“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said. “Look, it works.”
“Oh, baby, you can say that again.” He pulled her bottom against him so she could feel exactly how well it was working.
He backed up until he rested against the side of the car, and let her slide down his body. By the time her feet reached the floor, her dress had ridden up her thighs and bunched between them. He felt for the hem and whisked it up and off. She responded by doing exactly the same with his T-shirt. Skin to skin they explored, his lips to her shoulders, her tongue to the flat brown nipple on his smooth, bronzed chest.
“You’re a really gorgeous male, in case you’re wondering,” she said, lifting her head to meet his lips with hers and cut off any need to reply.
The build-up wasn’t slow. All the fires had been stoked in the hours before this, and both of them reached for deeper kisses and places for their hands to wander. When Elle found the snap for his jeans and rasped the zipper down, he had no need to let her take her time. Together they shoved his pants to the floor where he kicked off his sandals and yanked the jeans past his ankles and feet.
Elle kicked off the rhinestone-studded flip-flops she wore and the two of them stood with nothing but soft cotton and scraps of satin between them. He reached around and lifted her into his arms, kissing her while he carried her to the front of the Monte Carlo. Almost reverently he set her on the hood.
“Oh! Be careful, Harley. The car.”
“The car is fine. Sit there and let me remember you all gorgeous on my hood.”
She leaned back, stroking the sleek yellow finish, and he all but ran to the side of the room where a stack of clean, thick cotton drop cloth blankets waited. He grabbed two, turned around and nearly lost his breath. A vision of every male’s fantasy lounged on his car, one leg bent, her foot curved down the front of the hood, her breasts thrust upward, inviting him to take her.
“I’ve seen the calendars in every garage I’ve ever visited,” she murmured. “I’ve always hated them, but for you—I’ll be Miss June.”
“And July, August, September…”
He tossed the blankets in a semi-flat heap in front of the car and bent over Elle to kiss her thigh. Moving upward he reached the white panties no longer just a tease beneath her clothing, and ran his fingers around the waistband. She lifted her hips so he could pull them off and then unclasped her own bra.
She was exquisite. He curved his hands around her waist and slid them up until he could cup her breasts. She sat up and pushed at the waistband of his underwear until she worked them as far as she could. He stepped out of them and she grinned. “Looks like we definitely both want this.”
“Observant girl.”
He kissed her everywhere he could. First one breast, then the other until she moaned with pleasure. He moved down her body, dallying at her navel, pushing her back so her elbows rested on the hood and he could kiss the top of each long, slender leg. She wriggled her breathing accelerating the longer he teased. Finally he brushed one sweet kiss between her legs and she groaned out a release.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Oh yeah.”
He touched her in the most intimate way he could without entering her and when she cried out, nearly to the edge, her legs trembling her nipples peaked and ready, he stopped, pulled her up and lifted her off the car.
“Together,” he said. “Then I get my fun with you.”
“He brought her to the soft pile of blankets and grabbed for his jeans, pulling his wallet free of his pocket in a smooth motion. Seconds later he tore open one of several foil packets he’d gambled on putting there, but before he could extract the condom, Elle took the square and did it herself.
“My turn.”
She stroked his length and knelt so she could cover him, slowly, carefully, fully. This was not a job he’d ever relegated to someone else before. The intimacy almost did him in.
“Jeez, Elle, you don’t have any time to play.” His voice came out a little weirdly strangled.
“Then get down here, you.”
They twined themselves together like magnets and she gasped again when he pressed against her core. “You okay?” he asked. “Ready?”
They slid together answering the question for both of them, and he let her set the rhythm, which she did as if they’d known each other’s bodies for years. Easy, gentle, and then harder, their lovemaking soared until she arched beneath him and called his name. He followed moments later and lost himself in a bright world of ecstasy he’d never found so quickly or easily before. He only returned to earth when her legs came around his hips again and she drew him back. When he could breathe normally he lifted up and met her eyes. They shone with emotion, but she smiled.
“Wow.”
He fell to his side and gathered her close. “And that was just the opening act,” he said.
“Promise? Although, I don’t know if we can top that. Even my fantasy plans weren’t that good.
“So it was good for you, too.”
“No. Good was at the bottom of the scale I’d use for that.”
“If you want my ego to stay in check you’d better stop saying things like that.”
“Nah. That was spectacular enough to be ego-worthy.”
He wanted to tell her he loved her at that moment. Wanted to push this and make her say she loved him too and they could stay here with the yellow race car and live to make love. But he knew better. He did love her, but saying so for the first time like this would be like saying it when you were high. What would make her believe it wasn’t just the hot heat of the moment?
He didn’t expect it when she tensed beside him and pulled away, gasping but this time not with pleasure.
“What?” He sat, alarmed, and grasped her shoulders “Honey, what happened?”
She pointed to the car. “Harley, there’s something wrong with those tires.”
Chapter Fifteen
Elle pulled her zip up Golden Gophers hoodie closer around her torso and surveyed the lonely track in front of her, misty and ethereal in the gray, drizzly dawn. The air wasn’t cold despite the slight rain, but she shivered anyway, a little from lack of sleep, and a lot from the memories of an incredible night.
