Playboy Prankster: Extreme Racing, Book 1

by Pamela Britton

  There was a long silence on the phone. CJ waited for Deanna to speak. She didn’t.

  “Deanna…are you there?”

  “I’m just waiting to see if you’re finished.”

  CJ paused in her pacing. “Sorry. What do you think?”

  Deanna sighed. “CJ, you know what my advice to you has been from the very beginning.”

  “Go for it.”

  “That’s right.”

  CJ shook her head. “The thing is, I checked out my body last night. It’s not a pretty sight. I didn’t think it was possible for a woman’s butt to spread so much.”

  “Wait till you’re thirty.”

  “I’m serious, Deanna. People are going to start stamping wide load on the back of my pants.”

  Deanna snorted.

  “And I can’t fit into any of my jeans. I’m down to one pair, the ones I’m wearing now.”

  “Join the club.”

  “I’m starting to think I should wire my jaw shut.”

  “You’re not fat,” Deanna said, chuckling.

  “I feel like it.” She plopped down on the bed.

  “Besides, the man’s already seen you naked.”

  “He’s seen me in a towel.”

  “For part of the time, anyway.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  CJ released a sigh. “What if I take off my clothes and he runs out of the room?”

  “You could always wear a paper bag.”

  “That’d only cover my head. It’s my body, especially my backside I want to hide.”

  “CJ—”

  “You could feed a family for a year with the fat on my thighs.”

  “Look, you like the man, right?”

  CJ looked down into her jean-clad lap before whispering the word, “Yes.” Even if he was Trouble incarnate. But the truth was, he’d melted her resistance yesterday with his kind words, concerned manner and teasing blue eyes. And that kiss.

  “Then trust your instincts.”

  “But what if I get hurt?” Again, she silently added.

  “How can you get hurt when all you want is a one night stand?”

  “You’re right. A one-night stand. That’s all I want. All I need.”

  “Gee, Bryce, I’d really like to screw your brains out,” CJ practiced as she walked through the crowded staging area the next morning. No, that didn’t sound right. “Howdy, sailor, can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure,” said the baseball capped man walking by.

  CJ blushed to the tips of her sunburned ear. “Er, ahh, not you.”

  She ducked her head and kept on walking.

  With each step she took she became more and more nervous. She’d dreamed about Bryce all night. Sultry, erotic dreams where he’d kissed her senseless and made her moan with pleasure. She’d woken knowing there was no sense in fighting it. He was an itch that needed to be scratched and so what was wrong with indulging herself?

  You’re not that kind of girl.

  True. But there was no reason why she couldn’t be. At least once in her life.

  There were hundreds of people out, the smell of exhaust mixing with the dust. The nearest town was about thirty miles away and the only thing she could see in the distance was cactus, cactus and, oh yeah, more cactus. Still, that didn’t stop people from crowding between the big rigs that carted the race trucks from staging area to staging area. She’d bet every person within a two hundred mile radius drove in every day, well, with the exception of the kids from Harmony Haven. She’d gotten digital copies of some photos of Bryce with the kids and CJ hadn’t been able to stop herself from perusing them once or twice

  He was such a nice man. Too bad he was Trouble.

  Unfortunately, finding that Trouble amidst the crowd was like trying to find pantyhose in an auto parts store. And every time one of the crew members used an air-ratchet she just about jumped out of her skin.

  She did manage to find the Star Oil transporter parked in a long line of big rigs and tried to distract herself from her fears by studying the haulers. The vehicles were amazing pieces of equipment. The top quarter was dedicated to storing spare parts, a separate hauler used to tote the race trucks from staging area to staging area. The bottom two-thirds of the vehicle was a mini-workshop, with a long aisle stretching down the center with floor-to-ceiling white (and wasn’t it just like a man to pick that grease-enhancing color?) cabinets lining either side. At the end was a lounge complete with TV, VCR, couch and other man-type necessities.

  With a nod at the crew, each of whom smiled that we-got-you-good smile, she headed down the main isle of the hauler and the lounge, her palms sweaty with anticipation.

