“The truth? As in trading sex for taking out the trash?”
“It works.”
“It’s prostitution.”
“You’re overly dramatic.”
“And you lack self-respect.”
“You’re still jealous because I got that internship at Masters and Johnson and you didn’t.”
“I am not jealous. Besides, you cheated. You flaunted your cleavage in exchange for a few extra points on your stupid thesis.”
“At least I have cleavage to flaunt.”
“You’re as shallow as ever.”
“And you’re as anal. I can’t imagine why a man like Donovan would even want to marry you.”
“Because we’re perfect for each other, that’s why. We have great sex and we share all the same interests and we respect each other.”
“Then why not marry him?”
“Because marriage, in and of itself, is an institution created by men to perpetuate their male-dominated society through the oppression and enslavement of women.”
“Horseshit. That’s what you want to believe because you watched your mother endure a load of physical and mental abuse from your father, and you’re scared of finding yourself in the same situation. Hel-lo? Not all men are like your father.”
“I most certainly know that.”
“Do you? Because you don’t act like it. Get some therapy, get over it, and get married.”
“I shouldn’t have to stand up and tell the world that Donovan is the perfect man for me by signing my life over to him on a piece of paper.”
“It’s not about telling the world. It’s about telling him.”
“Miss Chandler?” It was James again.
“I’m coming. Look, I’m sorry if you’re having trouble, but I’ve got my own to contend with. Not to mention I totally believe in what I’m saying. You’ll have to weasel out of this all by yourself because I’ve got a show to do.”
“Various eye shadow colors proven to rev his libido?”
“Lip gloss flavors.”
Jacqueline grimaced. “It figures.”
Chapter 21
The next few months passed much too fast for Eve. She and Linc had exceptional sex, and shared numerous peanut butter sandwiches while talking about anything and everything. Meanwhile, the puppies grew and soon it was time to give them away. She presented one to her twin nephews, one to her pregnant sister, Xandra, and one to her father to keep him company while her mother persisted in being stubborn.
Before Eve knew it, she was leaving newly spayed Killer with Mr. Wilkie while she flew south to meet Linc in Homestead, Florida, for the second to the last race of the Nextel series—her last official appearance as his wife. It was the Saturday before election Tuesday. The plan was for Linc to secure his point standing by winning Sunday’s race. Immediately following, they would drive to Adams and spend Monday and Tuesday making a last-ditch effort to dissuade voters. Eve had brought her most outlandish outfit—a short, short leopard-print spandex dress held together on either side by a row of safety pins that showed a tantalizing display of skin—to cinch the loss.
She didn’t think of what would happen after Tuesday. Every time she tried, she got this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, so she concentrated on the howling baby boy in her arms.
“I’m so sorry,” Skye said above the wailing. She held a matching baby in her arms who was giving Eve’s a run for his money with the crying. “They’re a little colicky.”
“A little?”
“Ssshhh,” Skye pleaded, rocking the baby to and fro. “Mommy’s here.”
“That’s not going to work, is it, little Clint?” Eve eyed her own howling devil. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”
Eve propped the baby on her shoulder and started to rub the small of his back. He wiggled and cried, but soon the wail faded into an occasional sniffle.
“How did you do that?”
“That Red Cross babysitting course in seventh grade. While you were making cookies for all the boys back in junior high and high school”—Skye’s weakness for chocolate chip cookies had her cultivating her baking skills at a very early age—“I was babysitting, remember?”
“Well, do it to Donny, will you?” She switched babies with Eve and cuddled the now quiet Clint Jr.
“What would your mommy do without Auntie Eve?” she asked the screaming boy before she propped him on her shoulder and started to rub. He’d obviously inherited his grandfather’s stubbornness as well as his name. A little more rubbing and he finally settled down into a series of faint hiccups.
“You need a few of these for yourself,” Skye told Eve as she settled little Clint into the backseat of a double stroller.
“Eventually.”
“I was thinking more sooner than later.” Skye eyed her. “You and Linc look really happy together.”
“Me and Linc?” Eve faked her best laugh, but judging from the knowing look on Skye’s face, it obviously wasn’t convincing. “You know this marriage isn’t for real.”
“I know that, but I was sort of hoping . . . I mean, I know I was totally against it in the beginning, but I’ve changed my mind. I think you two make a nice couple.”
“Linc and a Barbie doll make a nice couple. I’m not his type.”
“You make him smile.”
“Me and a six-pack of beer.”
“You know that whole drinking, partying thing is just an act.”
“I know.” She busied herself putting baby Donny into the front part of the stroller. “And so is our marriage. We do not now, nor will we ever, make each other happy.” That’s what she said, but the truth was, she was happy. She was enjoying the moment because she knew it was going to end.
But knowing what was going to happen and actually having it happen were two very different things. She quickly found this out when a reporter cornered her on the way to the owner’s box to watch the race.
