Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2

by Pamela Britton

  “Got it.”

  They were in northern California, at a track best known for its National Auto Sports Association twenty-five hour race. Small-time for sure. There were no deluxe garages. No massive grandstands. No outbuildings would shield them from Derrick’s arrival. The road course snaked in and around some low-slung hills like a discarded piece of rope. Callie had scouted the place out months in advance, and yet she still hoped for a way to sideline Derrick before Veronica did. To warn him that her boss was on the war path, and that he had to stay away from her, and that Callie still wanted him to drive for the XRL, of course.

  So as the cars were unloaded for the three-day test session, Veronica holding court inside one of the race car haulers they’d hired, Callie kept a watchful eye out for Derrick. It had dawned a stunning day in northern California, sunlight arcing off the windshields of the cars parked near the garage. No media had been invited; they’d asked the drivers to keep the test date to themselves. Apparently, they’d done as asked because there were no news vans in sight. One-by-one she ticked off the names on her list, Derrick the only no-show.

  “Guess he’s not coming,” Veronica admitted, Callie thinking she had to be burning up in her thigh-high leather boots, black pants and white, ruffled blouse. She looked like she was ready to set sail on the Black Pearl. All she needed was a saber.

  “Guess not.”

  Callie couldn’t deny her spirits sank at the realization. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d counted on Derrick to help launch the XRL, especially after his year-end championship.

  “Okay then,” Callie called out to the drivers who’d shown up. They stood gathered near the main straightaway, the road course winding around them like a snake in a garden. “I guess we should go ahead and get started.”

  She glanced at the faces around her, knowing most of them by sight. They’d attracted some of the best talent in the United States—but, of course, none of them were household names.

  Like Derrick.

  “This will be our final test session before we release the templates and engine specifications for you to use when building your own cars.”

  There were nods, Callie thinking it was no wonder Veronica had come dressed as she was. Quite a few of the men were good-looking guys, and not all of them were young drivers. Today many of the prospective team owners were watching from a distance or, in some cases standing next to the talent. So it was a mix of men. Young and old. Tall and short. A few middle-aged bellies. A few good-looking men. One of those men, Shane Houser stepped forward. He had the typical racer stance, arms crossed, feet wide apart, thrown back shoulders—as if he wanted to take on the world and didn’t care who stood in his way.

  “I have a question,” he said, semi-lifting a hand.

  “Yes?”

  The blond-headed driver turned arrogant eyes upon her. “I missed the first test session and so I want to know what happens if I don’t like the cars you’ve designed.”

  Callie had heard the man’s dad was every bit as obnoxious as the son. “Why don’t you wait to drive one before deciding you might not like them?”

  The man lifted his chin. “I’m just asking.” He shrugged. “What happens?”

  Terrific. She couldn’t wait to work with Shane. “You’ll have to work within the confines of our design,” Callie answered. “And we’ve done that for a reason. Safety. So while we applaud teams who can come up with, shall we say, creative ways to make their cars go faster, there will be no tampering with the frame or body style of the car.”

  “How about the engine?” Shane asked.

  “The engine we’ve come up with is balanced and blue printed. You’ll need to use the same type of block, but as far as the drive train, anything goes.”

  There were murmurings, Callie realizing Shane hadn’t been the only one curious about how much leeway they would be given. “Our goal with the XRL is to make this like old-school racing. The most creative engineers will win. We won’t be putting you under a microscope. We encourage you to think outside the box. Ultimately, we want the fastest car to win.”

  “And how about on the track?” one of the other drivers asked, a brunet who didn’t look old enough to drive a pizza truck.

  “You mean will you be allowed to bump and nudge?” Callie called back.

  “Exactly,” someone said with a laugh, she didn’t know who.

  “Yes, you will be. We want this to be exciting for the fans. Anything goes while you’re out there. Well, within reason. Obviously, blatant acts of violence won’t be tolerated.”

  More voices, Callie seeing smiles on more than a few faces. “Is that it?” she asked the group.

  She heard it then—a car pulling up. Callie’s whole body went on the alert. Veronica, who stood nearby, straightened also. Callie couldn’t see who’d arrived from her position. Next a door slammed, but Callie refused to turn toward the sound.

  “Sorry I’m late,” someone called.

  Derrick. She almost closed her eyes.

  “Our flight was delayed.” He came bounding up, the smile he gave Callie full of friendliness. “What’d I miss?”

  “Jerk,” she heard Veronica mutter.

  Callie couldn’t move. Her eyes seemed the only thing capable of working. She glanced beyond Derrick and at the tall woman behind him. His PR Rep. An older woman with brown hair and the body of a marathon runner.

  “I thought you were just testing the cars out for Ms. Monroe here,” Shane grumbled, clearly disgruntled to be face-to-face with the famous racing star.

  “Actually,” he said. “I changed my mind. I had such a blast driving a few weeks ago I decided to sign on. As of now I’m officially the X-TREME Racing League’s newest driver.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “So you won’t be driving stock cars anymore?” asked the same kid who’d confronted him when he’d walked up.