  But the moment she opened the door, she knew she’d made a mistake. The mirrored walls gave her a three dimensional view of Bryce embracing a lanky brunette, her arms wrapped around his waist like an octopus hugging its prey.

  “Oh, excuse me,” CJ said, before she hastily stepped back out the door, but not before Bryce looked up.

  “CJ, wait.”

  Wait? Hah! Like she’d wait for him. She’d sooner wait for the plague. What a fool she’d been. The man obviously couldn’t keep his zipper up for more than five seconds. She hoped he choked on a bottle of Easy-In. Hoped a condom cut off his blood supply so Little Bryce atrophied.

  “CJ.” She could hear him running to catch up to her, but the long aisle seemed to have stretched an additional twenty feet. His hand touched her arm. She jerked away. Furious beyond belief.

  “CJ, c’mon. You’re acting like a jealous lover.”

  She stopped, sprang back to face him and blasted him with a glare. “Iam not your lover.”

  “No, but you could be if you wanted to.” He gave her a leer.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “You disgust me.”

  He gave her that boyish look of hurt that she’d begun to hate. It seemed to say, “I was just playin’ around.”

  Not with her. No way.

  He lurched past her and placed a hand on her shoulder when she tried to dart past him. “CJ, wait. Seriously, that wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “Oh, really. Were you just sniffing her hair?”

  She heard someone choke and glanced behind him. The brunette stood there. Tall. Elegant. Beautiful. CJ hated her on sight, not very nice, but there it was.

  “No, I was not. Here. Let me introduce you.”

  Introduce her? To the latest notch in his bedpost? Over her size ten, water-retaining body. Man, she couldn’t believe she’d actually contemplated becoming one of those notches.

  He turned toward the woman. “This is Kathleen…a good friend.”

  A good friend? Yeah right. She was probably good all right. In bed. She shot the woman a glare, then looked back at Bryce. “You’re sick.”

  The woman choked again. For the first time she took a good look at her, and noticed the tears smearing her once perfectly applied makeup. Her brows rose. Bryce was a good kisser, but to move a woman to tears?

  “Hi,” the brunette said, holding out her hand, her misty smile warm and friendly.

  CJ would rather shake hands with a leper.

  “Kathleen is Nick Seaver’s wife.”

  Nick Seaver, racing legend, one of the “Pros” referred to in the Pro/Am part of race.

  The woman’s hand dropped back to her side, eyes full of concern. “Bryce’s told me so much about you, CJ.”

  He had? Told her what? That she had nice breasts like he told everybody else?

  “Perhaps we could all have dinner together one night soon?” She wiped a tear off her cheek, before turning back to Bryce. Her expression softened. “I don’t know how to thank you—”

  Bryce held up his hands, interrupting her flow of words. “Don’t thank me, Kathleen. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yes, it is—”

  “No, it’s not. Nick would do the same for me if he were in my position. Besides, I owe him something for taking the time to teach m
e how to drive Big Foot out there.”

  CJ rolled her eyes and snorted. Apparently, he wasn’t a very good teacher. “That’s not saying much.”

  Kathleen gave her a look of surprise before turning back to Bryce. Her enormous lavender eyes misted again. “You’re a good friend.”

  CJ looked between the two, suddenly realizing Bryce must be telling the truth. There was no way a woman could fake the look of gratitude on Kathleen’s face. Her anger faded as her journalistic sense kicked in, but she refused to let Bryce see how much she was dying to know what was going on.

  Cool. Professional. In control, she reminded herself.

  But it was hard to contain her rampant curiosity when Kathleen was looking up at Bryce as if he were the Patron Saint of Selflessness. The woman turned to look at her, her expression one of kindness. “You’ve got a good man, here, CJ. I’d hold on to him if I were you.”

  The only thing she wanted to hold onto was his Little Bryce, but she couldn’t tell the other woman that.

  “If there’s anything I can ever do for you…”

  Like what? Loan me your push up bra, CJ thought. It wouldn’t fit.

