Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2

by Pamela Britton

  “Playboy Bunny,” Callie scoffed. “Hardly.”

  “Well.” Veronica gave her a look that could have poisoned a witch’s cauldron. “Not in the physical sense. That’s for sure.”

  “Not in any sense.” Callie prayed to the good lord above Derrick remained quiet. “I’m working.” Callie’s mouth had a hard time working her jaw was so tense. “So if this could wait until tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.”

  Veronica shifted her weight, tapped a foot on the ground. Callie knew she debated whether or not plunge farther into Callie’s room, but Callie made sure her stance indicated she would have to knock her down to do so.

  “Fine.” Veronica crossed her arms. “Have it your way. I’ll leave you to him. But if I catch you together—”

  What? Callie wanted to ask. What would she do? Fire her? In the middle of their first test session? Callie didn’t think so. The realization filled her with a heady sense of bravado.

  “Call me later and we can schedule a time to chat.”

  Veronica’s look clearly screamed the words, “Schedule an appointment?”

  “I’m promise to make time for you,” Callie added.

  “You better,” the woman all but snarled. “As soon as you’re…done.” She sniffed disdainfully. “With your data,” she tacked on, all the condescension in the world pronounced in that one word.

  “Sure thing.” Callie stepped back from the door and closed it gently, but she lost her bravado the moment the door clicked shut. She rested against the heavy wood. Or metal. Or whatever the hell the damn thing was.

  “You mind telling me why you don’t want Veronica knowing about us?”

  “’Cause she’ll make my life hell,” Callie groaned, turning to face him. “You have no idea how miserable that woman can be.”

  “Actually, I do. It’s why I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not even if I had gloves. And a gas mask. And my rabies shot.”

  She should be smiling. Callie knew he was trying to make her do exactly that, but she couldn’t muster the energy.”

  “About earlier.” She mustered enough courage to look him in the eye.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “You are not going to hand me the ‘mistake’ excuse.”

  Could he read her so easily? “I wasn’t going to say that,” she said, even though she’d been about to use those exact words. “I was going to say that this really shouldn’t happen.”

  He huffed out a breath of laughter. “Oh, it’ll happen.”

  “No, wait.”

  “For you.” He closed the distance between them. “I’m going to make you scream so loudly the people in the next room will call 911.”

  Her nipples hardened at the thought. Damn. That’s all he had to do was put the words in her mind and it felt as if he was actually doing it to her.

  “Derrick—”

  “Shh.” He cupped the side of her face. “It’s your turn, Callie.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. We need to get you out of here before Veronica sees you.”

  “She’s probably hanging around outside right now.” He glanced toward the door. “You know it and I know it. Might as well have some fun while we’re waiting for her to leave.”

  “Derrick—”

  “C’mon, Callie. Let me return the favor.”

  “No.”

  She refused to give ground. If ever she needed a reminder of just why, exactly, getting involved with Derrick was a bad idea, Veronica was it. Not because she’d threatened her. Veronica was always trying to bully her in some way. No. It was more that when Callie had opened the door, and seen Veronica standing there, she’d been reminded instantly of what she was up against. Women like Veronica. Gorgeous, intelligent women as skinny as corn stalks. Women with one thing on their mind: Landing superstar race car driver Derrick Derringer.

  “I really do have work to do.”

  He appeared dumfounded. There was no other way to describe the widening of his eyes, the slack jaw, the lifted brows. “You want to work?”

  Instead of screwing each others’ brains out.

  “I don’t want to work. I need to work. If I spend all night—” Doing the nasty. “playing around,” she said instead, “I’ll pay for it tomorrow. I need to go over the data sets. Need to look at what I can do to improve the cars.”

  “Nothing,” he quickly interjected. “The cars are fine. And what I want to do to you will only take a matter of minutes.”

  Why, oh why, did he have to look at her that way? As if he’d like to lick her up and down and inside out. She squirmed, the desire in his eyes was so potent.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass.”

  She’d stunned him. She could tell. She’d frustrated him as well. That expression was equally apparent judging by the suddenly flat line of his lips and the way he crossed his arms in front of him.

  “Call me next week. Maybe we can pencil some time together between now and our first race.”

  “Pencil some time—” His arms uncrossed. “Look, Callie, maybe you’ve misunderstood me. This isn’t some quick romp in the hay I’m after. I want you, sure. Crap. After what you just did to me, I want you even more. But I don’t want sex. I mean, I do, but not like that. You mean more to me than that. You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who makes me think of—” he shook his head a bit, obviously trying to put things into words, “—I don’t know. Maybe getting serious with you or something.”

  Maybe getting serious? She didn’t know if she should be flattered or insulted. “Derrick. Come on. We both know I’m not your type.”

  The look of careful consideration on his face slowly morphed into dismay. “What makes you say that?”

  She shook her head. It was her turn to grapple with words. “You’re man-candy. Women want to eat you up.”

  She’d eaten him up.

  But enough of that. It’d been a moment of weakness, nothing more.

  “So? What does that have to do with us?”

