“Hey, Dad,” she said, embracing him.
“Hi, sweetie. You look…nice.”
Nice again?
Wasn’t a woman supposed to look, well, hot for a date? But then she didn’t want her dad thinking she looked hot. He might drag her home, like the night he had in junior high when she’d shown up at the track in a skintight miniskirt and halter top.
Probably not the moment to bring that up again. “Thanks,” she said. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a little while. I was about to go home.”
She linked hands with him. “Stay. Everybody’s here. You’ll just go home to an empty house.”
He sipped from his beer bottle. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He didn’t look like a Chase-making crew chief. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “The real work begins now, doesn’t it?”
Real work? What the devil had they been doing the last twenty-six weeks? Slacking?
“Can we enjoy this for at least twenty minutes?” she asked, knowing she sounded like James.
“It’s been twenty-four hours.”
“Come on, Dad. Everybody needs this. We’ve been killing ourselves the past few months.”
“Humph. Gonna be nursing hangovers in the morning.”
“You gave everybody tomorrow off, remember?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Shouldn’t have.”
She smiled. Though he didn’t say it, she knew he was so proud he could burst. The more taciturn he got, the more touched he was.
And despite the career boost everyone from her to Kane to the crew got from landing in the top ten, there was a great deal of satisfaction for her father, as well.
Being a crew chief had changed so much over the past twenty years. Her father had gone from chief mechanic to personnel manager. He’d transitioned from the stopwatch era to multimedia computers and real-time diagnostics. To most, the move appeared seamless. Lexie knew it had been anything but.
Her father wasn’t a computer guru by any means, but he’d learned enough—from her and others—to understand the process and the data and, as a result, hire the right people to make the team mesh and succeed.
“You’re amazing,” she said, hugging him briefly. “I’m going to mingle.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. You should try it.”
He grabbed her hand. “You’re going to find him.”
She met his suspicious gaze without flinching. Kane had asked her not to tell her father about them. But, like everything in racing, she didn’t see how they’d keep it quiet for long. “I’m going to mingle.”
With a wave, she descended to the midlevel deck. There she found the rookie whose mistake had wrecked Kane at Michigan. He and his girlfriend were ridiculously awed to meet her. They both looked fifteen, renewing Lexie’s insecurities.
Kane had loved her at seventeen. Twelve years had passed since then. Her mother had been married with a child by this age. What was she doing here in jeans and a red tank top and looking for a date with a man who could literally pick any woman he wanted?
Strong arms embraced her from behind. “Hi,” Kane said in her ear.
She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in his scent. There was something so right, so reassuring about his touch. His nearness made her tremble.
“Hi,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder.
His blue eyes, bright with pleasure and anticipation, focused on her face. “When did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, my God, you’re Kane Jackson.”
Suppressing a laugh, Lexie turned back to the rookie’s girlfriend.
Introductions were made, the rookie flushed even deeper, and Kane wound up signing the girl’s plastic beer cup with a Sharpie she produced from her jeans pocket.
Just as Lexie was about to question whether or not the girl was even legal to drink beer, Kane gripped her hand and tugged her away. She noted he was wearing faded jeans and a black polo—and looked amazing.
As they descended the next set of steps to the pool deck, she couldn’t help noticing the way the jeans hugged his lean hips. She was so used to seeing him in his uniform—which, admittedly, left little to the imagination regarding his body—that seeing him in civilian clothes did strange things to her pulse.
Another bar had been set up on the pool deck. Kane got her another glass of champagne and himself a beer, then he dropped into a lounge chair and settled her next to him, her legs draped over his.
“Comfy?” he asked, tapping his plastic cup against her plastic champagne glass, which somebody had thoughtfully provided for the pool area.
“I, uh…” She stared at his meltingly handsome face and tried to swallow around her dry throat. “Sure.”
“Nervous?”
“Of course not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“What do I have to be nervous about?”
“Me. You like me, and you don’t want anybody to know about it. Least of all me.”
“Maybe you should have asked your ego to this party.”
“It’s too much to handle. You, however…” His eyes darkened as he slid the back of his hand across her cheek. “Are just right.”
Her stomach quivered. He had her so off balance she couldn’t think straight. “People are going to talk.”
“No kidding? That’ll be a switch.”
“I’m serious.”
He pressed his lips against her jaw. “So am I.”
Unbidden, her eyes fluttered closed. She was pretty sure she’d gone crazy. She knew he was crazy. But a nuclear explosion couldn’t have pulled her away from him.
“Are you going to relax now?” he asked against her cheek.
She looked up at him. “I’m a puddle at your feet. Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He raised his cup. “How about a toast?”
She raised her own glass. “To the top ten.”
He shook his head.
“To the team?”
Another shake.
She pressed her lips together briefly. “To us?”
He smiled and tapped his cup against hers. “And our future.”
EVENTUALLY KANE LOST Lexie’s exclusive attention.
As with any racing gathering, a small crowd formed on the pool deck to remember past races and share old glories. To everyone’s delight, Lexie and Mike Streetson shared stories about her early days at the track, when he used to drive for her father’s team.
