by Abby Gaines
She bit her lip. “Dad’s not well. With the NASCAR season starting so soon, he asked me to step in for him.”
“Is it anything serious?” Chad asked.
She lifted one shoulder. “He assures me he’ll be okay.”
“I had the impression you two aren’t close,” Chad said. “I guess it’s good that he asked you to get involved in the sponsorship.”
“Mmm,” she said.
For someone who was so keen to share everything, she wasn’t saying much. “How did Matheson Racing end up on his shopping list?” he persisted.
“There aren’t many top-flight drivers without a sponsor,” she said.
“There are enough to give your father some choice.”
She took a bread roll from the basket and toyed with it. Even in the candlelight, Chad could see that her color was high.
“I mentioned Matheson Racing to him last year. It seemed a way to connect with him, what with his newfound passion for NASCAR.”
It struck Chad she’d been looking for a connection with him, too, one he hadn’t been prepared to offer. Which, considering he was her husband, she had every right to be unhappy about.
We should never have got married.
“Why do you find it so hard to connect with your father?” he asked.
She sipped her wine, then set her glass down. “I can’t measure up to Dad’s standards. It’s mostly easier just to avoid him.”
Her tone was pragmatic, but she blinked rapidly. Chad wished he’d asked the question two years ago. Though what good that would have done…“Hard to avoid him now that you’re working for him,” he observed.
She grimaced. “With this project, I’m doing things his way.”
“You think that’s how to measure up?” Then he saw the hope in her eyes, and realized this was about much more than work. “Brianna, you don’t earn people’s love by doing things their way.”
Brady Matheson’s sons got a clap on the back when things went the way he wanted, and his vocal disapproval when they didn’t. Despite the lack of emotional display, Chad always knew his dad loved him.
Nothing complicated about it.
She lifted her chin. “You can make it easier for them to love you.”
Was she thinking about their marriage? That if one of them had been prepared to do things the other’s way, it might have worked out?
The waiter brought their meals, and there was a brief flurry of activity as they sampled their food, adjusted the seasoning, replenished wineglasses. Chad welcomed the break—but knew it couldn’t last.
When they were settled into their meal, he said, “How do we go about finding closure?”
Brianna smiled. “You sound about as excited as if you were asking how do we go about do-it-yourself root-canal surgery.”
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. “Believe it or not, I’m thinking closure isn’t such a dumb idea.” His whole life had been out of whack since he’d met Brianna, and that had to stop. Now was a good time. “I just don’t know where to start.”
“I think,” she said, “we discuss how we feel about what went wrong.”
“Uh-huh. You go first,” he encouraged her, and dug into his stew.
She put down her knife and fork. “You said you loved me.”
Chad choked on a piece of carrot and just about had it coming out his nose. Brianna packed a mighty punch when she chose to. “Can’t we start somewhere else?” he said, indignant, when he’d finished coughing.
“Was it a lie?” Her brown gaze was clear, searching.
Dammit, she wasn’t going to drop it. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, stalling for time. The easiest thing would be to say he’d gotten carried away, mistaken infatuation, or lust, for love. He willed himself to take the easy way out.
“It wasn’t a lie,” he said. For Pete’s sake, what happened to his willpower when she was around?
She nodded slowly. “Then…?”
That was the one-word, sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.
“You said the same thing,” he reminded her.
Brianna rubbed her arms as if she was cold. “I wasn’t lying, either.”
A part of Chad wanted to whoop for joy. But it wasn’t the mature, together part of him that he relied on to get through life.
“I didn’t realize then that love is about more than talking about your feelings,” she said. “Love is something you do. Or not.”
“I did love you,” he said. “It wasn’t just words.” If he could just forget the need to prove himself, this would be a lot easier.
She twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers; the red liquid swayed and sloshed. “I don’t think a guy who loved his wife would let her leave so easily.”
“You mean, it was all my fault?”
“Not all,” she said. Unconvincingly.
“Maybe a woman who loved her husband wouldn’t give up on him just because he didn’t automatically want her in every part of his life.” He took a swig of his wine. “Maybe she’d take a chance they could work things out.”
Her eyes widened as if she’d never considered the possibility. Whereas Chad had second-guessed that morning so many times…
“I couldn’t,” she said. “I’ve never mattered to anyone, Chad. I told you a little about my dad, and my mom’s so busy with her charitable foundations in Australia…I’m not saying my parents don’t care about me, but I’ve never been an essential part of their lives. Or anyone’s life.”
Chad couldn’t imagine that. Everyone in his family was an integral part of the team, even Zack.
Brianna pressed against the edge of the table with her fingertips. “Are you surprised I wanted more from my marriage?”
He dodged a stab of guilt. “Are you surprised I wasn’t ready to share every breath I take with someone I’d known only three days?”
“Then why did you ask me to marry you?”
Their voices had risen, and people at the surrounding tables were staring. This was crazy, Chad thought. No wonder he hadn’t gotten married before; it was like walking through a minefield in hobnail boots.
He took a deep breath. “You and I are two totally different people, and if we’d spent five minutes together in our normal environment, we would have realized that.”