  “No. I didn’t say that. I’ll be doing both next year.”

  The crowd murmured quietly. The kid who’d been so vocal turned back to Callie. So did Derrick. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Okay, well, if there are no more questions, let’s get to the cars.” She all but clapped her hands. “I know a few of you weren’t here for the first session, and so we’ve decided to let those drivers go first. This time out we have two cars for you to test. We decided to try and construct a second car based on what we learned off our prototype. So those of you who were at the last practice, you won’t recognize what we’ve dubbed the 02 model.” She smiled. “Additionally, we’ve made a few changes to both cars. Honestly, I think we’ve got some great prototypes, but I’ll leave that up to you to decide. A word of warning, however—” she increased the volume of her smile, looking everywhere but at him, “—you wreck it, you buy it.”

  There was muffled laughter. Derrick thought to himself once again she truly was the rarest of women—smart as a whip and a gearhead to boot. She turned away and motioned for the pack of drivers to follow them. Derrick hung back.

  “She doesn’t look particularly overjoyed to see you,” Diane murmured.

  “She’s in professional mode,” Derrick suddenly aware Veronica had stayed behind and she looked even more unhappy to see him. She marched up to him with death in her eyes.

  “You touch her again, you’re dead.”

  “Excuse me?” Derrick asked.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. I know what you did, and I know what type of man you are. You think lording it over a woman is a game, but I’m here to tell you, any more deals like the one you made with Callie and I’ll toss you out on your ear.”

  It was a little disconcerting to be given a lecture on sexual morals by a woman who’d been center stage in a sex-tape scandal, but whatever. Derrick merely shrugged. “I promise I won’t do anything she doesn’t want me to do.”

  Which turned Veronica from ferocious kitten to enraged tigress. “That’s what men like you always say.” She turned away in a huff.

  Diane
was quiet for a moment, but Derrick knew that wouldn’t last for long. “Wow. Someone’s got a lot of baggage.”

  “You think?”

  “Me thinks she doth protest too much.”

  “I think she’s messed up for a lot of reasons,” Derrick surmised.

  “Just for shits and giggles, what, exactly, did you do to piss in their Wheaties?”

  For a moment Derrick almost laughed. He liked Diane more and more, but he wasn’t so certain he should confess everything. Then again, he didn’t trust Veronica. No doubt she’d be the first to tell people what he’d done and so he doubted it’d be a secret for long.

  “I made a deal with Callie, told her I’d join the XRL if she’d have sex with me.”

  No response.

  When he made eye contact, it was in time to see amusement fill her eyes. “I know it was a stupid thing to do, but you had to be there.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t,” Diane huffed.

  “Yeah, well, me too. And it was kind of a joke. At least that’s how I meant it. And then Callie said yes and things sort of spiraled downhill from there.”

  Diane lifted a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

  “I called to apologize, but she wouldn’t take my calls.”

  “So that’s what that was all about.”

  “And then you called and got things all sorted out.”

  “And you realized that you would have joined the XRL with or without a sex slave in your pocket.”

  He blushed. That was the only way to describe the way his face tingled and his cheeks heated. “Um, something like that.”

  She’d started to shake her head, her brown eyes seeming to twinkle. “You’ll have to get her alone to apologize.”

  “I know.”

  “In the meantime I’ll keep a close eye on that Veronica Adams. She’s trouble, that one.”

  Derrick stared after the group of men and women. They walked toward a row of race car transporters, one of the cars he’d driven parked outside. “I have no idea how Callie manages to work with her.”

  “She has no choice,” Diane observed. “Sometimes when you’re desperate for something, you’ll do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

  He glanced back at his PR rep, certain she was trying to tell him something, but whatever it was, he didn’t quite grasp it. “Well, she sure has to put up with a lot.”

  “Including you.” Diane threw him a small smile.

  “Including me,” Derrick agreed. “But I’m hoping that won’t be too much of a chore in the very near future.” He set off after her. “Wish me luck,” he called over his shoulder.

  He didn’t hear his PR rep’s softly uttered, “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

  Callie tried to ignore him.

  It was actually pretty easy to do for the first hour or so. She had to concentrate on her job as head of development for the X-TREME Machines, along with answering questions about the cars for those who were new. Then there were the inevitable bugs that showed up in the cars, although those were thankfully few and far between this time around. Honestly, she got lost in her job—but only to a point. There were times when she’d look up and find Derrick staring at her.

  She expected the other drivers to buddy up to him. Racing wasn’t about what you knew as much as who you knew, and she’d been certain more than a few of the younger drivers might try to befriend Derrick for the connections he had in racing. They didn’t. Oh, a few of them cautiously approached, but they had nothing much to say other than congratulations on his recent accomplishment.

  “I’m going in,” Veronica said with a long-suffering sigh. “We’re filming this, right? I can watch from a television screen inside.”

  “You can,” Callie said.

  “Good.” Veronica sighed. “I don’t know how you deal with this awful heat.”

