Dangerous Curves

by Pamela Britton

  “If that’s your choice.”

  He nodded, and they all stared at each other for long seconds before Blain turned toward the door. Cece got up, too, shooting Bidwell and the PR guy her nastiest look. By the time she and Blain emerged into the Atlanta sunshine, he was ten feet ahead of her.

  “Blain.”

  He kept going.

  “Blain, wait,” she insisted, catching up to him, touching his arm. He jerked away, and she tried not to get angry at that. She’d walked away from him enough times, that’s for sure. And he was furious. She could understand that. But she also expected him to know she knew how he felt.

  “Blain, stop,” she said, taking a firmer grip on his arm, stepping in front of him.

  There were tears in his eyes.

  Cece felt as if the ground dropped from beneath her feet.

  “Oh, Blain,” she said, her hand tightening on his arm.

  He tried to step around her again. She wouldn’t let him, placing a hand against his chest in spite of the agents who might be watching. And beneath her palm, she could feel the furious thump of his heart, her own heart tearing in two at the look on his face.

  “They’re going to ruin me, Cece.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “It’ll take me years to recover from this.”

  And before she could think about the consequences, before she could remind herself that someone might be watching, she found herself wrapping him in her arms. He let her.

  “We’ll find out who’s doing this, Blain. I promise. You’ll be out there racing before you know it.”

  “What am I going to tell the guys?”

  She drew back. Tears still hovered on the rim of his lower lids. If he’d been any other man, she would bet he’d be hiding his tears. But Blain wasn’t that type of man, and the way he fearlessly allowed her to see how he felt touched her in a way she’d never been touched before.

  “Tell them the truth, Blain—that you’ve been grounded. Tell them you’re sorry, and if they want to find positions with other teams, that you’ll understand. Tell them the FBI is going to solve this case and then everything will be back to normal.”

  “What if you don’t solve it?”

  “We will, Blain.” And, Lord, how she wanted to reach up and kiss him. How she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, pull her to him and comfort him. But she couldn’t, partly because she didn’t want to risk an Internal Affairs investigation, and partly because she didn’t trust herself to touch him that way. God help her, she was feeling things right now that should have sent her scurrying away.

  “Let’s go tell your crew,” she said, grabbing his hand.

  “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING,” Lance Cooper said, the look on his face as incredulous as the rest of the crew’s.

  They were standing near their garage stall, their plate car still hot from practice—a practice that’d been preempted.

  “I wish I was,” Blain said to his team and driver. “We’re packing up.”

  Twenty faces stared back at him, most of them with various looks of disbelief, a few in obvious disappointment. Blain glanced over at Cece. She’d made no attempt to disguise the fact that she was an FBI agent, from her standard-issue black jacket and black pants that must be smoking hot in the Atlanta heat, to the tightly drawn back hair.

  We’ll catch these guys. Her voice rang in his ears.

  He sure hoped so.

  “Look,” he said, turning back to his crew. “I know you expected to race this weekend, and that you’d hoped to win the bonuses that go along with a top finish. That isn’t going to happen. So if you want to work for another team, you have my permission. I won’t hold you to your contracts. Not anymore.” He met the gaze of one of his longtime employees. “I know the number sixteen car is looking for a tire changer, Brad. You might be able to go over there,” he said to the man, who nodded. Blain then addressed the crew in general. “I’m sure there’ll be a lot of other teams that’d be glad to have you, and I’m not going to stop you from finding those jobs.”

  Seeing nods all around, Blain looked at Lance. “I’m sorry, Lance,” he said to the wiry driver. “I’ll understand if you want to go drive for someone else, but I’ll continue to pay you if you decide to wait it out.”

  Blain knew what his answer would be, for there was one universal truth about all drivers—they wanted to drive.

  “I’ll let you know,” the kid said.

  Blain felt even more disappointment. He sensed something about the guy, something that he suspected might lead to greatness one day. If they could only get it together, figure each other out…

  There’d be no chance to do that now. At least not for a while, and by then Lance would be driving for someone else.

  “That’s it then, guys. I just ask that you stick around long enough to pack up the hauler. After that, you’re on your own. But I’ll still pay your salary no matter what.”

  There were looks of relief at that, mostly because the odds of all of them finding work elsewhere were slim to nil this late in the day. But the good ones would be snapped up soon, and it pissed Blain off to the point that he felt like punching something.

  “See you back at the shop.”

  When he turned away, Cece stepped into position next to him. It chafed to have her protecting him. It chafed to have her witness what had gone on upstairs. It chafed that she’d seen him lose control.

  But as he glanced down at her, he realized he was glad. He needed her in a way he’d never needed a woman, wanted to lose himself in the comfort of her arms.

  “Where are you going now?” she said, her green eyes peering up at him. She had a wisp of light blond hair that kept drifting down from her forehead. He reached up and swept it behind her ear. Those eyes of hers widened.

  “Relax, none of your buddies saw.”

  “I’m sure they did,” she corrected, frowning. “This place is crawling with agents.” She glanced around the garage.