“You’re right,” she said. “Our marriage was all wrong.”
“So—” ignoring the heaviness in his chest, he took his argument to its logical conclusion “—it’s probably a good idea if we get that divorce started.” And stop talking about things that are only going to hurt us.
She swallowed. “Have we been separated long enough? Legally, I mean?”
“We’ve been separated at least a year and one of us has lived in North Carolina through that time, so we’re okay.” He forked a mouthful of the stew, his appetite returning now that they were off the personal questions. “I don’t know how long it takes for the divorce to come through once we lodge an application. Are you in a rush for it?” Even though he’d brought up the subject, his food turned dry in his mouth as he considered the reasons she might what a divorce fast.
“No rush,” she said. Which, suddenly, was nowhere near enough information.
“You’re not…seeing anyone?” Pressure built, as if his heart was being squeezed by a fist inside his chest. It was a natural possessiveness, Chad assured himself, a caveman instinct any red-blooded guy would feel toward his wife.
“I’m not seeing anyone.” She paused. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
The grip on his heart loosened and his blood resumed pumping. He watched her chase a scallop around her plate with her fork.
The conversation felt one-sided. “Aren’t you going to ask if I’m seeing someone?” he said.
“I’m not sure I want to know.”
“I haven’t dated since we got married,” he said.
Something hung in the air between them—a promise, a memory, a confirmation of fidelity that was in no way justified. Chad was profoundly gratefu
l for it.
“Are you happy?” Brianna asked.
Breath whooshed out of him. “Do you have to keep asking those questions?”
“I don’t think any marriage breakup is entirely painless,” she said, “so I’m asking if you’re happy.”
Now she wanted to know? She’d been gone almost two years without contact and now she wanted to know if he was over her? “Damn right I’m happy,” he said. It came out angry, not at all happy.
This was exactly the kind of conversation he hated. Why couldn’t people just get on with life, rather than analyzing every emotion that came their way? And if they had to analyze it, surely they didn’t have to share it.
“How about you?” he heard himself say. “Are you happy?”
Unlike him, she didn’t jump into a reply.
“I enjoyed Florida and I’ve had a wonderful couple of years work-wise,” she said at last. “I’m worried about Dad, and yet I’m happy to be doing something for him.”
Chad wondered how sick her father was.
“I still want to find someone who really loves me, who I love back,” she said. “So while I don’t like that we split up, I guess I’m happy I didn’t settle for something less with you.”
He refused to consider the insult implicit in that. Time to put an end to these questions. “Given that you’re happy and I’m happy, does that mean we have closure?”
“Maybe we do.” She sounded surprised.
Chad lifted his wineglass before she could think of something else to ask. “To closure.”
“Closure,” she echoed as she clinked her glass against his.
He said hopefully, “Now we can just be two colleagues having dinner.”
A giggle erupted from Brianna as she set her wineglass back on the table.
“What’s so funny?” He’d always loved—liked—her laugh, the way her eyes warmed and her lips parted.
“I just realized this is your worst nightmare,” she said.
“How do you figure that?”
“We split up because you didn’t want to work with me, and look at us now. You’re working with your wife.”
He could have made some comment about the fact that she wouldn’t be his wife much longer, but she looked cute with the light of triumph in her eyes. “I guess I’ll have to handle it.”
The mood continued to lighten as they talked about NASCAR and the forthcoming season while they finished their meals. Brianna didn’t order dessert—like Chad, she probably didn’t want to push their luck.
It was only nine o’clock when they pulled up outside the main entrance of the Charlotte Getaway.
Chad cut the engine. Brianna put a hand on her door. “Don’t get out—I’ll be fine. Thank you for dinner.”
“Thanks for the closure,” Chad said.
“The closure was great,” she agreed.
An awkward silence filled the car. Chad thought about shaking her hand, but that seemed stupid after the conversation they’d had. A kiss on the cheek…yes, that was surely the appropriate farewell gesture between two mature, amicably divorcing adults.
The light from the hotel lobby spilled into the car, forming a halo behind Brianna, throwing her face into shadow. He leaned across; she presented her left cheek.
As he moved in, he caught the scent of lilies and lemons—the same perfume she’d worn in Las Vegas.
He touched his lips to her smooth skin…and the taste of her flooded his memory, a wave pounding so hard he couldn’t pull back.
Brianna moved against him, questioning…yet not drawing away. Then she turned her face toward him.
Before he could think, Chad’s mouth was on hers. He fastened his lips to hers and kissed her with a fervent, ravenous hunger.
After a shocked fraction of a second, her response rose beneath his kiss. Their tongues met, clashed, melded—pressed together by a last-time urgency.
Chad touched a hand to Brianna’s waist, and she shivered against him. She was sensitive there, he remembered, so sensitive…Her arms came around his neck, tugging him closer. He moved, maneuvering over the hand brake, and claimed her mouth.
She was warm and welcoming and tasted incredible. He groaned against her…and she stiffened, then pulled away.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Her breath came fast; her eyes were wide.
He touched a finger to her throat, felt the frantic pulse. “There was nothing wrong with the physical side of our marriage.”