  Heat? It wasn’t above seventy degrees, and yet Veronica was waving a hand in front of her face as if they were in the middle of the Mojave Desert, her long red nails catching the sunlight.

  “No problem,” Callie said. “I’ll be in the parts truck if you need me.”

  Veronica acknowledged her words with the briefest of waves. Callie shook her head and trotted off, looking for Derrick before she did so. He stood beneath an easy-up tent, waiting for their two prototypes to make their appearance again. Being a road course, and a meandering one at that, there were times when the vehicles were out of sight. She could hear them though. The two cars sounded like enraged bees from a distance. It was a sound that gladdened Callie’s heart. So far things had gone even better than their first session. As long as the drivers adhered to the blueprints she’d given them, they’d have a hell of a race on their hands come February. She worried for a moment three months wouldn’t be enough time for the newly formed teams to build their cars, but she knew how racers were. They’d burn the candle at both ends to get the job done.

  She hummed with happiness as she walked toward the parts truck.

  Happy?

  Yes, she suddenly realized, opening one of the big rig’s back doors. She was happy. She paused for a moment. It looked like a moving truck inside—boxes piled to the left and right, racks filled with spare parts toward the middle and tires stacked near the rear. She was happy because she’d done it. She’d actually gotten the XRL off the ground.

  She headed toward the back after flipping on a switch that turned on a row of fluorescent lights, all the while thinking that despite the stress of the Derrick situation, in spite of the fact that she had to put up with drama queen Veronica, regardless of how many hats she was forced to wear—she’d done it. She’d designed a race car capable of performing on both a road course and a circle track—and some of the best drivers in the nation were raving about its performance.

  That felt pretty good.

  “You planning on ignoring me all day?”

  “What the—?”

  She turned toward the back door she’d just walked through, stunned to see he’d somehow raced to catch up with her without her noticing.

  “What are you?” she asked. “The Bionic Man?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Apparently, he didn’t watch 80s re-runs. “Go away, Derrick. I have nothing to say to you.” She turned toward the row of boxes, looking for the one that said shock absorbers.

  “You’ve had plenty to say to the other drivers out there.”

  She glanced back at him in time to see him motion over his shoulder. The sun silhouetted his frame like a gunfighter at the entrance to a bar. She’d noticed earlier he’d worn a black polo shirt, and the short sleeves hugged the curves of his arms and accentuated his biceps. She hated the fact he looked so damn good in that shirt, and that she had no control over her thoughts, and that the memories of some of the things they’d done could still evoke tingles.

  Like now.

  “I mean it, Derrick. I have nothing to say to you.”

  He entered the big rig, anyway. “And what if I have something to say to you?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to spot a spare door near the front of the trailer. This wasn’t like a race car hauler. There was no private office. No way to escape. No way to avoid him.

  “Derrick—”

  “Why’d you tell your boss about our deal?”

  He wore jeans, and suddenly all she could think about was how she’d peeled a similar pair of pants off him weeks ago.

  Stop it!

  “I felt she needed to know.” He swung the door closed behind him, not all the way, but enough to cloak the interior of the rig in darkness. “Don’t do that.”

  He moved in closer. “You didn’t have to do it, you know.”

  “Do what?” even though she knew exactly what he was asking.

  “Have sex with me. You could have said no.”

  “And then you’d have walked away from the XRL.”

  She shifted sideways, hoping to put more distance between them, but the inside of the rig was covered with boxes
and racks full of car parts.

  “No,” he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I would have. All I know is I wasn’t thinking clearly. You had me so worked up I would have done anything to get you to have sex with me. I’m still hot for you.”

  Damn it. She hated the way he could do this to her. Hated the way her heart leapt at his words. He wanted her. Her. Callie Monroe. The man could have anybody. Crap, he’d probably had twenty offers since he’d won the damn championship last weekend, but it was her he’d come after. She was the one he slowly advanced upon.

  “Derrick.”

  “I want to peel your clothes off right now. To take you right there,” he pointed behind her, toward some tarps they had stored in the corner.

  “You can’t,” she said. “I’m not—” that type of girl. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but it was a ludicrous thing to say given some of the things they’d done in the past, and some of the things she would still like to do to him.

  “I can make it fast.”

  “No,” she huffed out, dismayed to realize she’d almost laughed. “Fast or slow, it doesn’t matter. I’m working.”

  “So am I.” He was right in front of her now, and despite all evidence to the contrary, Callie felt a surge of erotic excitement. It was like standing in front of a bull, waiting for it to charge, waiting for the first move. Static electricity danced upon her skin, heightening her awareness. His scent filled her nostrils, the familiar smell teasing her, reminding her of what it’d been like to have him bend her over and do that to her.

  As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he closed the distance between them, ran a finger across her left nipple.

  She cried out in shock, not because he’d surprised her. No. She cried out because her body had reacted so instantly to his touch it left her wanting more, wanting him.

  “Stop it.” She glanced toward the opening behind him. It was dark, but she could tell his eyes had begun to glimmer.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about this for days.”

  Him? Fantasizing about her? The thought completely threw her for a moment.