by Audra North
He grinned and forced a chuckle, and the whole room laughed. His answer had sounded just like his usual fare—good-humored, but dismissive—and no one would think twice about it. The look on that woman reporter’s face, though—what was her name again? Right, Cori—the look on Cori’s face was obvious disappointment.
At least it hadn’t been a question about fighting or cheating.
But really, had she been expecting something deeper? That usually didn’t happen in a post-race press conference.
Maybe it was because she was new. New to racing, but she also looked young enough that she was probably new to journalism, in general. But somehow, that explanation—that she was simply green—didn’t feel right. The way she’d jumped to get his attention felt too ferociously hungry. There wasn’t room in that equation for naiveté.
He liked that hunger in her. It made him want to stride across the room, pull her close, and replace that look with something else. Hotter, needier, and much more pleasurable for both of them.
He wouldn’t find her after the conference and chat her up, though. A driver getting mixed up with a reporter? That would most certainly draw more attention to him and to Riggs Racing, and no doubt make the wrong kind of story on top of everything else.
Instead, this time he consoled himself with the reminder that tomorrow was Media Day. Just a short time ago, he’d been dreading it. But now he realized that she might be there, which would give him a chance to talk to her privately without raising eyebrows—to see if she was really as hungry as she acted.
And it would give him a chance to find out what color her eyes were.
He followed Frank back to the hotel with the image of that single open button burning into his brain.
Chapter 3
Cori smoothed a hand over her skirt, trying to calm her nerves.
Today was Media Day. She was at an actual Media Day! And she’d already done a couple of interviews that weren’t half bad, if she was being honest.
It felt so good to be doing the job she loved. In fact, she’d just walked out of a one-on-one with Kerri Colt that had been nothing short of amazing. Kerri had been so easy to talk to and really supportive of Cori, both women understanding immediately what it was like to frequently be the only female in the room. So Cori had left that interview feeling so powerful, and at the same time like a complete jerk for the questions she’d asked Kerri about Ty, trying to feel out Kerri’s knowledge about him.
She’d played it as standard journalistic curiosity, but the fact that she was using Kerri to try to gain an advantage on Ty was eating her up inside. The level of guilt she felt only kept increasing. She was starting to spend as much time thinking about ways to get around writing an exposé as she was thinking about actually doing her job.
The desire to wiggle out of what she’d agreed to started in earnest the second that Ty had heard her call his name during the post-race conference, then looked across the room and seen her. Like, really seen her. The expression on his face when she’d asked him about the accident hadn’t matched his answer. There had been a moment of . . . well, something deeper. A connection. Before he’d wiped it away.
She’d gotten the feeling she had been the only person in the room who’d noticed it. For the space of a second, he’d been vulnerable, somehow. And she’d felt a crushing wave of regret, almost as if in that moment she would have completely thrown away her reporting career in order to prevent him from getting hurt.
She felt like an idiot for not having thought of it sooner, but it hadn’t been until that moment that she’d started to wonder exactly what kind of investor would make their funding conditional on an exposé about one particular racer. In her excitement and desperation to get an assignment, she hadn’t thought too hard about it before then.
Now she kept flipping back and forth. What if she failed to get any information on Ty? Would Gold Cup fail anyway? Or worse, what if Ty somehow found out what she was doing and exposed her as a dirty journalist? Her career would be over forever.
She’d fretted about it half the night.
The other half she’d spent fantasizing about Ty. Imagining what it would feel like to kiss him. To unzip that fitted racing suit he’d been wearing and slide her hand inside, over the skin of his stomach . . .
Wow. Was it hot in here?
She stopped in the hallway of the big hotel where Media Day was taking place and took a deep, cleansing breath. She had to stop letting herself get so distracted. Ruminating on who the investor was or the future of Gold Cup wouldn’t actually change anything. The only power she had right now was in her own choices, and she was going to succeed, damn it.
Eventually the guilty feeling she’d been experiencing would pass . . . even if the desire for Ty didn’t.
She just had to make sure he liked her. To hook his interest enough to have him want to talk to her casually, from time to time outside of prearranged press conferences or interviews.
Speaking of interviews . . . where was she supposed to go next?
She glanced down at the schedule in her hand, reading the words in hopes that focusing on something concrete would help to calm her suddenly fluttering nerves.
RIGGS RACING. SUITE 1402.
Oh. God. This was actually happening. And she wasn’t feeling any more calm than a moment ago. Apparently all that convincing she’d just done on herself—that her attraction to Ty was a temporary, unimportant thing and she wasn’t going to let it get in the way of her mission—hadn’t stuck, because the number of deep, cleansing breaths she suddenly needed in order to feel relaxed about this would probably result in her passing out on the corridor’s patterned carpet.
Better just get it over with.
She headed up one floor to the Riggs Racing suite, where she was greeted at the door by the same man who had been on stage with Ty at the post-race conference. He looked to be in his mid-forties, in good shape, with a shaved head but a bushy mustache.
