by Francis Ray
* * *
Roman didn’t know what to expect when he pulled up to Marlene’s house Saturday afternoon. He was thirteen minutes early. Staring at the house, he tapped his fingers against the dash. It had taken a tremendous amount of trust for her to tell him about her childhood and Dillon’s father. She probably didn’t even realize it. She was so used to being self-sufficient. He didn’t want to take that from her, but he did want her to know he would always be there for her.
His hand brushed over his face. When this assignment was over, he wasn’t walking out of her life. She’d once told him she was too old for an affair and she wouldn’t get married if her life depended on it. Very soon he hoped to change her mind about one of those statements.
The front door opened and Marlene stepped out wearing a long-sleeved blouse and loose pants. She smiled and waved.
Breathing easier for the first time since he woke up that morning, he got out of the car. He didn’t stop walking until his arms were around her slim waist, his lips on hers. He inhaled her soft sigh and lifted his head. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.” She stood easily in his arms, her hands splayed on his chest, before stepping away. “Lunch is ready.”
Roman followed her inside, his gaze dropping to the easy sway of her hips. Even in loose-fitting clothes, she got to him. She was going to be his. “I guess you’re used to me being early.”
“Do you see me complaining?”
Hearing her repeat his words from last night, he relaxed even more. “What can I do to help?”
“If you’ll grab the tea and the rolls, I’ll finish putting the food on the table.” She picked up a platter of chicken.
“As usual, this looks good.” After placing the bread on the table, he got their tea. “How was work today?” he asked, holding her chair.
“Hectic.” Marlene glanced back at him over her shoulder before taking her seat. She was flirting. His heart jumped for joy.
“I’ll never lie to you or use you, Marlene.”
“I believe you.” She said grace when he sat down, then she served them both. “Dillon called. Carson is in position to take the pole.”
“Way to go, Carson. I know he and my brother are ecstatic. Tess will be just the same.” Roman picked up his fork. “So everything is going well.”
Marlene took a sip of her tea. “Very. The intercooler he developed is being credited with Carson’s speed. Collins and Dillon have quite the buzz, I understand. When orders start rolling in, Collins will be able to pull itself out of the red.”
Roman frowned. “I’m not sure that’s the reason for the problems.”
“What did you find?” she asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t want to say anything until I have all the evidence I need,” he said cautiously.
“Someone is stealing?” she persisted.
“Yes.” But not in the way Dillon thought.
Anger flashed across her face. “Abe might still be here if he hadn’t been worried. Find the thief and Dillon will prosecute whoever it is.”
Roman wasn’t so sure about that. “What’s the first order of the day?”
“Mulching the azaleas and roses. You might wish you hadn’t volunteered.”
He picked up a roll. “As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”
“Tell me that two hours from now,” Marlene said, but she was smiling.
* * *
Of course, once they were in the nursery of the home improvement store, Marlene saw some pink begonias and a trailing petunia basket she just had to have. Roman hadn’t seemed to mind her wandering, stopping to check the merits of a plant, discussing various plants with other customers. Not for the first time, she noticed women looking at him. However, for the first time, she wanted to say he was hers. She didn’t berate herself at the thought.
She was fully grown and single.
“I know squat about plants.” Beside her, Roman pushed the shopping cart rapidly filling with plants. “Maybe one weekend we could drive up to my house in Dallas and you can tell me what I need to get it in shape.”
Intrigued, she scooted over so a customer pushing a flat cart could pass. “What do you have now?”
“Dirt, a bit of mulch, and weeds.” He rushed on when her eyes widened, “I have a yardman to keep the grass cut and take care of the flower beds, but I don’t think he’s doing a good job.”
“Then give him a choice, do the work or hit the road.” She placed the gallon Gerber daisy back on the table. “It irks me when unscrupulous people take advantage of people.”
“Dillon said that’s how the garage here started,” he said.
“Yes.” She continued down the aisle. “Talk to your yard guy. Get him to clean out the flower beds and then I’ll help.”
“Next Saturday afternoon too soon?” he asked.
Her heart knocked against her ribs. They’d be alone and free to do as they pleased. Plus she wanted to see his house. His confidence in her delighted her. “No.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at around one, and after you see the yard, we can go to a nursery.” He caught up with her. “Thanks, Marlene.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.” She glanced at him.
“We both know you have,” he said quietly, his eyes grateful.
She did trust him, and she wanted him with a growing need. “Let’s check out and get to work.”
* * *
Carson retained the pole position, and because it was his first all season, there was a lot of talk about the Collins intercooler Dillon had designed. By the time Sam and Mark returned an hour later, Dillon had called his mother with the good news. She sounded happy and said she and Roman were working in her yard.
Despite his aggravation with Sam for being off with Washington, Dillon smiled at the image of neat Roman spreading mulch and planting flowers. Since Roman wasn’t the yard type—if the bare flower beds in front of his house were any indication—he was there to be with Dillon’s mother. Dillon would do his best to stay out of it and not think about them being alone at her house.
He’d much rather think about ruining Washington’s pretty face.
