“Thanks, fellas.”
The man continued to pump Linc’s hand a few more seconds before realizing what he was doing. “Sorry there, Shooter.”
“So what can I do for you guys?” Linc asked.
“Someone in the neighborhood called complaining about the reporters camped out in front of the building. We came to check things out and found your new missus here smack-dab in the middle of a bunch of photographers.”
“I was trying to get my spare key,” Eve said. “I locked myself out.”
“My new missus?” Linc didn’t mean to play dumb, but the notion that she’d faked it kept niggling inside him, distracting him.
“You two are married,” Officer Number One declared, his gaze going from Linc to Eve and back again. “You are married, aren’t you?” Before Linc could reply, the officer shook his head. “Dammit to hell. I knew it had to be a rumor. We heard it on this late-night talk show we always listen to. The host is usually on the money with his news, but I knew this was too far out to be true. No way would Linc Adams saddle himself to one woman. She’s one of them groupies,” he said to his partner. “Crazy women are always trying to get close to Linc. Why, I saw this gal parachute into Victory Lane last year after the Bud Shootout. She was wearing an itty-bitty bikini, and she was all over Linc here before security could pull her off.”
“That was you?” The second officer looked awestruck.
Linc shrugged. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
The men laughed and Eve stiffened. “Look, I’d love to stand here and keep listening to Life and Times of the Conceited and Famous, but I’m a little cold and almost naked.”
Linc’s gaze shifted to her. Her eye makeup was smudged, her dark hair tousled, and her lips still swollen from his kisses. She looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a really good orgasm.
Yeah, right.
Linc forced a smile. “You know, I think I do recognize her.” He peered closer, and he had the feeling she was this close to slapping his face. “Why, it is her. She’s the new little woman, all right. Sorry, sunshine.” He winked at Eve and she scowled. “I didn’t recognize you with the police-issue blanket and all. She’s usually wearing a lot less,” he told the officers. “You know how it is with newlyweds.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Adams.”
“Thanks for finding her before she wandered off somewhere.” Linc lowered his voice. “It’s all that medication.”
“Medication?”
“For the sex addiction,” he whispered. “It calms her down long enough for me to get some sleep, but it makes her sort of”—he let loose a low whistle—“crazy.”
“Oh, well, yeah, I think I’ve heard about that,” Officer Number One said.
“Me, too,” the second man added. “We’ll clear out the press camped in front, but I’m sure they’ll be back. You folks have a nice night, and be sure to call us if there are any disturbances.”
“Sure thing.” Linc smiled, pulled Eve inside, and shut the door.
She turned on him. “A sex addiction?”
“Would you rather I told them you were schizophrenic or delusional, or some other story to account for the fact that you were dangling naked from the fire escape?”
“I’m not naked. I’m almost naked, and I didn’t need you to tell them anything except that I’m your wife. I already had a convincing story for the fire escape.”
“That’s good, because I’d love to hear it. First off, why didn’t you just knock on the window?”
“Because I didn’t want to wake you . . .” Her words faded as her gaze drilled into his. Realization brightened her gaze. “You were awake, weren’t you? You locked me out on purpose.”
He had half a mind to deny it, but when she looked at him it was as if she could see right through him. He shrugged. “You shouldn’t have been outside in the first place.”
“I needed some fresh air, that’s all.”
“And here I thought you were trying to gossip on the phone so I couldn’t hear you.”
“Well, that, too, but—” The words stalled as her gaze collided with his. Guilt filled her expression before it faded into a passive look and she shrugged. “I don’t gossip. I was simply relaying the facts to my sister.”
“Gossip.”
“It wasn’t gossip. I needed to explain things to Skye. I wanted her to know what was going on.”
“So you had to call her five minutes after we finished having sex?”
“It wasn’t five minutes. It was twenty-eight minutes, and I didn’t think you would mind because you were asleep. I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would just give my sister a call.”
“To talk about me.”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Eve told him, and she meant it. She never found anything gossip-worthy about mere kisses.
“Some people like to brag,” Linc continued. “Especially when it’s really incredible. You were pretty worked up and pretty loud.”
“I was?” The memory of the fake orgasm rushed at her full-force and she blurted out, “Yes, um, I guess I was.”
“So you liked it?”
There was something oddly desperate about the question, and instead of coming clean and telling him the truth—that, yes, she’d liked it, but she hadn’t loved it, not enough to actually reach la-la land—she heard herself say, “What’s not to like?”
He eyed her for a full moment, and she had the strange feeling that he knew.
He couldn’t know. She was the sexpert here. Not to mention, she was a woman. She knew how to fake an orgasm as well as she knew how to tie her own shoes. Not that she did it very often. Or ever. If she came, she came. If not, she simply finished herself off after the man went his way and she went hers. This time, however, she was stuck with Linc.
Temporarily, of course. But stuck nonetheless.
Silence stretched between them for a few frantic heartbeats. She gripped the blanket tighter around her. “Look, about the sex. While it was good”—the foreplay, that is—“and we’ve obviously got really good chemistry”—go figure—“it was still just sex. It didn’t mean anything.” Especially not an orgasm.
