Sweet Carolina

by Roz Lee

  Hell.

  “Well, shit.” He scrambled off her to sit on the edge of the bed. He jerked the drawer completely out of its mounting and began tossing random things to the floor.

  “No fire suit?” she asked.

  “I won't take no for an answer. There has to be one in here somewhere.” One lonely foil package caught his eye and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

  Caro's sweet smile and the sparkle in her eyes told him she was as relieved as he. He suited up and slid between her welcoming thighs.

  “Are you sure, Carolina?”

  Her hips rose and fell. “Yes, I'm sure.”

  He held himself above her on his forearms, cradling her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, now flushed with desire. Her earlier humor was gone, replaced by a tender invitation. “I can't wait any longer, Carolina.”

  “Don't,” she whispered.

  He claimed her mouth and her core in tandem.

  Heaven.

  She was hot and tight, and so damned wet he almost lost it. He nudged deeper and she let out a startled gasp. He used the opportunity to thrust his tongue past her lips, doing with it what he couldn't risk doing with his cock. Not yet. He would not go off like a teenager with his first girl. He wanted to make this last – forever.

  Caro returned his kiss, sucking his tongue, dueling and moaning low in her throat. Finally, he could take no more. He jerked his mouth from hers. “Oh fuck!”

  He moved, pulling out and plunging back in. Hard. Fast. Finesse and rhythm were beyond him. Nothing had ever felt this good, this right, this perfect. “Oh God, Carolina,” he clenched his jaw and rose above her, his hands braced either side of her shoulders. He dared to look at her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust. Her lips were swollen and wet from his kisses. In the back of his mind, he registered her legs anchored around his hips, her fingernails clinging to his back. And in her eyes, he saw a love he didn't deserve.

  “Dell,” she breathed.

  “Come for me, Caro.”

  A few more strokes and her body tensed. She drew her head back, exposing her neck to him. He bent, took a gentle bite, palming one breast. He arched his back, took the perfect mound into his mouth and sucked the nipple hard.

  She exploded beneath him. Dell released her breast, rose above her and throwing his head back, he rode her hard. Need drove him. Her body held him prisoner, claiming him as surely as he claimed her.

  His balls clenched tight. Sparks erupted in the small of his back and shot like a flash-fire through his groin. He came in great, heaving spurts that seemed to drain the very life from him. The pain was so sharp, it almost took him under, and would have if the pleasure hadn't been equal to it.

  “God almighty,” he swore as he collapsed on top of her. “Sweet, God almighty.”

  Hell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What the hell had he done?

  The muted sound of water sluicing down the drain did nothing to calm him. He envied every droplet now sliding down Caro's naked body and wished the tiny shower were big enough for two. The reality of Caro was more than he dreamed, and every bit a nightmare. Now that he'd had her, he couldn't give her up, but he couldn't keep her either. The world they lived in was too small to keep a relationship a secret, and if Caro were going to have any credibility as an owner, the rumors about them had to stay rumors.

  The water cut off and Dell grabbed a pair of jeans from the built-in dresser and pulled them on commando-style. Another drawer yielded a faded T-shirt he hastily pulled on. He congratulated himself on his restraint as he passed the bathroom door without stopping on his way to the front of the coach. Mindless of the time of day, he pulled a beer from the refrigerator and downed half of it in one pull.

  Focus. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and think. He had one goal – to win, and if he could take Warner out in the process, so much the better. Caro had nothing to do with anything. She was a means to a goal. A ride. He smiled at the pun. Yeah, she was quite the ride, everything a man needed, soft, warm, responsive. And for those glorious moments when he made love to her, he hadn't thought of anything but her and driving his cock into her mind-blowing heat.

  But he'd do well to remember she was his ride – professionally. Without her, there was no racing, and the track was the only place he had any business looking for satisfaction. No more Caro.

  The bathroom door opened and closed and Dell turned to see Caro striding up the narrow hallway toward him. She'd dressed in the clothes she came in, but now her hair was damp and the clothes a bit more wrinkled than normal wear could account for. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled. Her lips were swollen he noted, and she wore no makeup. She looked well fucked.

  Fuck it. His resolve blew a gasket. Who was he kidding? He wasn't giving Caro up. They'd have to be discreet. He could do discreet. She could come to his place, or better yet, he'd go to hers. He'd buy a plain car – something that wouldn’t attract attention parked in her driveway – something he normally wouldn't be caught dead in.

  She stopped just out of his reach. She'd finally come to her senses in the shower. As she stood there staring at Dell, knowing in intimate detail what was hidden beneath those sexy as hell tight jeans and T-shirt, she wondered why her good sense couldn’t have made an appearance when she really needed it – before she begged Dell Wayne to make love to her. And she had begged. That was something she wouldn't soon forget. Just like the feel of his hands, and his lips, and…well, she shouldn't go there again.

  “This was a mistake,” she said.

  Dell smiled and reached for her. She took a step back and held her hand up in a signal every idiot understood. Dell, thankfully, retreated. “Caro. Don't try to tell me it wasn't good.”

  Oh lord! The smug son-of-a-bitch would cut straight to the chase. Caro squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before answering.