On the plus side of Dillon’s day, several reporters and two vintage car owners wanted to talk with him about his design. Carson, his eyes full of devilment and still on a high, happily told the owners that Rowland had an exclusive two months with Dillon.
He didn’t mind Carson having the exclusive, but Mark Washington set Dillon’s teeth on edge. It galled him to give the reporter an exclusive. Dillon made up for it by inviting the reporters to visit Collins Industry and promised to talk to them Monday morning. Washington hadn’t liked it, which pleased Dillon even more.
It was almost eight that night when Dillon drove Samantha back to the hotel. “The race starts at twelve. Things will be even more hectic than they were today,” Dillon told her as they walked down the long hallway to her room on the floor below his. “Do you want to meet at seven for breakfast?”
Her hands in the pockets of her slacks, Sam hunched her shoulders. “All right.”
He frowned. She had been quiet since know-it-all Washington had finally left the garage around five. “Missing Washington?” The question just slipped out.
She stopped in front of her door and stared up at him in puzzlement. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you’ve been unusually quiet and moody since he left,” Dillon snapped.
She turned to unlock her door. “I have a lot on my mind.”
She was worried. Before he thought, he took her into his arms, his hand sweeping from her waist to the nape of her neck. His thoughts tangled as the warmth of her body, the lush softness of her breasts, nudged him.
He wanted to pick her up and lay her out on the wide bed in her room, kiss her from head to toe, then start all over again, loving her so completely that there’d be no room for any thought except the pleasure they gave each other.
She snuggled against him. She wanted comfort. H
e wanted her naked and sweaty. He pushed his need away and tried to give her what she needed instead.
“Carson is going to take the checkered flag tomorrow, and when he does, Collins Industry will have so many orders they’ll have to have a second shift.”
“Thanks to you.”
His brows bunched. She still sounded sad. Setting her away from him, he lifted her chin. Was she scared she couldn’t handle things by herself? “I won’t leave until you feel comfortable in running the company by yourself.”
She straightened. “That’s very nice of you. Good night.”
The door closed in his face. No woman had ever called him nice or closed the door in his face when he was stiff from wanting her. His jaw tight, he headed for the elevator. Sam better learn fast or he was going to be taking a lot of cold showers.
* * *
Samantha and Dillon were at the track by eight Sunday morning. The stands were already filling up. Even the little space left for motor coaches was filled. Many were elaborate, with a TV built into the side of the vehicle. Some even had chairs on top to give a better view of the race. The tempting aromas of grilled food wafted through the air.
During breakfast, Samantha had been too nervous to do more than pick at her food. If Carson didn’t finish in the top five with all the buzz circulating around the track about the intercooler, she knew that the intercooler would be blamed.
“Carson is as competitive as they come. He doesn’t like looking at bumpers.”
Samantha thought she was hiding her fear well. Hands deep in the pockets of her slacks, she watched the cars slowly circle the twelve-turn 2.5-mile track. “I want it for Carson, too. He and his family have a lot at stake as well.”
“That we do.”
Samantha turned to see a handsome older couple. The man was lean, with a devilish smile identical to Carson’s. The beautiful olive-hued woman by his side barely came to the middle of his chest. Although they were in casual dress, their clothes obviously had designer labels.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rowland,” Dillon greeted them with a wide grin. After shaking the man’s hand, he hugged the woman. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t get here for the start of the race.”
“Carson would have never forgiven either of us,” Mrs. Rowland said. “I’ve never seen him this excited about a race. He plans on taking the checkered flag today. I wouldn’t like to see him disappointed.”
Samantha felt a moment of dread.
“We both know race days are unpredictable. A lot can happen between now and the end of the race.” Dillon’s gaze was as direct as Mr. Rowland’s. “The intercooler will give Carson an edge, but whether he’ll cross the finish line in front of the thirteen cars in the race today will depend on his driving and a lot of other factors.”
“That’s why I admire you, Dillon. You never blow smoke.” Mr. Rowland turned to Samantha. “You must be Samantha Collins. Forgive my bad manners for not introducing ourselves sooner. This is my wife, Tess.”
“I was getting around to it,” Dillon interjected.
“Nathan hardly gave you time.” Tess laughed and accepted Samantha’s hand, then hugged her. “Hello, Ms. Collins. Please call me Tess.”
“Please call me Samantha.” Next she spoke to Mr. Rowland. “Sir, I realize the amount of faith you placed in Dillon, and his design of the Collins intercooler. I’ve learned in my short association with Dillon that he likes to win and he’s proud of his friendship with your family. He wouldn’t jeopardize either.”
Mr. Rowland glanced at Dillon. “You have yourself a smart partner.”
“It seems,” Dillon said slowly.
“The pace car is pulling off. The race is about to start,” Tess said. “When it’s over, let’s hope and pray Carson is still leading the pack.”
* * *
To call the race nail-biting would be an understatement. The course tested the skill of the driver and the performance of the car. Carson lost the lead by the fifth turn. Without thinking, Samantha reached for Dillon’s hand. By the seventh, he had dropped to third.
“Come on, Carson. Push it!” His mother was on her feet. “Take back that lead!”
“Come on, son!”