Kane watched the tension and uneasiness fall away from her face as she talked. He loved seeing her laughing instead of consumed by the pressure of her job. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue earlier when he’d glanced up at the deck and noticed her standing there in a red tank top and curve-enhancing jeans. With her hair falling in a smooth curtain to her shoulders, she looked soft and approachable, not like the all-business crew chief everybody jumped to attention for.
And while his ego liked making her nervous, deep down he wanted her as comfortable being his date as she was being his pit road guide. Streetson and racing stories were familiar to her, making her forget the double takes they’d been getting for the past couple of hours.
He’d known they were going to be news, and he should have expected Harry’s cold shoulder and other members of the team goggling like they’d seen a car take flight in Turn Two. His own father would also have some choice words for him about his lack of focus and professionalism, along with the perils of dating a colleague.
Well, too damn bad. They were all going to have to get used to seeing him and Lexie together. He had no intention of letting tonight be a one-time event.
“Remember when that goofball Ricky Matthews tried to steal the Martinsville clock trophy back in ’93?” Streetson said to Lexie.
“It’s kind of hard to forget,” she said dryly. “He used me as a lookout.”
“You gotta hear this one, guys.” He gestured with his cup. “Let me just get another beer
.”
“I’ll get it,” Kane said as he leveraged himself off the lounge chair. “You want anything?” he asked Lexie.
She glanced up at him, and the friendly laughter in her eyes immediately heated. She licked her lips. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Fine with what? Kane dragged his gaze from her glossy mouth. What had he asked her? What was he about to do?
“Get movin’, kid,” Streetson said. “My throat’s drying up over here.”
Oh, right. Beer. He started off in the direction of the bar, wondering what he could drink to get his heart to stop its out-of-control gallop.
“Hey, Alex,” he said to the team jack man, who was filling his own cup from the keg.
“Hey, K. Great party.”
“Everybody needed it.” Kane filled Streetson’s cup, then his own. “Wanna join us?” he asked, nodding his head toward the crowd around Streetson and Lexie.
Alex shook his head. “I’m looking for a woman.”
“Anybody in particular?”
“Nope. I’m not picky. Where did you find that foxy woman you’re with?” he asked with a comical leer.
“I—” He stopped, realizing Alex meant Lexie. “That’s Lexie.”
Alex squinted. “Nah.”
“Yes.”
Alex patted him on the back sympathetically. “I think you oughta lay off the beer, buddy.”
As he walked away, Kane wondered why Lexie was unrecognizable without her uniform and ball cap. No one seemed to have any trouble drooling over her at the sponsor party at Bristol. Maybe it was just that no one could imagine them together. They probably thought he wasn’t smart enough to interest a brain like Lexie.
You sure didn’t hold on to her before.
Yeah, well, this time was different.
He returned to the group and handed Streetson his beer. “So Matthews decided his car was crap, but he wanted one of those grandfather clocks Martinsville gives away as a trophy.”
“Hey, everybody,” Pat Williams said as he walked up. “Congrats, Kane,” he said, holding out his hand.
Kane leaned around Lexie and shook his competitor’s hand. “Thanks. You, too.” After his wreck at Michigan, “The Hatchet” had fought his way back to first in points. Everybody said he was the man to beat, and now Kane was one of the drivers determined to do just that.
They were casual friends and hung out sometimes, racing go-karts or playing computer games, but for the next ten weeks they’d be pitted against each other on the track and in the media. Kane was glad James had invited him and they had this moment of calm before the storm landed full force.
“Pull up a seat,” Kane added, indicating the chairs scattered alongside the pool.
“You bet.” He dragged a chair over, and others in the crowd scooted to make room.
“Am I ever going to get this story out?” Streetson asked the group in general.
“Yes,” Kane said. Anything to keep Lexie smiling.
“So we’ve got Matthews and a clock,” Streetson said, leaning forward. “In those days they kept the clock in this storage closet behind one of the concession stands. The lock on the door was just a plain old Master padlock. A pair of bolt cutters would take care of things easy. But the track did have a security guard, who supposedly had this big, mean dog go on patrol with him.”
“They probably paid him in hot dogs,” Pat said.
“Must have been a stout dog,” one of the guys in the crowd added. “Those things are lethal.”
Streetson shook his head. “Great minds think alike. Matthews figures if he encounters the dog, he can toss a couple of hot dogs its way, giving him the chance to escape. He even hires a lookout.” He looked over at Lexie.
“Hires? The jerk blackmailed me.”
“Oh-ho,” Pat said with a grin. “Straitlaced Lexie has a skeleton in her closet? Wanna share?”
She exchanged a flushed glance with Kane. “Ah, no.”
“He’d caught us making out behind Streetson’s motor coach,” Kane said, caught between amusement and exasperation by her embarrassment. “He threatened to tell Harry.”
Streetson snorted. “As if he didn’t already know.”