  “I’m realistic.” She shrugged. “You forget, I’ve hung around race car drivers my entire life and I know what goes on.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Men like you change female partners as often as their shirts.”

  “Men like me,” he repeated.

  “Race car drivers,” she clarified.

  “So you won’t date me because of my vocation?”

  She pondered the question for a moment. “Yup.”

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I’ve never met a woman who could make me come one minute and then frustrate the hell out of me the next.”

  “I wonder if I could sneak you out somehow.” She went to the window and peered out of the curtains. She had no idea what type of car Veronica drove or where she might be parked. Crap, for all she knew her boss could be lying in wait the next room down. “Maybe I should leave. You could follow me out in a half-hour or so. That’s a good idea.”

  “No,” he cried, stepping in front of her. “I’m not going to let you walk away.”

  “You have no choice.”

  “Yes, I do. Damn it, Callie. Don’t you feel it? Can’t you see what you do to me?” He grabbed her hand, placed it against his crotch. He was still hard. “You just made me come and yet look.” He pressed harder. “Look.” His head lowered.

  For a moment, for half a heartbeat, she weakened as his lips drew nearer. Every stupid fantasy she’d ever had about the man could come true, and that was it. He was a fantasy. Something she should put on a shelf and admire from afar. To touch him, to give into the urge to be with him, to embark upon a night of erotic indulgence, that would be dangerous. Like any shiny object up on a shelf, it was better kept behind glass. Otherwise, it might break. Either that or he might break her.

  That was the real reason why she stepped away. Why she found herself slipping past him and grabbing her purse.

  “I’m sorry, Derrick. I can’t.”

  “But you want to.
I can see it in your eyes.”

  She lifted her head. “I do. I couldn’t have done what I did to you earlier if I didn’t want to…if I didn’t think…” She shook her head, decided to be brutally blunt. “If I wasn’t attracted to you, I wouldn’t want to fuck your brains out.”

  His eyes flared.

  “But I won’t,” she added. “Because no matter what you say, that’s all it’d be. Fucking. And when your attraction to me began to fade, you’d be off with the next woman.”

  “Callie—”

  “No.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve made up my mind. Thanks for everything, Derrick. I hope you decide to join the XRL, but if you don’t, I hope you know how sincerely I appreciate all you did for us today.”

  “Damn it—”

  She didn’t wait around to hear what else he had to say. It might have been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do, but somehow she opened her hotel room door and left him standing in her room.

  But not without wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake in her life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want numbers presented to me like this?”

  The sheaf of papers Veronica tossed on Callie’s desk took on the appearance of confetti as they fluttered across the surface of her desk.

  “I’m not a damn accountant, Callie.” Veronica’s voice all but dripped malice. “Just give me the bottom line. That’s all.”

  It’d been this way all month, Callie thought, a beam of sunlight arcing off the surface of her desk and creasing a prism on the lenses of her glasses. Ever since Veronica had caught her in bed with Derrick—well, not really in bed, but close enough—she’d been a bitch on heels. Sure, the rest of the test session had gone well, and almost all of the drivers who’d shown up had agreed to sign on, but that didn’t seem to matter. Callie was convinced the only reason why she didn’t fire her was because Veronica needed her too much.

  “Maybe I should do a cover sheet from here on out.” Callie’s body began to grow warm, and not from the sun’s rays cascading through the window at her back. She flushed with chagrin and, yes, even anger. Outside, Los Angeles went about its business. Helicopters buzzed overhead. Cars did battle on the freeway. Callie wished she was out there with people, maybe walking through the park she could glimpse between high rise buildings. “You know, summarize things for you that way.”

  “Whatever.”

  Please leave, please leave, please leave.

  “Have you heard from Derrick?”

  Not again.

  “No, Veronica, I haven’t heard from Derrick.”

  Because she hadn’t called, and he certainly wasn’t about to call her after she’d left him in the dust, which was fine by her…wasn’t it?

  Callie swore her boss could read her inner thoughts. Veronica’s green eyes glittered, but that could be her inner kitty-cat making its presence known because Veronica wasn’t asking for business purposes. Veronica wanted to see Callie squirm. Her boss was still chaffed Callie had stolen the march on Derrick. Callie was certain of it. Over the past few weeks she’d reasoned out that it made Veronica feel better to think she and Derrick had shared a night together, and then Callie had been promptly dumped. Asking the question over and over and over again was meant to be a reminder of how miserably Callie had failed in bringing Derrick to heel. She obviously thought Callie was the one who’d been dumped—not that she was the dumper.

  “Have you called him?”

  “Several times,” although that wasn’t precisely true. She’d told Derrick to call her if he was interested in driving for the X-TREME league, but he hadn’t. Callie flat-out refused to call again.

  “Then call him once more,” Veronica said with a superior flick of her head.

  “Why bother? Apparently he was only curious about the league. Probably wanted to see what we were all about, nothing more.”

  “Then you should go see him. Sell him on the idea.”

  “I can’t do that. He’s made his decision, Veronica. He doesn’t want to participate in the league.”