  And it was. For the first time in Blain’s racing career, he’d had to show a photo ID to get inside. Usually, security just waved him through. Hell, half the time he was recognized. Today had been different, and it reminded Blain that someone, somewhere, was watching them. And not just good guys. The bad guy was out there, too—or guys. Was it one of the fans who’d come to the track early to watch them set up? Someone from another team who had it in for him? Someone who didn’t even like racing? One of his crew?

  “You’d think they’d try to blend in a little bit better,” he heard Cece mutter under her breath.

  He had to force himself to remember what they’d been talking about. Oh, yeah, the number of agents.

  “You think with everything they have on their plate that they’re keeping an eye on you?”

  “After that hug an hour ago, I’m sure there are more than a few raised eyebrows.”

  “Screw ’em,” Blain said.

  She frowned, and Blain knew that’d been the wrong thing to say. Cece’s job meant everything to her. He knew that. His job was to convince her that he could mean just as much to her, and it looked as if he’d have plenty of time to do that in the coming weeks.

  Once again he felt the acidic heat of dread hit his stomach.

  He might lose it all.

  He might, but he wouldn’t. By God, he’d sell everything before he let that happen. Maybe rebuild from scratch…if it came to that.

  “I’m going to get a hotel room for the night,” he said.

  She looked up sharply.

  “Don’t worry, we don’t have to share it.”

  She lifted a brow, and was that a tiny smile he saw hovering on her lips? “I wasn’t worried.”

  Dread slipped away as he stared into Cece’s eyes, as did the persistent sensation of being watched.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’ve decided to shut off your emotions where I’m concerned.”

  The smile faded. “That’s right.”

  “Well, then, I guess there’s nothing to worr
y about. You can share a hotel room with me, after all.”

  She stopped, hands on her hips. “I will not.”

  He almost laughed.

  She realized he was teasing her and smiled back, and beneath the hot Atlanta sun, Blain felt his anxiety slip away. Damn, the way she made him feel when she smiled up at him…

  “Seriously,” he said, advising himself to be patient. “I don’t feel like driving back tonight.”

  “Yeah, neither do I.”

  “Then let’s get a hotel. We can kick back, use the spa. Order some champagne.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “And I promise not to touch,” he added.

  “I told you, I’m not worried about that.”

  You should be.

  “But if you’re set on this idea, then I suppose Bravo Team can set up security.”

  Oh, yeah—protection. Funny how easy it was to forget about that for a few minutes.

  “Well, tell Bravo Team that I want to stay at the Renaissance downtown.”

  Her brows lifted at the mention of the Renaissance; even she’d heard of the luxurious hotel. “Hey, if I’m going to have to give all this up, I might as well go out with a bang,” he added.

  She frowned. “You don’t think it’ll really come to that, do you?

  “It might.”

  She looked away for a second, only to pull her shoulders back, tip her chin up and smile at him tightly. “Then I guess we’re off to the Renaissance.”

  “Atta girl.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BUT BY THE TIME Cece arrived at the Renaissance’s Presidential Suite, she was a nervous wreck. Words kept repeating themselves over and over again in her head.

  Blain. Hotel room. Alone.

  It wasn’t that she thought he’d pull something. He’d been a perfect gentleman all week, after all. Still, she was as jumpy as a rookie on her first day on the gun range.

  “Here we are,” Blain said as he stopped before a double door with the name Presidential Suite etched into a brass plaque next to them.

  Blain. Hotel room—Stop it, Cece!

  But her first words weren’t, “Unhand me, you fiend,” which she’d half-hoped would be required. They were, “Jeez-oh-peets,” as she set her stuff down by the door. “Does the Shah of Iran live here?”

  Blain walked in behind her, tossing his room card on the marble-topped entry table guarded by a giant mirror mounted above it.

  “Nah,” he said, “suites are all the same. They only make them look like a million bucks. The frames are all plastic, the carpets made in China and the furniture pressed wood.”

  Cece crossed to the window, stepping back quickly when she realized how high up they were. Okay, so the altitude didn’t make her feel any calmer.

  “But the view can’t be faked,” he said.

  “If you like views,” she grumbled.

  “Don’t like heights?”

  “Don’t like being close to windows that are high up,” Cece clarified, and it was true, though her edginess had more to do with being in a hotel room, alone, with Blain.

  “You are afraid of heights,” he accused.

  Cece sighed. “Just a little,” she confessed.

  “I’ll be damned,” she heard him murmur.

  “Probably you will,” she quipped wryly.

  He shook his head. She looked back at the window, telling herself to calm down. “I noticed in my travels that the price of a room is usually commensurate with how far off the ground it is.”

  “Good point.”

  “Bet you’ve been high off the ground a few times.”

  “A few.”

  And that was part of the problem. High off the ground in hotel rooms with how many other women?

  And why had he given up on her so easily?

  “I’m going to search the place,” she said, suddenly fed up with herself. She was sounding as fickle as a woman, which she was, but, well—forget it.

  “Don’t you think that might be overkill?” Blain asked as she turned away. “I sincerely doubt that a bad guy had time to booby-trap the room in between our checking in and coming up here.”