  With one last watery, and to CJ’s mind, melodramatic smile, Kathleen turned away, leaving the transporter in a trail of Passion.

  CJ swung back to Bryce, unable to resist one little dig, just one. “What’d you do? Donate sperm so she could have a child?”

  He chuckled, crossing his arms over his ivory-colored polo, a shirt that CJ couldn’t help but notice clung to his body like wax. He’d also left the two buttons open, almost as if he knew how badly she wanted to run her fingers through the hair on his chest.

  “CJ, your comments never cease to amuse me.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I should chuck it all and start a sitcom.”

  He laughed again before saying, “I promised Nick Seavers I’d sponsor their race team next year.”

  “You’re sponsoring a truck next year, Bryce?”

  CJ glanced at the entrance. Harry stood there, his bushy gray brows arched, the white team outfit with a red star on the front making him look like the Pillsbury Doughboy with a target tattooed to his chest.

  “Yeah.”

  CJ returned her gaze to Bryce. “That’s it?” she asked in amazement. “Kathleen Seavers acted like she was naming her first born after you all because you agreed to sponsor a silly race truck?”

  “Watch it,” Harry snapped.

  Bryce looked past her. “She doesn’t mean anything by that, Harry.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe she don’t know how much money you just agreed to drop.”

  “I haven’t dropped it yet.”

  “Yeah, but you will. You’re a man of your word, Bryce.”

  “Well, thank you, Harry.”

  CJ all but rolled her eyes. Jeesh, they sounded like politicians. “How much does sponsoring a race truck cost? A couple thousand?”

  Harry stared down at her incredulously before throwing back his head and roaring with laughter. He had three gold teeth, CJ noted disgruntledly, and they needed a darn good cleaning. “Well, so then how much does it cost?”

  “Try a couple million,” Harry provided gleefully.

  “Million?” She gaped. “Jeez, no wonder she was looking at you like she wanted to have your baby. I’d have your baby for a couple million dollars.”

  “You would?”

  CJ’s cheeks flamed with color. Bryce must have noticed because his smile widened.

  “Shoot, Bryce,” Harry said. “If I’d known you were in the market to sponsor a truck I would’ve asked you to sponsor one of mine.”

  Bryce finally broke eye contact, CJ feeling like a puppet whose string had been cut loose when he looked away. “It wasn’t something I’d planned on doing.”

  Harry took a pull of his cigar. “Yeah, well, I suppose Nick needs it more than I do. He was going to lose his team if you hadn’t agreed to do it.”

  “I know,” Bryce said.

  CJ stared at him in amazement. That he would do that for a friend amazed her. She didn’t know why, it just did. It was as if she’d suddenly discovered an old oil painting in her attic that turned out to be worth a mint. Man, if he were any other man she’d be all over him like baby oil. She wouldn’t want just a one night with him. She’d want…

  Uh oh.

  She refused to go down that road. She stared up at him, his eyes having never left her own. Her body revved in response, just heated up like a motor at a starting line.

  Escaaaape, screamed her mind.

  “Hey, where’re you going?” he drawled.

  She didn’t know, she just knew if she didn’t leave she’d do something really stupid…like stroke the side of his jaw and tell him what a nice guy he was. “To the bathroom,” she said instead. She squeezed past Harry, who stared down at her speculatively. The man smelled like an exhaust pipe.

  “Hang on. I’ll go with you.”

  That was the last thing she needed. “I can go by myself, thank you.” She stepped out into the morning sunshine; the desert air sucked the moisture right out of her face. She’d have crow’s feet by the end of the race.

  “Are you sure? I can pull your pants down for you if you want.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “No thanks. The only person who gets to see me without my pants is my doctor.” Although a half-hour ago she’d been of a different mind. Now she wasn’t so certain even a one-night stand was a good idea.

  He wagged his eyebrows at her. “Lucky doctor.”

  And he was lucky, Bryce thought, watching her huff away. Wow, the woman had a walk that could catch the eyes of a blind man.

  “You like her.”

  Bryce never took his eyes off her. “Yeah, I do.”