After another quick, guilty glance at Kane, she said, “He said he had pictures. The letch. It’s one thing to know, entirely another to see.”
Before Kane could question her about these pictures he hadn’t known existed, Streetson continued. “So Matthews and his unwilling accomplice head to the trophy’s storage shed, where he’s planning to cut the lock, then load the clock on a dolly.” He raised his eyebrows. “By himself, I mean to tell ya, obviously not realizing that clock must weigh three hundred pounds.”
“And I’m supposed to whistle if I see the guard coming,” Lexie added. “Of course, I’m looking for the guard so I can tattle and go back to bed.”
“Poor guy,” Pat said. “The plan was flawed from the start.”
“Matthews is hard at work with his bolt cutters,” Streetson continued. “For any normal person this would be like cutting cardboard with the kitchen scissors, but Matthews weighs 110 soaking wet.”
“He made Barney Fife look hefty,” Kane added.
“Well, the break-in is taking some time and eventually the guard and his dog get around to the storage shed. Matthews’s lookout—” He nodded at Lexie.
“Is long gone.”
“So it’s a big shock to our thief when the dog starts barking. And soundin’ real close.
“And here, my good friends, is where the story splits into the Matthews version and the real version. In the Matthews version, he ducks behind a post, waiting until the dog and the guard are just a few feet away. Then, heroically, he jumps out from behind the post, charges the dog and the guard, tosses the hot dogs, then does some kind of fancy footwork and escapes before either man or beast even thinks about chasing him.”
Streetson shook his head. “When he tells me and my team all this the next morning, we figure most of it’s bull. Since we were working with a rain delay, we decided to find the guard and get the real story. According to him, Matthews tossed the hot dogs all right, but the guard dog caught them in the air in one gulp, then charged. Matthews freaked out, turned and ran. The dog caught him in three strides and chomped down on his butt.”
As his audience roared with laughter, Streetson added, “The guy had to sit on a cushion during the race. Plus, the guard was so proud of his pooch’s crime foiling, he insisted on showing us a picture of Bitsy. It was a stinkin’ poodle!”
“In all fairness, it was a big poodle,” Lexie said.
“It was a show dog,” Streetson said. “Had those silly looking pom-pom things all over its head, tail and legs. Any man who runs from a dog that looks like that deserves to get bit in the butt.”
“So the clock was saved?” a woman in the group asked.
“Yep.” Streetson smiled. “And it looks pretty nice sittin’ in my den.”
Though he knew the story well, Kane laughed along with everybody else. Many of his friends and teammates were younger than him and new to NASCAR. To have a legend like Streetson pass on stories about the good ol’ days, to have a driver of his caliber sitting a few feet away, sharing a beer with them like buddies, must be a surreal experience.
It certainly was for him every time it happened.
The stories crowd swelled, then diminished. At one point, Lexie excused herself from the group. When she didn’t come back after several minutes, Kane went in search of her.
He found her by the lake, staring into its moonlit depths.
Even her silhouette was inspiring. He swelled with pride as he imagined her standing by his side. The tip of his fingers tingled with the urge to stroke her skin, to hold her in his arms and absorb her touch and inhale the fruit and coconut scent he couldn’t seem to put out of his mind.
He desired her as he never had another woman. He longed for her respect as he never had another person.
Could he really be a strong enough man for
her? With all his faults and shortcomings, his past mistakes and the ones he’d no doubt make in the future, did he even deserve her?
His own father didn’t respect him. How could he expect Lexie to?
He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to walk closer, banishing his insecurities and doubts. “You never told me Matthews had pictures,” he said as he approached her.
She didn’t turn around. She’d no doubt sensed him there long before he’d spoken. The woman didn’t miss a thing.
“He was probably bluffing. You know what a talker he was.”
“Are you thinking about him?” he asked, stopping just behind her. Ricky Matthews had died of a stroke just a few weeks ago, no doubt prompting her and Mike Streetson’s memorial by storytelling. It was the way of a Southerner. The way of racing.
“No.” She turned her head to look at him. “I was thinking about you.”
He smiled. “Yeah?”
She faced him, laying her hand on his chest. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Her eyes glittered with longing and promise. “I never got to really congratulate you for making the top ten.”
He could already taste her on his lips. His chest tightened in an effort to draw a deep breath. “We ought to do something about that.”
Her lips curved. “Yeah, we should.”
Their mouths met gently, with promise and need. The future and the past were both prevalent in their minds. So much was at stake.
But he concentrated only on her, on the way she made him feel, on the way he wanted her to feel. They’d given so much of themselves to their jobs, to other people and other aspirations. They deserved to enjoy each other.
When she pulled back, she was breathing hard. “I should probably go.”
He held her tighter against him. “Don’t. Don’t go.”
She stroked her fingers through his hair and smiled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WRAPPING HERSELF in a throw from the end of the bed, Lexie padded to the balcony off Kane’s bedroom. She sat on the porch swing and curled her feet beneath her, staring out over the dark and silent lake.
Right or wrong, she and Kane had taken an irrevocable step forward tonight.
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