“Is it true that your marriage to Linc Adams was just a publicity stunt?” Before Eve could answer, another reporter flanked her. And then another. Until she found herself surrounded, the bull’s-eye of a shower of verbal bullets that had her nervous and trembling by the time Skye—wielding the double stroller—managed to gather a handful of security guards and push her way to Eve’s rescue.
The moment Eve had tried not to think about for the past few months had finally arrived. Too soon, her mind screamed. But truthfully, she feared it was too late.
Because Eve Farrel didn’t just like Linc Adams. She loved him.
Son of a bitch.
Linc dodged reporters and rushed through the pit area in search of Eve.
Son of a fuckin’ bitch!
Danielle had been so anxious that she’d gotten her dates mixed up and had sent out the press release too early. Early, of all things. This morning, in fact, and now everyone from coast to coast knew the truth.
“So your marriage was nothing more than a publicity stunt?”
The question echoed in his head, along with a dozen others that had been tossed at him after he’d finished up his prerace meeting with Clint and the Big Tex execs. He’d opened the door to find himself blinded by a series of camera flashes. The questions had started, and they hadn’t ended until Linc had finally pushed his way past everyone and left the garage in search of Eve.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not now and not like this. The election wasn’t until Tuesday and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her and work out their next move.
Talk about what, buddy? You spelled it all out in the beginning. Election. Divorce. End of story.
But things were different now. They were closer. They were . . . Committed? Hardly. They liked each other and had good sex, but neither really changed anything. It wasn’t like they were going to stay married, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t. He was this close to seeing his dream realized. He couldn’t get sidetracked now. He had to focus on these last two races.
Besides, Eve didn’t want a real ma
rriage any more than he did.
Yet here he was thinking about her, worrying about her, racing around like a crazy man trying to find her just to see if she was okay.
“Drivers, report to the pit area,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
Linc slowed his steps as reality hit him. He had less than thirty minutes until the race. Thirty minutes to go over last details and psych himself up for the task at hand—third place or better if he wanted to stay in contention for the Cup. Third or better. That’s all he could afford to think about right now. He’d had the best qualifying time yesterday so he sat in pole position today. Third or better. He could do it. He had to do it or the past months meant nothing.
“All team members to the pit area. All team members to the pit area.” The announcer’s voice blared over the speakers again.
Linc came to a complete stop, his hands on his knees as he leaned over and tried to catch his breath. Fear welled inside him and pulled him back to the funeral home, to that small room where his father had leaned over his grandfather’s casket and whispered those words.
“I hope you’re happy now, because I’m not.”
His chest tightened and he gasped for a deep breath. He couldn’t lose his way now. Not when he was so close to reaching the top, to erasing the one and only regret that haunted him night after night. He had the chance his father never had. He was young enough, good enough, to undo all the regret that ate at his insides. Linc could escape the legacy that had been handed down in the Adams family for the past few generations and he could be happy. Really and truly happy. For the first time in his life.
He turned and headed back to pit road.
It really was over.
Eve knew it the moment she entered the garage and spotted Linc standing near the car. He wore his racing uniform, the familiar red, white, and blue Big Tex emblem emblazoned on the chest. Dozens of patches from his other sponsors surrounded the main logo. He wore a ball cap with the same Big Tex logo, the brim partly shielding his blue-eyed gaze. He straightened and pushed the brim back just enough. His eyes locked with hers and . . . Over.
Her stomach hollowed out and she had the crazy urge to run the other way. That, or throw herself into his arms and hold on for dear life.
She swallowed and forced herself to take slow, measured steps.
“I’m sorry it went down like this,” Linc said when she walked up to him.
“Sorry? What for? The reporters?” She forced a laugh. “Not a big deal.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be a press release yet. It was just supposed to be between you and me, not half the fucking country.”
“It really is no big deal.” Eve smiled. “I can use the press.”
“You plugged your documentary?”
No. “Yes. That’s what all this is for in the first place, right? To help us both stay focused on our business? So I kept the focus.”
Linc nodded, his gaze narrowing, as if he didn’t like hearing the words any more than she liked saying them.
“I just want you to know that it wasn’t me,” he told her. “I didn’t say anything to the press. It was my publicist. I gave her the scoop months ago, and I guess she was counting the days and got overly anxious.”
“I know the feeling.”
His eyebrows drew together. “You were counting the days?”
“Absolutely.” She’d been counting them with a heavy heart, hoping that time would slow and maybe . . .
Eve shook away the maybe. It was over and done with, end of story. “I just hope it doesn’t hurt the election,” she told him, as anxiety of a different nature rushed through her. “We’ve put in so much time and effort. I really think you have a great chance to lose.” He couldn’t win. Eve didn’t think she could stand to see him angry or bitter or regretful. “You have to lose,” she added. “I could make some sort of statement saying what a lying, conniving sleazoid you are, or maybe say how you stole money from me, or something really atrocious.” Her gaze locked with his. “This can’t have all been for nothing.”