  “No. I won't lie, Dell. I had a good time – the best time, actually, but it was wrong.” She brushed past him to the door. She paused with her hand on the latch and turned to him. It took her until the hot water ran out to come up with an excuse, and it was a darn good one, if she did say so herself.

  “You know how small this world is, and how NASCAR is all about family values. If anyone found out…well, I'd be ruined.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she high-tailed it out of there, half expecting him to try to stop her, and half wishing he would.

  Caro glanced around as she made her way out of Dell's motor coach. Relieved to see no one, she hurried across the campground toward the parking area where she'd left her car. Normally, she would have flagged down one of the track volunteers buzzing around in golf carts to take her out to the remote lot, but not today. She couldn't risk someone seeing and commenting on the state of her hair or her clothes. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out how she'd gotten this way. Whether they put two and two together to come up with Dell and her, it didn't matter. All that would matter was the equation. One variable was as bad as any other when it came to whom she slept with. That it happened at the track would only make it worse if anyone found out.

  Dell let her go. What choice did he have? She was right. Her reputation had to be above reproach in this business or the other owners would force her out, maybe NASCAR itself. On the other hand, he'd get slaps on the back and brownie points for screwing the boss. It wasn't fair, but that's the way things were around the track. Wasn't his dad's life proof enough? Caudell Senior slept with every track bunny who hopped into his line of vision, and he'd basked in the sunshine of masculine approval because of it.

  “Well, fuck,” Dell said, tossing his now empty beer bottle into the wastebasket.

  * * * *

  Her lady parts were still throbbing from Dell's attentions the next day when she set out for the owner's meeting. She checked and double-checked her appearance before leaving the hauler, as if she expected to find a big red letter “A” on her forehead. Assured she looked normal, as normal as any w
oman could in a roomful of mostly middle-aged men, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Heads turned as she made her way as close to the front as possible. Her size put her at a disadvantage among the men who were her counterparts, but she refused to be intimidated. She was one of them, and they'd better get used to it.

  Caro acknowledged a few of the other owners who spoke to her and waved at another across the room. Butch Renfro stood on the opposite side. She caught his eye and inclined her head in a polite, but not exactly friendly greeting. He smirked, then turned his attention to the man on his left. Caro inwardly shrugged; certain now Russell had delivered her message. She wasn't going to sell. Not unless there was no other option. She refused to dwell on how soon it might come to fruition.

  The meeting was as boring as ever and Caro found it difficult to concentrate on the agenda. Snippets of her time in Dell's bed kept creeping in, stealing her thoughts. Finally, the meeting was over. Caro waited her turn to file out the single door. Being near the front, she was one of the last to leave. She stepped out to find Butch Renfro waiting for her.

  “Ms. Hawkins,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

  Caro kept walking. “No, I'm afraid I don't.” Butch settled in beside her. “Besides, we don't have anything to discuss. I'm not selling.”

  “I admire your spunk, Carolina, but you and I both know this isn't any place for a woman. Your daddy knew it too. He must be turning over in his grave to see you dressed like that, hanging out with grease monkeys and the like.”

  Caro seethed at his chastising tone and picked up the pace, hoping he'd get the message and move on. When he continued to dog her steps, she stopped and turned to him. “Look, Mr. Renfro, I have no plans to sell, not to you or anyone else. You can insult my fashion choices all you want, but I'm not stupid enough to sit in the pit wearing anything other than a fire suit. As for my father, he had an antiquated viewpoint regarding a woman's place in this world, but I loved him anyway. Maybe he didn't want this life for me, but I aim to make him proud, and I'm going to do it by associating with some of the most talented and best-educated people I can. Just in case you don't know who I'm talking about, those are the people you erroneously refer to as grease monkeys.” She turned. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do before they wave the green flag.”

  She instantly put Renfro out of her mind when she strode into the garage – right into the middle of chaos. Dell's car had already been taken out for inspection. Instead of setting up their work area, her entire pit crew stood around, shouting at each other over the roar of engines on either side of their assigned stall. “What's going on?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard. Everyone stopped yelling and half a dozen heads turned her way.

  “Nothing, Ms. Hawkins.” This from the catch can man, and the youngest member of the pit crew.

  “Everything's under control, Caro,” Russell said.

  Caro eyed the silent group, uncertain whether she should ask more questions, or let the situation, whatever it was, resolve itself. They'd clammed up fast enough, which told her it was probably one of those inexplicable guy things – of which she'd already had plenty of for one day. “Okay, but we don't have time for this. The race starts in less than an hour.” She catalogued the faces and realized Dell wasn't among them. “Where's our driver?”

  “He's already gone out for the driver introductions and interviews,” Russell said. Caro nodded.

  “Good.” At least someone was doing his job. “Let's get a move on. I know the pit stops are scheduled in the All-Star race, but we still need to be on our toes. No messing around. Dell needs to win at least one of the heats.”

  She left to a chorus of “Yes, ma'ams.” After a stop in the hauler for her notebook, Caro made her way to their assigned pit stall. She had her foot on the first rung of the war wagon when an arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back, and over the wall onto the track.