“It meant you wanted me and I wanted you.” Linc walked around the living room and eyed the contents, from the leopard-print velvet table lamp to the penis-shaped nutcracker hand-carved out of tiki wood that sat on her coffee table.
“That’s right. Wanted being the key word. As in past tense. The last thing I have time for in my life is an ongoing relationship. Not that I have anything against relationships,” Eve rushed on, eager to set the record straight so that he knew up front she wasn’t an antimarriage activist like her mother. “I fully intend to have one someday when Mr. Kaboom comes along.”
“Mr. Who?”
“My soul mate. He’ll be tall, dark and handsome—sort of a cross between Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro with a smidgeon of Vin Diesel thrown in to give him that dangerous edge. But he won’t be all brawn and no brains. Nor will he be an egotistical cretin. He’ll be an intellectual who’s not only thoughtful and smart, but artistic as well. He’ll also be very sensitive to me and my needs. We’ll have instant chemistry to go with the meeting of minds and kaboom, it’ll be fireworks. In the meantime, I need to focus on my work.”
“I know the feeling.” Linc fingered the black velvet painting of Van Halen—pre-Sammy Hagar—that hung on her wall. “This was my favorite band back in high school.”
“You and every other guy I’ve ever known. Look, the point I’m trying to make is since you have to focus and I have to focus, we shouldn’t be wasting time focusing on each other.”
“What you’re saying is no more sex.” He continued to eyeball the velvet painting.
Eve frowned. Linc didn’t have to look so unaffected by the bomb she’d just dropped.
Not that she wanted him to be affected, mind you. It was the principle of the thing. She’d pulled out all the stops to give him a stellar performa
nce. The least he could do was look a little disappointed.
“They just weren’t the same after David Lee Roth left,” he finally said.
“He was the driving force.” Eve inhaled deeply and tried to ignore the faint scent of warm male that teased her nostrils. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom”—she pointed toward the doorway that led to the short hall and the two bedrooms—“when you’re here. I’m sure you have a spare room at your place. That, or I can just sleep on the couch. That way we’ll avoid temptation.”
“Actually, I thought Eddie Van Halen was the driving force. His guitar riffs were incredible.”
“Right.” She drew another deep breath. Her breasts pressed against the soft cotton of her T-shirt, and she became instantly aware that she was standing there without any underwear on. Sure, she had the blanket wrapped around her waist, but suddenly it didn’t seem like nearly enough. Not with Linc so close, filling up her small living room. “Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?”
He spared her a look and arched an eyebrow. “Your screaming orgasm?”
She frowned. “That and the fact that I don’t think I should have another, not with you, that is.”
“Not with anyone while we’re married.” He pinned her with a stare. “I don’t need the sympathy vote because my wife is out cheating on me.”
“I won’t have time to cheat. I have a project to finish.” She watched him resume his study of her living room. He bypassed the painting and stopped near the white wicker basket she’d left out last week. He fingered the baby blanket that sat inside.
“Is this part of your documentary?”
“It’s a baby quilt. I’m making it for Skye’s twins. Actually, I’m going to make two. The first one’s almost finished.”
“You did this?” He held up the hand-sewn quilt and surprise flickered in his gaze.
“I want to give her something special. Besides, the quilting helps me de-stress after a long day.”
“It’s . . . nice.” Linc stared at the quilt as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes before the expression disappeared. “I never would have figured you for the quilting type.”
“Yeah? Well, I never would have figured you for the milk type, either. So we’re even.”
Eve watched as he placed the blanket back into her basket before turning toward her stereo system. Muscles rippled in his arms and chest as he pressed the ON button and Avril Lavigne’s “Happy Ending” blared from the speakers.
“You can’t cheat, either,” she said after he’d turned the volume down. “My mother has to think we have the perfect marriage. If there’s trouble in paradise, she’ll get her hopes up, and that will mean she’ll pay me more attention because she thinks there’s a chance to save me.”
“No cheating,” he agreed, killing the music and walking over to her. He stopped just a few inches from her, and she had the crazy thought that he meant to kiss her.
Even worse, she wanted him to kiss her.
She tightened her grip on the blanket around her waist. “Just be your obnoxious self like you did tonight. It’s bad enough that I enslaved myself, but doing it with someone like you makes it that much worse.”
He grinned. “No problem, sunshine.”
“And one other thing. Since we’re sort of playing on the same team, you can stop trying to irritate me. No more sunshine, except in front of my mother. She’ll hate it.”
“No sex. No pet names.” Linc stared at her lips as if debating over the kiss. “I can see this is going to be a long nine months,” he finally said before turning toward the guest bedroom.
And how, Eve thought as she watched him walk down the hall, her gaze on the sway of his tush beneath his fitted pants. Bad sex aside, he was attractive. And exciting.
And totally not her type, she reminded herself. Which meant he was completely off-limits from here on out.
Had she really faked it?
The question echoed in Linc’s head as he stretched out on the bed in Eve’s guest room and stared at the ceiling. Sure, it hadn’t been the best race of his life—she’d tensed up toward the end and it had thrown off his stroke—but he sure as hell hadn’t had to fake it. He’d simply floored the gas, moved a little faster, and sailed right over the finish line.