He wanted to make love to her right now. He glanced at the hotel—she had a room up there, a bed.
She interpreted his glance. “Wanting each other physically is what got us into this mess in the first place.”
It was a denial of the love side of the equation, but right now that seemed like a good way to play it. Reluctantly Chad abandoned the fantasy of ending up in bed with her. “You’re right,” he said. “That was a bad idea, given we just did that whole closure thing.”
Because now, with one touch of his lips to hers, he’d blown the whole damned thing wide open.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RECEPTIONIST at FastMax Racing smiled at Brianna. “Mr. Clark will be here directly.”
“Thank you.” Brianna liked this place already. The welcome was friendly, and a couple of staff members who’d passed by had also spoken a word of greeting. An air of suppressed excitement created a sense of purposeful activity—even the receptionist was stuffing envelopes with photos of Garrett Clark when she wasn’t picking up calls from her switchboard.
Pictures of Garrett and his No. 402 car dominated the walls. The adjoining souvenir store—more Garrett paraphernalia—was already crowded.
This was the perfect place to take Brianna’s mind off Chad and last night’s kiss. Why did he have to do that, just when they’d attained some kind of peace?
Like I fought him off, she thought in disgust. She couldn’t deny she’d been curious to reacquaint herself with his mouth. Over the past two years, she’d convinced herself their wedding night couldn’t have been as amazing as she remembered. But with one kiss, he’d stripped away that pretense and left her…wanting.
She blew out a cooling breath. She couldn’t go into her meeting all steamed up. And she shouldn’t be thinking about Matheson Racing during her visit to FastMax. Who was she trying to kid? She was thinking about Chad, not his team!
“Brianna?” A warm, male voice spoke from behind her.
Brianna turned…and every female receptor in her body screamed Hot! The man smiling at her—way too young to be FastMax Racing owner, Andrew Clark—had dark hair and warm brown eyes that made her think of melting chocolate.
“You’re Garrett Clark,” she said. FastMax’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series driver was famous for his good looks and charm, and she could see why.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shook her hand, held on to it with unashamed interest as he looked her over. His smile widened.
Okay, the guy was an inveterate flirt. But Brianna would have to be made of stone not to be flattered. He can press my starter any time, she told herself. Yessir.
Except…when Garrett cupped her elbow to steer her around the reception toward the offices in back, she didn’t have the slightest urge to lean in closer, the way she had with Chad, despite her struggle against it.
“My lucky day.” Garrett grinned down at her as he held the door for her to precede him. Nice manners, too. “I get first dibs on the beautiful girl.”
Brianna rolled her eyes. “Does flattery work with your other sponsors? Because it doesn’t do a lot for Getaway Resorts.”
He waved his free hand carelessly. “As if I could think about money with you around.”
The man was outrageous…but she found herself smiling—as, she’d bet, had every woman he’d tried that line on this week.
“I do hope you get serious when our meeting starts,” she said.
“I’m always serious about my racing,” he said, and beneath the laughing face she caught a hint of steel.
&n
bsp; “I’m pleased to hear it.”
“But I’m never serious at dinnertime,” he said hopefully.
She laughed, even though talking about dinner sent the memory of Chad’s kiss firing through her mind. “Thanks, but I’m busy.”
Dinner with Garrett Clark was probably just what she needed. His expert attentions would surely put Chad in the shade.
They climbed a wide staircase to a mezzanine floor.
“The head honcho’s office is up here,” Garrett said, “along with a couple of meeting rooms.”
“The head honcho being your stepfather, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He grinned. “It drives him nuts when I call him that.”
Andrew Clark was, thankfully, not as charming as his stepson—being in the same room with two men of that ilk would be exhausting. Instead, he was friendly, courteous, unassuming.
“You’ve met Garrett,” he said with a resigned pride that appealed to Brianna. “Let me assure you we take our racing very seriously.”
Over the next two hours, he showed her exactly that. Andrew was the brother of Patsy Grosso, wife of current NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion Dean Grosso and co-owner of Cargill-Grosso Racing. The Grossos were NASCAR royalty—the contrast between FastMax’s public profile and his sister’s team couldn’t be greater. FastMax was one of the smaller teams in NASCAR.
Perhaps because of that, it seemed as if everyone here had a stake in every aspect of the business, and the answers to Brianna’s questions were simple and direct, no matter who they came from.
She could imagine doing business with Andrew Clark. She could see Garrett Clark as being an asset to the Getaway brand.
Immediately she felt disloyal to Chad. I don’t owe him any loyalty. My loyalty is to Dad. I need to do what’s best for him.
On first impressions, FastMax shaped up nicely on the numbers, too—the team was efficiently run, with no signs of excess fat that Getaway would be forced to subsidize.
“We’re looking for at least a ten-million-dollar commitment, for a minimum of two years,” Andrew Clark told Brianna as he ran through the budget for this year’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series season. “I don’t mind telling you, we’ve been running close to the wind, budget-wise. To tide us over we just signed a short-term sponsorship for next month’s races at Daytona. Rokutsu is launching a new gaming console and wants to make a splash. They’re paying a premium for a one-off sponsorship.”