  “Stand with me,” Dell said in her ear as he dropped her feet to the ground. “I don't want to be out here all alone.”

  Caro turned and frowned at him. “You could have just asked,” she said, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her fire suit.

  “You wouldn't have come,” he said. “I know you.” He placed a hand on the small of her back, gently turning her and compelling her to walk beside him. She complied rather than put up a fight to draw even more attention. “All the other owners are out here for the national anthem, you should be too.”

  “The other owners aren't me,” she said.

  Dell dipped his head close to hers. “What you mean is, the other owners aren't sleeping with their drivers,” he said. Her skin flushed with heat and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down on them. Dell's next words knocked her completely off balance. “But you don't know that for sure.”

  Caro laughed the rest of the way to Dell's car where he arranged her so they stood hip-to-hip, facing the flagpole. She was vaguely aware of cameras snapping around them, but Dell's ridiculous statement drained the tension from her body. He was right. There was nothing wrong with her standing with her driver during the pre-race festivities, Caro rationalized. So what if the spot she occupied was traditionally filled by wives and girlfriends – or husbands in rare cases. Some of the younger drivers invited their mothers to fill the spot.

  The ceremony came to an end, and Caro turned to wish Dell good luck. Before the words were out, he snaked an arm around her and brought her flush against his hard body. She instantly stiffened and tried to push away, but he held her tight. She looked up at him, a protest on her lips. Dell kissed her. Right in front of God and the elite of NASCAR. Her first instinct was to get away, but it lasted the span of one record lap around the track, no more, and then she kissed him back.

  As quickly as he grabbed her, he let her go. With a knowing smile, he hoisted himself through the car window and into the driver's seat. Caro watched in muted shock as he settled in and reached for his helmet. He paused, holding his helmet in his hands, and winked at her. “Wish me luck,” he said.

  Caro fumed. The sparks flying off her could have fired the engines on half the cars lined up to take the track. She took a step back as Dell heeded the order to start the engine. The roar of fifty high performance engines firing at the same time drowned out whatever retort her sizzled brain might have come up with, provided her brain was actually functioning – which it was not. The ground trembled beneath her feet, reminding her it was time to leave. Dell smiled at her, and with a flick of his fingers, shooed her away.

  * * * *

  Dell fired the engine and called himself all kinds of an idiot. He didn't know what came over him. One minute he was immersed in pre-race musings regarding strategy in a winner-take-all race like this one, and the next, he was sweeping Caro off her feet, and all because he'd caught a glimpse of her fire suit-clad ass. Hauling her out on the track to stand beside him wasn't so bad. He'd told the truth. Most of the owners were out there, so there wasn't any reason she shouldn't be too.

  What he hadn't expected was the way it felt to have her standing beside him – like he was some sort of gladiator and she was his woman. He made her laugh, and that made him ridiculously happy for some reason. She didn't laugh near enough these days. The Caro he remembered from their shared childhood laughed all the time. The sound of her laughter was like sunshine on the cold, dark places in his soul, and when it was time to send her on her way, he couldn't not kiss her.

  Her body language screamed at him to stop, and he was going to, but something shifted and she went all soft in his arms, kissing him back. God almighty, he was a knight in shining armor going to battle to defend the damsel in distress. It took all his strength to step away from her, and he soon found out folding himself into the seat with a hard-on was no picnic either.

  Damn. He needed to concentrate. With a million dollars at stake in the All-Star race, everyone took it seriously. He'd be a fool not to. He waved her away and dragged his thoughts back to where they belonged. Just because he
was hell-bent on giving away his inheritance didn't mean he wanted to live the life of a pauper. He needed money of his own, and a million dollars would go a long way toward his goal of living off his own winnings rather than his father's.

  The first twenty laps went without incident. The car handled well so he decided to skip the first optional pit stop in favor of possibly gaining track position. He'd love to win a million dollars, but there was a bonus purse for the winner of each twenty-lap segment too. Winning at least one would be good – preferably the last one. That would set him up as one of the first four to take the track after the mandatory pit stop before the final segment.

  He pitted after forty laps, took four new tires, and managed to maintain decent track position. Going into the final twenty-lap segment, Dell was in decent position to make a run for the lead. He squeezed past the last three cars between him and the race leader without incident, leaving him with a clear view of the lead car's bumper.

  “Drop low in turn two,” his spotter advised.

  “Roger that,” Dell said. It was a sound strategy. Stater had taken the high groove on that turn the entire race, so if Dell kept his car in the low groove, he should be able to slip underneath and take the lead.

  Dell bided his time. He only needed to be in the lead for the last lap – that was the only one that counted. Fifteen laps in, he made his move. Stater went high. Dell slid low and throttled up as much as he dared. It wasn't enough. Stater came out of the turn, throttled up a fraction of a second earlier than Dell and slipped back down in front of Dell on the backstretch.

  Dell cursed and nosed up on Stater's bumper – fair warning he meant business. Stater took the warning to heart, and Dell made three more futile attempts to arrest the lead. With two laps to go, Dell threw caution to the wind.