  “She’s not your usual type,” Harry said.

  “So you’ve said before.”

  “But you still like her.”

  “I do.”

  “You gonna make her ride along with you all day today?”

  “No,” Bryce said. “She’s got bruises all over her body.”

  “Does she now?”

  Bryce glanced over at Harry. “It’s not what you think.”

  “No?”

  “Not yet at least,” Bryce added.

  “You’re on your way to saying I do, if you don’t watch it.”

  Bryce turned toward his friend. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. I just met her.”

  “So? When’s that ever stopped a woman from dragging a man to the altar? Fact is, you’re what them dames call ‘a catch’. What makes you think she’s not after your money? Like Lana.”

  Ooo. Low blow, but one that was to be expected. Harry was his best friend, one who had his best interest at heart. “She’s nothing like Lana.” And she wasn’t. Lana had been like those vacation packages you’re sometimes offered: too good to be true.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because, Harry, if she was after my money, she wouldn’t have tossed me outta her hotel room last night.”

  One of Harry’s bushy brows rose. “So. She’s smarter than the rest. It’s called baiting the hook.”

  Bryce shook his head in exasperation. “And if she was like Lana, why does she wear those baggy jeans and big T-shirts.”

  “To get your interest up.”

  “No, you’re wrong. She not after me. I can tell. Why, she actually takes pleasure in insulting me.” He smiled, recalling some of her better barbs. “She’s just fighting the attraction. I get the feeling she doesn’t trust me or something.”

  “Would you trust you?”

  He stared at his friend a long moment. “Good question.”

  Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe there is something between the two’a you. I certainly can’t recall you ever going after a woman who looks like her.”

  “What do you mean, a woman who looks like her?” Bryce asked, instantly irritated.

  “You know. Not glitzy. Kind of a dog.”

  “She’s not a dog.”

>   Harry’s brows rose.

  “She’s gorgeous.” He turned back to watch her. “Just look at her. Those eyes. As green as fish tank rock. And her figure. Like ripe melons.” He outlined the shape of a woman with his hands. “And I just know she’s going to be something in bed. CJ’s the type of person who probably keeps it bottled up all day, then wham, catches you by surprise at night. Add in her spunky personality and she’s darn near perfect.” He turned back to his friend.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment. Trucks roared off in the distance, the crew moved around them, each man listening, no doubt, to their conversation.

  “You’ve got it bad, bud,” he said at last. “You’ve got it real bad.”

  Nah. Harry had it all wrong. He just really liked CJ. And Harry was blind if he didn’t see her beauty. His friend needed to look beneath the freckles to the women beneath. That was the woman Bryce’d gotten a glimpse of last night, the woman he found so damn attractive, despite the bruises. He’d hated seeing those bruises. She didn’t deserve bruises; she deserved champagne and caviar and warm, candle-lit baths. It was something he had a feeling she’d never had.

  But she would have it. Hell, he’d take her to his home in Aspen and show her how to take a real bath. He’d use the one in his master bedroom, the one with windows overlooking the mountains. Maybe light some candles. He’d heard women like candles, especially the smelly ones. Yeah. He got hard just thinking of it.

  He watched as CJ disappeared around the corner of a big rig. Now, if he could just convince her to come to Aspen with him.

  One step at a time, Bryce. One step at a time.

  A half hour later CJ entered the lounge after first making sure it wasn’t occupied. A blast of cool air hit her as she entered. Ahh. Air conditioning. After twenty-five minutes of wandering around in the heat, it felt like heaven. Leave it to a man to put air conditioning in a rolling garage, she thought, sitting down on the black leather couch taking up two walls of the room. Frankly, she was surprised there wasn’t a La-Z-Boy in here too.

  She leaned back, studying a drawing Daniel had made for them, the child’s squiggly signature in the bottom right corner. It said “Go Bryce” in thick, blue crayon, a wobbly edged drawing of a truck beneath it. Cute. Too bad it reminded her of a man she was trying very hard to forget. She leaned back and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and imagining she could smell that yummy Bryce smell.