He was a stunning man, Harley Holt. Chris Hemsworth meets Cary Grant meets David Beckham and, yet, Harley was unique—his own brand of perfect man. She shook her head at the romantic fancies that were so unlike her. It couldn’t be that she was still drugged senseless from his mind-blowing lovemaking. Or still astonished by the care he’d taken of her—of them together. How could something as new as their relationship feel so perfectly made to be together?
He’d even calmed her, logically and sincerely, about her fears over the car. That moment she’d seen the misalignment had been almost surreal, but he’d checked every tire when she insisted they’d been changed around. What she hadn’t told him about was his mother’s dreams and all the reading she’d been doing on tire alignment, front geometry design and track surfaces because of them. Harley had agreed things looked different, but he’d told her Valentina’s mechanic, a jowly, no-nonsense man named Virgil Monk, had come to look at the car today, and maybe he’d found an issue.
They were also planning to move the Monte Carlo to HSH today so it was easier to prep for the race, and that had been the most comforting news. Elle meant to keep her promise to Jack—that she’d check every inch of the car herself right up until the engine started on Friday night.
Harley had succeeded, pretty brilliantly she admitted, in making her forget her concerns. They’d stayed together until well into the early morning, talking and laughing and making love. In between, they’d discussed everything from work to favorite music. Finally he’d confessed the only concern he had about them being together.
“Does it worry you at all that this has been too easy?” he’d asked. “Weren’t we supposed to hate each other and have some big obstacle we had to overcome before we got here?”
“We aren’t characters in a
novel,” she’d told him. “We’re just people with average lives. Why shouldn’t things simply be good and go right? I knew I was supposed to come here. Maybe you’re why.”
That had been a good enough answer for him—and she believed it, too. What obstacles could there be after all? She had more in common with him than with most members of her own family.
But after Harley had dropped her back at the Rise and Shine, something about the car returned to gnaw at her. She’d tossed and turned for two hours trying to figure out what exactly she’d seen in the tires and why Virgil would have messed with them in the first place. But with her body and mind heavy and satiated from the night, she’d had no insights. Only one thing had tickled an idea free, and that was why she’d come to the track. The only reason to futz with tires was to account for driving surface conditions. She needed to see up close where Harley would be racing.
She walked the entire half mile oval slowly, taking nearly forty-five minutes to criss-cross the surface. She studied the curve degrees and the evenness of the asphalt. At one time it had been quite a good track. Now it was serviceable, safe enough, but not great. The asphalt had roughened over the years making the track grittier. Now, in the rain, it was shiny but not slick most places, and the most bothersome spots were sandy patches that would make driving a little like dirt track racing in a handful of places.
Still, it wasn’t anything these drivers at the speeds they’d be going couldn’t handle. Before Friday they’d all walk the track just like she was doing. Assuming it wasn’t pouring rain, there wouldn’t be mud or dirt issues.
Harley had told her to come in late. He was going to sleep in, too. There was no back-up of repairs so they had time. But she couldn’t imagine going back to the bed and breakfast to sleep. She needed to get online and look up a few more things. She arrived at the shop by a little before eight, less than half an hour after she usually arrived. To her surprise, the Monte Carlo was already there, as were Maury, Virgil and Harley.
For a moment, a flash of jealousy stopped her. She’d wanted to be part of moving the car, too. But Harley met her halfway across the floor and put an arm around her.
“It’s a good thing we escaped our den of iniquity when we did,” he whispered, a twinkle in his eyes. “Apparently Virgil has another appointment mid-morning, so he came at six and hooked up the trailer. When Maury arrived they went and grabbed her. I just got here myself.”
Mollified, she shrugged. “I guess that’s good.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“No.” She smiled. “But I didn’t really mind.”
He kissed her forehead. “Same story.” He paused, momentarily uncertain. “No regrets? This morning?”
She kissed the tip of her finger and placed it on his lips. “Not a one. It was good, Harley. I… I love being closer to you. It wasn’t very hard deciding that I’d like more of the same.”
He released his breath, his grin returning. “You made my morning. I wasn’t worried. I was…”
“Yes you were. Worried that I’d changed my mind,” she finished. “Well you can stop. It really is okay that it’s working out.”
“The funny thing is, even my mother is doing better this past week. I’m not used to living in a fairy tale. What’s going to go wrong?”
“Stop it! Nothing is going wrong. You hired the best, and that’s me. I’m here to make sure every little thing checks out. So come on; I have questions for Virgil.”
They found him by the Monte Carlo staring under the hood as if contemplating the origins of the universe. When Elle called his name he turned, and for the first time in a very long while somebody looked down his nose at her. Virgil made it fairly clear the “mere girl” had interrupted important business, and when she asked him about the tires, he literally patted her on the shoulder.
“Don’t you worry yourself about that, young lady. Lots of experience went into making a few changes, that’s all. No need to fret about the physics of the tires and the track. You’re an engine gal, right? We need you to concentrate on your field.”