He knew women were different and that sometimes it took more than just picking up the pace to make things happen. More kissing and touching and rubbing. He would have been more than happy to try all three to help her get off, but then she’d opened her mouth and started with the whole yes thing.
A put-on?
Eve didn’t seem like the type. She was too out there and in your face and too damned knowledgeable on the subject.
Then again, maybe that was the reason itself. Her very nature stirred expectations that she might have felt hard-pressed to live up to. She looked wild and wicked, and so she’d done her best to be wild and wicked.
Maybe.
And maybe it had been so good that she feared doing it again because she didn’t want to let herself fall for a man like Linc. He didn’t look a thing like Johnny Depp or Benicio Del Toro or Vin Diesel, even though he did appreciate the man’s taste in sunglasses. To fall for Linc would make her a hypocrite, and so she’d come up with the whole No Sex rule to keep from having another orgasm with a man so totally unlike her ideal.
He weighed the two options and would have been inclined to lean toward the latter—he was a man, after all, and his pride was at stake.
But he couldn’t forget the DVD about the surefire signs of a well-satisfied partner. Eve had had none of them except for the panting and the scream. Two out of five didn’t make for a convincing argument.
Who the hell cares? This isn’t about sex. It’s about keeping your freedom, buddy. And your focus. You can’t win a championship if you’re attending city council meetings and dedicating new libraries.
Damn straight.
And so it was a fine idea that they weren’t going to do it again. The last thing Linc needed was another distraction. He couldn’t afford to think about the way her bottom lip trembled beneath his when he kissed her, or the way her fingers clenched when he licked her pulse beat, or the way she’d looked so soft and vulnerable wrapped in that police blanket.
He wasn’t as young as the other new drivers out there, and so he felt he had more to prove and less time to do it. He’d entered the sport with an impressive showing—he’d won a whopping ten out of the thirty-six races his first year, and at least that many in the four years since—but he’d never won the Daytona 500.
Until yesterday. He’d set a precedent for himself. This was his year.
He knew it.
He felt it.
He needed it.
To erase the regret that still ate at him for not pursuing his dream sooner, and to reassure himself that giving up the solid foundation of a law practice to pursue a crazy, out-of-this-world dream hadn’t been a mistake.
Right now he needed to think about this Sunday at the Rock—the drivers’ term for North Carolina Speedway in Rockingham—and the second season race, which would be even more of a challenge than the first. The drivers who’d had a poor showing at Daytona would be out to prove something. The ones who’d raced well would be out to maintain their standing. The competition would be fierce.
Linc was up to the challenge. He was hungry and focused, and he wasn’t the least bit worried about Eve Farrel and her orgasm. Real or not.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Chapter 6
It had to be a dream.
That was Eve’s first thought when she opened her eyes the next morning and the sex episode with Linc rushed through her head.
She’d had a little too much to drink and way too much of her mother, and so she’d come home and had a really awful nightmare.
But as she climbed out of bed and stumbled over Killer, who lay amid a pile of clothes—a man’s tuxedo jacket and shirt—she knew beyond a doubt that last night had been all too
real.
Everything, that is, except for her orgasm.
Guilt churned inside her and she did her best to tamp it back down. She pulled on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black T-shirt imprinted with the title of her last video. Then she headed to the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, after two cups of strong black coffee, she called Trina.
“Why didn’t you tell me you and Linc Adams had a thing?” Trina demanded.
“We don’t have a thing.” Eve stood at her kitchen counter and poured herself another cup of java.
“You married him.”
“Okay, so we have a thing. But it’s just a little thing. Listen, I need you to handle the office for the next few days.”
“You’re not changing the subject. You married Linc Adams and totally ruined him as fantasy material for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I won’t be able to picture Linc without picturing you, and while I’ve swung both ways on occasion, we’re talking you. While you are pretty hot in a Guns N’ Roses video sort of way, you’re like my sister.”
“Since when do you fantasize about NASCAR drivers? You don’t do anyone who doesn’t live in a three-piece suit and have a seven-figure bank account.” Eve sipped her coffee. The hot black liquid sent a rush of warmth through her body and a wake-up jolt to her brain.
“A seven-figure bank account supersedes the three-piece suit. You wouldn’t believe how much some of those guys make. And women—NASCAR finally has a female driver. She aced the Bud Shootout last year and walked away with a pretty nice paycheck. Which brings me back to the money. The weekly purse for each race is incredible. On top of that, you’ve got bonus money from various race sponsors and—”
“Hold on a second.” Eve took another sip. “Since when do you know anything about NASCAR?”
“Since I read the sports section of the L.A. Times this morning. I know that Linc won ten races last year, and made an amazing finish overall. I know that he’s the favorite to win the Nextel Cup this year, thanks to a win this past weekend at the Daytona 500, which, I might add, is the first race of the NASCAR season and has one of the biggest paychecks. I also know that Linc closes his eyes when he kisses and that you don’t photograph well in yellow.”
Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice Page 6