  “Jeez.” Veronica crossed her arms in front of her and jutted a hip out. “What do I have to do? Complete all the work myself? It’s up to you to convince him, Callie. That’s what I pay you for.”

  Callie stripped off a layer of enamel she ground her teeth together so hard. Veronica paid her next to nothing given the number of hats Callie wore. Every time Callie had approached her about how little she was making, Veronica would dismiss her with an imperious wave of her hand and a vague promise one day things would change.

  Yeah, right.

  “Maybe this is something you should do yourself,” Callie challenged. “Obviously, I’m not up to the task.”

  Her boss’s eyes glittered. Callie could tell she was debating whether or not to do exactly that, but in the end Veronica’s inner Wicked Witch of the West must have won out. “That’s not my job. It’s your job.”

  “Veronica, really—”

  “I’ll have Mary book a flight,” Veronica interjected, cutting her off and turning partially toward the door. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have time. We have another test session in two weeks, I need to finalize the numbers for the track near southern California that’s holding our July race next year, drivers to call, blueprints to review—”

  “All that can wait.” Veronica swung around so quickly her red hair flew out behind her. She paused at the door, green eyes glittering. “And you better have good news for me when you get back.”

  Her knuckles burned she clenched her hands so tightly. “Yes, sir,” she muttered under her breath.

  Veronica didn’t hear. She was already out the door, closing it behind her with a thud verging on a door slam.

  “Damn it,” Callie thought, twisting her chair so she faced the wall of windows behind her desk, her glasses nearly flung from her face she jerked around so hard.

  Too bad I can’t jump.

  Still, no matter how easy Veronica thought it might be, in the long run it turned out to be not so simple. It was the end of the race season and Derrick was in the hunt for a year-end championship. That meant a packed schedule full of driver appearances, sponsor obligations and a whole host of other duties—not to mention driving in races—that made setting up an appointment nearly impossible.

  “He wants you to meet him at a track,” Mary, who’d been promoted to Veronica’s secretary, told her a few hours later. “I told him we’d take what we could get.”

  Mary smiled, the middle-aged woman the polar opposite of her over-bearing boss. That must be why they got along. Nasty versus nice. “He is such a nice man. I can’t believe he never called you back.”

  “He probably meant to, but got too busy,” Callie improvised. Lord, she hoped the woman didn’t ask Derrick about the zillions of phone calls Callie had supposedly made.

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. He seemed genuinely delighted to hear you wanted to meet with him.”

  Callie’s face burned. Good lord, he didn’t think— He wasn’t under the impression that she—

  “What did he say?”

  “Only that he looked forward to seeing you.”

  Oh, dear. He probably did think she’d changed her mind about jumping into bed with him.

  “Terrific,” Callie lied, the smile she shot Mary undoubtedly like that of a skeleton it was so unnatural.

  “You leave in the morning. I sent your tickets to you electronically. Have a great flight.”

  Have a great flight, she silently mimicked. Not bloody likely.

  Derrick felt like a teenager about to go on his first date.

  “You’ll call me the minute she arrives, won’t you?” he asked his PR rep, Diane. He moved his pen across yet another scrap of paper held in his direction, signing his name across the top of a picture of his own face. Judging by the length of the line wrapped around the souvenir hauler, he’d be at this for awhile. “I mean that minute.�
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  “Derrick.” Diane looked heavenward. “I told you I’m on it.”

  When Derrick glanced at this newest addition to his team—the athletic-looking brunette nearly as tall as he was and twice his age—he spotted the tale-tale sign of curiosity on her face. Not surprising. The fact that he’d tested one of the X-TREME Racing League’s cars had been front page news in the Sports section. He’d had to do some fancy foot work to avoid getting into trouble with his team owner. Fortunately, he had an excuse. Since his lawyers were still messing around with the terms and conditions of his next contract, he didn’t feel his owner had the right to tell him what he could and could not do as he hypothetically explored other opportunities. He’d made his point perfectly clear, and if he were honest with himself, his visit to Missouri and his subsequent outing by the media had been a blessing in disguise. His car owner had undergone a dramatic attitude adjustment. He could only imagine what his car owner would think when he discovered the Vice President of Development of the league responsible for his owner’s discomfort had flown out to visit him. No wonder Diane studied him so intently.

  “Can you make it out to Karen?” asked a barrel-chested woman with gray hair. She wore sunglasses, the glass countertop serving as his desk reflected back to him in his lenses. “She’s my daughter and she’s a huge fan.”

  “Sure.” Derrick scrawled his name, wishing he was anywhere but inside the back of a big rig, the heat of the morning sun radiating off the asphalt. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful to his fans. After a dozen or more years in a career that’d had its ups and downs, he was smart enough to know it was foolish to take anything for granted. Still, it was hard to focus on signing autographs—getting the name straight, spelling it right, thinking of a special message from time to time—when all he wanted to do was see Callie.

  He wanted her.

  It’d been hell not calling. Unfortunately the key to winning her was to back off. If she hadn’t called him by the end of the month, he’d have taken the initiative. Thank God she had called him.