Elle’s eyes froze on the man’s condescending face. Working hard to contain the rush of fury at his dismissal she looked quickly to Harley. His mouth hung a little, which pleased her but she held up her hand when he started to speak.
“Excuse me. Virgil. Now that I suddenly know quite a bit more about you and your take on respect, I’m going to ignore it and ask you again. Could you please tell me what you changed about the tires?”
This time there was no condescension in his reply—it was pure annoyance.
“It doesn’t concern you, but if you must know, we’re tightening the steering and setting the rear tires off center. I want more grip on the right and more rear steering. This car runs really loose.”
“You’re setting it up like a dirt racer?”
“This is not a fast track. It’s old and full of gravel. You’re right, little lady, we’re turning her into a defacto dirt car for this run. Most others won’t be taking this step so it’ll be Harley’s advantage.”
“Most won’t take the step because it’s not a dirt track.” She turned to Harley. “I just walked it this morning.”
“You did?”
“Yes. This bothered me half the night so I went to check it out because I figured the only reason to mess with tires was because of the track. But I didn’t find any reason to change the things you’re used to. Yes, the surface is old, and it has some rough patches. But it’ll drive like asphalt. Wet asphalt if it’s raining. You need to set up for that, not for dirt.”
“Harley.” Virgil ignored her. “I was hired because I’m the expert. None of your people come from the race world, they’re learning just like you are. You’re the driver, you know the car and you know what happens when you guess wrong about front and rear end geometry. I’ll take you to the track myself and show you what I’m talking about. I have a few other modifications in mind, too. I think you should at least give me a listen before you take advice from girls who like to play with engines.”
“That was extremely rude and condescending.” Elle burst in, unable to hold her tongue at the slight.
This time Harley held up his hand. “I’ve got it. Listen, Virgil, I hear what you’re saying and, sure, I’ll listen to all the rationale. You are the expert, it’s true. But I want to make one thing very clear. Elle Mitchell is a freakily good mechanic. Gifted, in fact. She’s got plenty of knowledge that’s worth considering, and she’s an equal member of my team. You won’t be calling her ‘young lady,’ or ‘the girl who plays with engines.’ Everything we talk about is her concern as much as it’s mine. If you can agree to that, you’ve got my ear.”
“I’ll be damned, so you’re a modern kid, ‘eh? Fine. I can work with anybody if they have the brains to listen and learn. In this case, I’ll agree to disagree with Elle here. But at the moment I’m the lead mechanic and my word is the final one.”
That much was true. Elle thanked Harley with her eyes and turned away.
“Let me know what you decide. I have a carburetor to finish installing and a mystery sound from last night to find. Maury, could I get your help with this for a second?”
Harley caught her arm gently as she passed, but she smiled tightly and shook her head.
“Later,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”
Maury followed her across the room and leaned on the side of the Acura she was repairing.
“Sorry about him,” he said. “Clearly an old school hard-ass. But he is good.”
“Yeah. I was worried at first about some kind of sabotage, but I can see this is ignorance on his part. Sorry, but it is. Dirt track racing is starting to take tips from asphalt racing anyhow and doing things differently. Virgil is doing this on purpose—he’s not trying to harm anything. But he’s got one foot in the old school and one in the new. He’s wrong.”
“If he is, Harley will do the right thing.”
“I hope so. But he’s pretty stoked about this, so
I don’t think he’ll do anything to piss Virgil off. I want your help with one thing. I’m going to work now so Virgil can cool off a little. Will you be my spy. Please? Tell me exactly what he says he plans to do. There’s a big reason for this that goes back to a promise I made to Jack about looking out for the Monte Carlo. I’ll tell you all about it later. But I need to know Harley isn’t skipping details when he talks to me. He’ll try to keep me from getting my undies in a bunch.”
That image brought back a flood of feelings completely inappropriate for the setting. Elle turned her head to hide the blush she could feel creeping toward her cheeks. Maury placed a hand on her shoulder, in a completely different gesture from the condescending pat Virgil had given her.
“You’ve got it.— I’m not taking sides yet, I owe that much to Harley, too. But I’m with you on this. We’ll keep a close eye on everything and I’ll tell you what happens when you aren’t standing there.”
“Thanks, Maury. You’re the voice of reason around here. I trust you.”
“You fit right in here, Elle. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
That afternoon, Virgil set up a test drive at the track. The yellow car had been completely reconfigured underneath, and the next step of Virgil’s plan was to widen the wheel base by four inches. Then he wanted to recalibrate the carburetor, and do several other adjustments Elle couldn’t even remember because they made no sense, so Harley could coax more horsepower from the engine.
The ideas were terrible. But Elle was now the only one who believed that.
The entire brand new Nolan Racing Team was present, including Valentina with Johnnie Markham in tow. Valentina twittered like a new mother, excited beyond words that Virgil was taking this so seriously, convinced they were going to come out of this inaugural race smelling like champions.
“Another championship for Sapphire Falls.” Her enthusiasm impressed everyone except, once again, Elle.
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