“I’ll handle it,” he told her, a surprised look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe she cared one way or another.
But she did. Too much.
“I’ll just hold a press conference,” he went on. “Profess my devotion to you, and kill the rumor for the next few days. Look, I know we were going to put in an appearance in Adams, but it’s not necessary. I’ll just tell them you’re feeling sick and you couldn’t make it.”
“Sounds good to me.” Or it should have. The last thing she wanted was to keep going with the charade as planned. Not now that she’d realized the truth.
She loved him. Of all the crazy, rotten things that could have happened, she’d actually fallen in love with him.
“I really need to get out of here. I’ve got a ton of things left to do on the documentary.”
“You’re not staying for the race?”
“I wish I could.” Liar. “But Trina called with some problems on the final film cut that require my immediate attention. She booked me on a flight back to L.A. If I leave now, I should just make it to the airport.” She shrugged. “Duty calls.”
“Yeah.” He popped his hat back onto his head and glanced over his shoulder at the pit crew waiting for him. He signaled them to give him another minute. “So I guess this is good-bye.”
“I guess so.” She licked her lips and barely ignored the urge to press her lips to his. “Take care,” she murmured instead. “And good luck today. I’m sure you’ll do great. This is your year.”
“Yeah, it is.” It seemed as if he said the words more to convince himself than her. “I’ve worked hard for this.”
“You deserve it.” And then she turned and did what she’d done so many times in the past. Every time, in fact, with every man in her life.
Eve Farrel walked away.
Linc roared around the track, taking lap after lap at a record-breaking pace. He held third place for most of the race, despite the fact that the car was a little loose, the brake slipping around a few of the turns. He kept pushing, however, until he hit the last two laps and then he made his move. He swerved out of formation and punched the gas. The car reared to the left and damned near went into a spin, but Linc gripped the steering wheel and held it tight. He lived up to his name, shot into second and pushed for first.
Just a little more . . . Come on, come on . . . Faster, faster . . .
He punched it, bolted past Tony Stewart, and crossed the finish line. The flag went down and the race was over.
He hadn’t just placed in the top three. He’d taken first place. That meant enough points to not only keep him in contention next week, but practically guarantee the damned Cup. All he needed was a tenth or better finish and he would win this year’s series.
The truth echoed in his head as he swerved into Victory Lane and brought the car to a stop. He climbed out and into the arms of his excited team members. Clint caught him in a hug and the celebration started.
Tenth or better. All he had to do was show up next week, and he was a sure thing to walk away with the Cup. This was it! His year. His win. His dream.
He hauled off his helmet and stared up into the stands. Skye smiled back at him, the twins overflowing her arms, and disappointment rushed through him.
Eve was gone.
He knew it.
He’d known it even before he’d looked, but he’d done so anyway. As if deep down he expected to see Eve, arms overflowing with her own babies. His babies.
The minute the idea struck, he pushed it back out. Babies? Oddly enough, the notion didn’t scare him half as much as the thought that he would never see Eve sitting in those stands ever again. Never feel her in his arms. Never hear her voice. Never.
The thought haunted him over the next few days until Linc came to the startling realization that letting Eve go was his biggest regret in life.
And the only one he might not be able to fix.
“You ca
n’t be here,” Eve blurted out when she opened the door the following Sunday morning to find Linc standing on her doorstep.
One of the numerous prerace shows blared from the television set in the living room.
“. . . pick to walk away with today’s race is up-and-comer Linc Adams. This would be Adams’s first Nextel Cup and a well-deserved end to an impressive year . . .”
She blinked her eyes. He couldn’t be here when he was supposed to be there and . . . She blinked again, but he didn’t disappear. Her gaze slid from the worn jeans that hugged his thighs and lean waist, to the white cotton T-shirt that covered his broad chest, the words LOUD, PROUD, AND REDNECK printed in red, white, and blue letters across the front.
“You can’t be here,” she said again as the meaning behind his presence sank in. He was here. Now. For her.
Denial rushed through her and she shook her head. “You have to race in a few hours. In Atlanta. On the other side of the country!”
“I don’t give a shit about the race.” For the first time she noted the dark circles rimming his eyes. “I want a championship, but I want you more. I want to stay married.”
He was here on her doorstep, miles away from his dream.
It could only mean . . .
“You blew your race and your point standing just to come here and tell me that you want to stay married?”
“Actually, I blew my race and my point standing to come here and tell you that I—”
“Don’t say it!” This couldn’t be happening. She was moving on with her life, consoling herself with the fact that she’d fallen for the right man, but at the wrong time.
It was too early. For both of them.
“I love you.” The words were deep, gruff, heartfelt.
Eve shook her head, fighting the truth and the emotion in her heart. He couldn’t love her, of all things. He wasn’t supposed to love her. He didn’t want to fall in love right now any more than she did.
Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice Page 24