  “It’s my job,” Cece said. It really was, she reminded herself. “But I’m also making note of entrance and exit points.” And in a two-thousand-square-foot suite, there were a lot of those.

  “Places where you can hide, if need be, and places where you shouldn’t stand in the event someone slides something under the door.” She glanced back at Blain. “By the way, you might want to move. Never a good idea to stand near a main entrance.”

  She would have smiled at the way his eyes widened except she was too edgy to summon even the tiniest of tilts to her lips. The fact of the matter was they had agents watching the floor through surveillance. If someone was making his way toward the private suite, Cece’s radio would beep, warning her. Frankly, they were safer up here than they were at Blain’s home. More secluded, too. There really was only one way in, maybe two if someone decided to rappel down to the balcony, although she doubted that would happen. This wasn’t a James Bond flick.

  She took a deep breath.

  Blain was safe. For now. Maybe that’s why she was so tense. She’d been worried about him.

  “I think you’re going to be fine,” she said, heading for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Blain asked.

  “I’m going to check into my own room.”

  “Seriously, Cece, you can stay here. There’s plenty of space.”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “I promised not to touch.”

  “No,” she said again, but only because she had to quell the instant “yes” that wanted to rise to her lips.

  “Can’t concentrate with me nearby?”

  Something like that. “No. I just prefer my privacy.”

  He started to move toward her. Cece felt her spine prickle. Usually the feeling preceded a bullet whizzing by her ear.

  “What are you doing?” she asked warily.

  “I want to give you a hug.”

  “A what?”

  “A hug,” he said with a small smile.

  She turned, saying, “Goodbye,” over her shoulder.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He assumed a look of innocence as he stepped in front of her. “What? Am I not allowed to thank you for all you’ve done?”

  “Send me a letter,” she said, trying to sidle past him.

  “Cece, wait.” He caught her before she’d taken two steps, his big hand encompassing her own. “Don’t go,” he said, tightening his grip.

  “I have to,” she said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, Blain, I do. I told you I wasn’t going to go there with you. I can’t believe you refuse to respect that wish.”

  Yes, you can, a voice argued. You’re thrilled he refuses to give up. Go on. Admit it.

  “I’m not going to let you get away so easily.”

  And if she needed confirmation that she truly wanted his pursuit, all she had to do was feel the way her body tingled at his words.

  “I want to make love to you.”

  “Forget it,” she said.

  “Cece, please…I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “That’s a really good line, buddy.”

  “It’s not a line,” he said. “It’s the truth. I’m about to lose everything. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  Cece froze. She knew she should step in the other direction, or at least pull back, but instead her breath caught as she looked into his eyes.

  “I need you, Cece. Now more than ever. No more games. No more keeping my distance. I want to hold you, to feel your warmth, to know you’re in my arms—where I’ve been longing for you to be.”

  No, the voice screamed. Don’t let his words sway you.

  “Damn you,” she said, tears of frustration filling her eyes. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t handle a relationship. Not now. Not ever. There were things he didn’t even k
now about her, important things.

  He bent down and gently, tenderly, kissed her, and all her objections melted away.

  To be honest, she’d come up to his room half wishing for his kiss, and to hell with Internal Affairs. So when he slid her jacket off her shoulders, she let him. And when he slowly began to undo the buttons of her white blouse, she let him do that, too. And the further he undressed her, the further away her protests drifted, until she felt only his hands, their gentle, tender touch making her realize how much she loved the reverent way he caressed her. And her breathing—she was aware of that, too, of the way she sucked in a breath when he slipped off her bra. The way she gasped when his lips moved away from her own to lightly suckle the side of her neck, and then her collarbone, and then—oh, lord—her breast.

  She watched as his tongue darted out and flicked the tip of her left nipple, flicking and flicking…

  How, she wondered, how did he know how to touch her so perfectly…so right? Her knees grew weak, but she’d never felt stronger or more alive in her life. His tongue dove in and out of her mouth, over and over and over again, in a rhythm that she wanted matched between her thighs.

  He must have felt her sag against him because he picked her up. Cece came back to earth then, but only for a brief second, during which sanity returned and she wondered what she was doing letting Blain Sanders carry her to a room with a massive bed.

  “Blain…” His name escaped her lips part sigh, part panicked moan.

  But when he laid her down, when he sat on the edge of the plush bed and looked down at her, his hand lifting to caress her nose, she felt herself melt all over again. His intensely tender yet possessive gaze made her feel more feminine than she could remember feeling in a long, long time.

  “I want you naked,” he said.

  She didn’t move.

  “And I want you to watch me undress, too, Cece. I want you to see what you do to me.”

  He stood. And Cece watched as he removed his shirt. Watched as he pulled down his slacks, the bulge beneath his briefs springing free when he removed those, too. Her body spasmed at the sight of him, a spasm that turned to liquid desire. When he undid her slacks, then urged her out of them, she didn’t protest. The only time she moved was when his mouth found the top of her thighs, and then only to convulse in pleasure, especially when that wonderful mouth of his moved closer to her core. And then, oh Lord, he was there, his tongue drifting up the center of her, lapping at her and suckling her moisture.