It worked for him.
“Miss Bellowes, right?”
All she could do was nod.
He gave her a welcoming smile and handed her a packet of information on each team member, then pointed at an open door on the far end of the suite. “You’re with Ty first. You can head on in.”
Ty? First? Oh my God oh my God oh my God.
Somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other until she was standing just over the threshold of a room where two chairs were set up in a small empty space just in front of a big bed made up in fluffy white linens. Ty rose from one of the chairs as she walked in, coming to a stop at the sight of him.
Yesterday, he had walked into the pressroom at the track looking sweaty and grimy, and she couldn’t take her eyes off that square chin, his short-cropped dark hair, the way his broad shoulders filled out his racing suit . . . she’d been bowled over by his hotness, and when he’d given her his attention, it had resulted in her thinking sex thoughts about him for half the night.
While today . . . someone please help me. Today she would probably spontaneously combust if she got any closer.
Building a closer relationship with him was going to be more difficult than she thought. Not because she didn’t like him . . . but because she liked him too much. Wanted him too much.
He was wearing street clothes—gray dress pants and an expensive-looking lightweight sweater that matched the gold-brown of his eyes. Dressed like this, she could see just how lean and fit he was. Which was to say: very.
He wasn’t as tall as she’d thought he was. Maybe five-nine? Five-ten? But he felt big. He felt like he took up all the space in the room. With her heels on, she would only have to tilt her head back slightly to kiss him, to barely rise on her tiptoes so that the throbbing point between her legs could rub against his—
“Miss Bellowes.”
She squeaked in surprise, blushing immediately at how foolish she looked for having been caught daydreaming—and about something completely inappropriate, to boot. At least he coul
dn’t read her thoughts.
And he’d remembered her name. She struggled for composure. “Mr. Riggs.”
He was staring at her, and she belatedly realized he was holding out a hand for her to shake.
She slid her palm into his.
The sensation . . . oh, wow. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the seductive pleasure of it. Just from shaking this man’s hand. But it felt like so much more than that. It was like sliding her naked skin against his body. As though he was touching all of her instead of just her fingers.
And she was drowning in his gaze. Those eyes . . . he had beautiful eyes, big and thickly lashed, and they were looking at her with so much intensity that she was suddenly all too conscious of the bed behind him. She flicked her gaze to it, trying to be discreet, but his eyes had followed hers, and when they looked back at one another, the heat in his expression . . .
Goodness.
She was in trouble.
“Call me Ty.”
His voice had changed. Low and rough, it hit her in all the most sensitive places. Her breasts felt heavy and achy, and her nipples tightened almost painfully. And merely from the sound of three little words!
How was she going to get through an entire ten-minute interview?
Keep this under control. There was no way she could write a tell-all about him if she got too personally involved. It would feel too much like selling herself for a story.
Isn’t that what you’ve already done?
He squeezed her hand just before he released it. “Please sit down, Miss Bellowes.”
She struggled to regain control of her thoughts as she sank into the seat, staring up at him with wide eyes. He followed suit, settling in the chair next to her.
“Cori, please. Call me Cori.”
That was okay, right? He’d offered the same thing, after all. All the other reporters yesterday had called him Ty and he’d called them by their first names. Why shouldn’t she?
Because it feels too personal. That’s why.
And this was only the tip of the iceberg. She had to pull herself together and focus on her goal. But sitting here, next to this man who made her want with a power she’d never experienced before, she was having a hard time deciding whether or not her choice had been a mistake.
She immediately scoffed at herself. What did it matter? Entertaining fantasies like the ones she was currently having about stripping that sweater off of Ty and tumbling him back onto the bed . . . well, they were ridiculous. A guy like him probably got this kind of attention from hundreds of women. Focusing on sex wouldn’t get her the information she needed.
Ugh. Her mind was like a seesaw. This was the worst possible time to be flip-flopping about how she felt.
And he was looking at her expectantly. She knew she was supposed to just fire questions at him. She’d been mostly successful at that with the other drivers she’d interviewed today, but this felt different. They’d had a moment of electric connection yesterday, and again, just now.
Okay, think, Bellowes. Think!
Even if it wasn’t going to go anywhere romantic, she couldn’t ignore the connection they had. She had to make the most of it and turn their chemistry into something she could use.
In the meantime, she couldn’t write a story about the guy who won the first and second races of the season, who had stepped out of character and punched a fellow driver last week, and have no good quotes from him.
She pulled her voice recorder from her bag. “Ready?”
He nodded, and she started the recorder. Here goes nothing.
She cleared her throat. “This season you’ve won—not just the first Intercomm Cup race, but the first two. You finished last year on a high note but started off slowly. What’s different this year from last year?”
He looked nonplussed for a second, as though he’d expected her to immediately bombard him with questions about the fight he’d had with Gilroy, but then he smiled—the same smile she recognized from countless press photos. Magnetic. Approachable.
