right in his face. The outside lane was tantalisingly, temptingly empty. All he had to do was slide the Ferrari out into it, floor the accelerator, and he’d be back at the garage before she even had a chance to blink. He had the skill, the nerve.

  Except, for a moment, he didn’t.

  He’d thought the crash hadn’t affected him. He’d thought wrong. Nausea rushed in, but he fought it back, pushed all his emotions aside, and just drove. All he wanted now was Nic, in his arms, with him, under him, giving him the oblivion that he needed. He didn’t want to think about that moment, brief though it had been, when he’d let fear t
ake hold. Sebastian gritted his teeth, dropped the car into third and took the outside lane. He didn’t do fear. He’d been born to win. It was what he was. What he did. Not ready to race?

  Like hell he wasn’t.

  Nic saw the move almost in slow motion, and reacted a second too late. She floored the accelerator, but she was no match for Sebastian and she knew it. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as the rear end of the Ferrari became nothing more than a smear of red in the distance.

  Her heart bumped out of time, and the world around her blurred. Just in time, she pulled herself back to reality, cut her speed and flung the TVR to the edge of the road. Handbrake on, engine off. She didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of beating him back to the garage.

  Sebastian had won. And she knew exactly what the forfeit would be. Between her legs, a hot, empty ache set in. Her breasts felt heavy and her fingers shook. With every part of her being, she wanted that forfeit. There was no point pretending otherwise. Fighting it was a waste of time.

  If only she was brave enough to face it.

  Her mouth dry, Nic scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to figure out what on earth she was going to do. One hand fell to her side, and she slipped her fingertips under the hem of her t-shirt and stroked the rough, bumpy patch of skin that crept its way below the waistband of her shorts.

  Why had she done it to herself? Why hadn’t she been stronger, braver, harder? As tears burned the back of her eyes, Nic made a decision. She couldn’t change the past, who she’d been, what she’d done. But the future was entirely under her control.

  The engine roared into life with a gentle push of the start button. First gear, check the mirrors, pull out.

  All she had to do was find the courage to make the future what she wanted it to be.

  She took a circuitous route back to the garage, mostly because she was so distracted that she kept turning right instead of left. Thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘are you crazy’ fought it out inside her head. Nic let them play. Fighting them was pointless.