A parent’s love. It was more than a race to the Rowlands; they were pulling for their son. Samantha felt the huge responsibility on her shoulders. She wasn’t sure she could look them in the eye if Carson finished out of the top five.
“He’s making his move,” Dillon said.
“Rowland managed to move back to third, now second position, and is pushing hard to regain the lead,” the announcer said. “Franklin, who won already this year, is not about to give it up lightly.”
“He won’t have to give it up, Carson will take it,” Dillon said.
Carson did just that by the eleventh turn. Samantha’s heart was beating so hard in her chest that she felt light-headed. “You can do it, Carson!” she screamed.
“Rowland is pulling up fast,” the announcer said. “This is going to come down to the wire. Both cars are going all out.”
“Come on, son!” Mr. Rowland screamed.
“Take it, Carson!” Dillon shouted.
“Here they come. Here they come. They’re almost front bumper to front bumper. The flagman is out. It’s Rowland by a half-car length!”
“Carson won! We did it!” Sam shouted.
“You doubted?” Dillon said, then laughed, swinging Samantha around and lowering his head to take her mouth. He told himself he intended the kiss to be congratulatory and brief. He lied. The moment their lips touched, his body caught fire, and he remembered the intoxicating taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. He wanted more.
“Carson is putting the car into a victory spin,” said Tess with a laugh. “He’s been waiting a long time to do that.”
Nathan slapped Dillon on the back. “Thanks to you, he got the opportunity. You did it. Come on, let’s go down and congratulate Carson.”
Dillon reluctantly lifted his head and barely kept from snarling. Later, he promised himself, he was going to have that kiss without any interruptions. He caught Sam’s hand, felt it tremble. She was just as affected as he was. Her talk of just business between them was just that, talk.
They passed Mark on their way out of the stands. The other man wasn’t happy. Tough. Dillon had no intention of giving the reporter a chance to become involved with Sam again. He’d had his chance and failed. After their kiss, Dillon decided he had no intention of doing the same.
* * *
The celebration of Carson’s win moved from the racetrack to his parents’ spacious suite at the Bellagio. By nine that night, the party showed no sign of winding down. Along with a scrumptious buffet, couples were dancing and everyone was having a good time.
Since their flight back to Dallas wasn’t until early the next morning, Samantha was enjoying her second glass of wine. At least, as much as she could with Mark glaring at her. He’d attached himself to her shortly after he’d spoken with Carson and his father.
“I thought there was nothing between you two. You kissed him.”
At his accusatory tone, she took another sip of wine. Technically Dillon had kissed her, and what a kiss it was. The memory still heated her body. Telling Mark it was none of his business would only make him grumpier. She couldn’t very well tell him the kiss meant nothing, since she could still taste Dillon and wanted to taste him again. She settled on the truth. “I’m not sure what’s going on between us.”
“Montgomery has a bad reputation with the ladies.”
“Yes, he does.” That didn’t seem to stop her from wanting Dillon. Seeing him coming toward her, the easy grace, her body tingled in anticipation.
“Excuse me, but I think this dance is mine.” In typical high-handed fashion, Dillon took the glass from her hand, gave it to a passing waiter, then pulled her into his arms.
Samantha didn’t even think of protesting. She was tired of fighting her attraction to him. She decided to enjoy the thump of he
r heart, the tingling of her skin. The music was slow and soft, Dillon’s body hard and muscled, his steps smooth. It was the perfect combination to make any woman forget consequences and just enjoy.
“Enjoying yourself?”
How could she not, in his arms? “Yes.”
Lifting his dark head, he stared down at her, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Then why so quiet? You should be shouting from the rooftops.”
Collins would win, but she would lose the man she loved. “Just thinking.”
“Hmmm.” He pulled her back closer against his enticing length. “Maybe you think too much.”
Samantha didn’t respond. She knew what he meant—her wanting a business-only relationship. Yet in his arms, all she could think of was getting closer.
The music ended. Dillon was as reluctant to release her as she was to move back.
“You wanna say our good-byes and get out of here?”
Staring up at him, she knew that wasn’t all he was asking. “Yes.”
Taking her hand, they wound their way through the crowd to find Carson surrounded by three beautiful women. “We have an early flight, so we’re cutting out now.”
To his credit, Carson didn’t roll his eyes at the flimsy excuse to leave. He stuck out his hand to shake Dillon’s, then gave him a hearty one-arm hug. “Thanks, man. As soon as you get another intercooler, we want it on the backup car.”
“You got it.” Dillon glanced at Samantha. “I haven’t discussed it with my partner yet, but I’m also thinking of some modifications for the turbochargers we make to fit high-performance cars.”
“This partner says when can we get started,” Samantha said. The modifications would take time. She felt like doing a jig. Dillon wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“If you don’t let Rowland have it first, we’re gonna have a problem,” Carson said.
Dillon grinned, ignoring Carson’s hard frown. “Since you asked so nicely, you got it,” he said.
Carson laughed and held out his hand to Sam. “Thanks, Samantha. I’d hug you, but I have plans for tonight and I need to be healthy.”
Samantha accepted the brief handshake. She didn’t dare look at Dillon. He’d become annoyingly possessive since Mark’s arrival.