Hot.
“Well, I’ve got a great team behind me. That’s not what’s different, though. It’s the differences that those guys have made in my racing. My dad and I review the tapes of the races. There are some valuable lessons in hindsight. We spent a lot of time training to fix my mistakes. The engineers have been working all winter to overhaul all the Riggs Racing cars, so this one is a little bit tighter, handles a little bit better. And this is the third year that this pit crew has been working together. They’ve got it down. Every last thing makes a difference, and when you have this many moving parts, it adds up.”
Unf. The way he talked about his team—like he really appreciated and valued them—was sexy. It was a far cry from her own work environment and how she was treated there.
Of course, she was beginning to think that everything Ty did and said would be sexy to her. Even the way he was sitting was sexy. His legs were at an angle to hers, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through her stockings.
“That’s . . . really great.” Was it just her imagination, or did she sound breathless? He had the most intense effect on her.
Keep this under control.
She tried to focus. “You just mentioned that there are valuable lessons in hindsight. What are some of the lessons you’ve learned in life that carry through into your racing?”
He eyed her for a moment, his gaze full of what looked like suspicion.
Oh, no. Had she been too obvious in trying to disarm him by not talking about the fight, or Gilroy’s cheating allegations? Had she given away everything already?
Maybe she was a failure at journalism, after all.
But then his expression cleared, and he asked teasingly, “Are you not aware that there’s an elephant in this room? Are we really not going to talk about it?”
Well. That was an interesting development. She wasn’t sure, though, whether or not his question meant she’d succeeded in making him feel more comfortable with her . . . or less.
But at least she could answer his question honestly.
“Yes. I’m aware. But I’m not interested in talking about why you made an exception to your usual easygoing persona and beat down a driver who happened to be the only person to ever accuse you of cheating.” She sucked in a breath. “Since I have a feeling you’re not going to make a surprise confession if I ask you about it, I’m not going to write about it until I can do more than merely conjecture.”
“I see.” He shook his head slightly. “Huh.”
They were both quiet for a moment, seconds ticking as she held her breath. Had it worked? Did he believe she wasn’t out to get him?
She didn’t want to be out to get him. Not like that.
Her heart was beating too fast.
And then, thankfully, he smiled. “So. Life lessons, huh?”
She nodded, her breath rushing out in relief.
“Are you trying to convince me to give up my racing secrets?” He winked at her, then immediately added, “Nah, I’m just teasing you. On the record? I’ve learned that luck and skill go hand in hand, and that in the end, taking a win or a loss too seriously just sets a guy up for disappointment no matter what. That some things are simply out of your control.”
Was he talking about racing or about the cheating accusation? Either way, he sounded rather . . . fatalistic. Cori wasn’t sure she agreed, but it seemed to fit the easygoing image of Ty that she’d seen in the media. But it didn’t fit whatever was in his eyes right now.
He pinned her with his gaze, gold-brown glittering so close. “But off the record?”
He paused, and she realized he was waiting for her to acknowledge what he’d said, to assure him that she wouldn’t quote any of what he said next.
“Yes.” It was a single word, but imbued with so much more than agreement to keep his words out of the paper. Yes, I want to know you. Yes, I want all of your intimacies.
It was exactly what she was trying
to do. Gain his trust. Get him to talk about more than just the mess at hand. Her strategy was working so well, and so quickly . . .
And she felt horrible. It almost made her not want to know what he was about to say.
Still, she clicked the recorder off, and the sound echoed in the suddenly dead-silent room.
His eyes darkened to almost black, and that voice went low and raspy again. “Everybody makes mistakes. But sometimes pretending that you’re doing the wrong thing for the right reasons only hurts you and the ones you love. By the time you realize how misguided you were, often it’s hard to change what you’ve done without causing even more damage.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Then again, sometimes it was the right decision all along. It’s hard to know. Either way, that’s one of the reasons why I love racing. You can have a hundred people on your team, working to make you a success, but at the end of the day, it’s your mind, your life, moving at a hundred fifty miles an hour. That kind of experience is pure freedom.”
Cori frowned, still confused. What was he talking about? Why would he talk about freedom as though it were something he didn’t have outside of his race car? Ty was known for being an incredible driver with a charmed life. Well educated, two loving parents, and he’d never been injured while racing. Before last week’s blowup, the picture that the media presented to the public was one of dreams fulfilled.
And until this moment, she hadn’t thought much about it, which was ridiculous. Because now, sitting here, all she could think was that she should have known better. She was the media. She understood how spin could change someone’s perception of a person. And spin happened at every level. Starting with the subject, himself.
And damn if that didn’t make her want to know more about him. Only him.
But then he gestured toward her, smiling as though he hadn’t said something profound and intense and aw fuck completely off the record. She wouldn’t be able to write about it.
Fine. That wasn’t really what she was after, anyway. Life philosophy was hardly an exposé, like what Alex had demanded from her.