Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports)

by Fox, Sutton

  Whew, it was hot. Beads of sweat ran down her back and between her breasts. She tented her hand over her eyes and looked slowly up at him. Light brown hair curled around the edges of his shirt where it opened at the neck. Her fingers itched to touch it, to see if it was a soft as it looked. Would it swirl in lovely whorls down that flat stomach?

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “I, uh… I’m fine, thanks.” Get a grip, Blade. “We just need some gas. We’ll be fine.”

  He reached for the gas can as she stood there like an idiot. “I’ll just give you a hand with this, then. It looks heavy.”

  She could hear the poor little lady tone in his voice. It was like being doused with cold water. “I said I’m fine. Don’t bother getting your clothes dirty.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll hold the funnel for you.” He walked toward the back of the truck with the gas can and funnel, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  She reached the truck and stepped in front of him. Cell phone still in hand, Lynn was staring through the back window at the man, her mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

  What was her problem? Kansans were good people. They didn’t mind stopping to help the weary traveler. She’d been through here often enough to know. There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.

  She removed the gas cap and grabbed the funnel out of his hand, quickly shoving it in the receptacle without looking. “Hold this, I’ll pour the gas.”

  “Are you on your way to a race?” As he held the funnel, she saw him glance back at the side of the trailer emblazoned with a neon-green number seventy-one riding high atop her sponsor’s logo.

  Morgan did her best to reel in her frustration, wrapping her professional demeanor around her like a protective blanket. That’s it, close off the feelings and paste on the sunny smile. Yep, got it down pat. Experience had taught her over the years that race fans came from all walks of life. She smiled up at him while she poured the gas from the container into the funnel. “As a matter of fact, I am. Are you a fan of auto racing?”

  *

  Fan, my ass, Tyler thought irritably. This one was going to be a handful; he could see it coming. He had just gotten off the phone with his irate director, calling to report that Morgan had “slipped away” from the track. They’d no idea where to look for her in such a rural setting. It was dumb luck that she’d broken down on I-70, the main route through Kansas, or he wouldn’t have been able to find her, either.

  The last thing he needed was to have to babysit wayward contestants. According to the rules, he could kick her off the show right now. Make her an example to the others to keep them in line.

  He looked down at her soft smiling lips. No lipstick stained the dusty pink color. The supple muscles in her arms bunched and stretched when she lifted the gas can. It looked like she did this sort of stuff all the time. His attention was captured by her lacy bra, visible through her thin white t-shirt. It provided the perfect framework for breasts that looked as though they wanted to pour gloriously out of captivity.

  Whoa, boy. She was far prettier than film gave her credit for. The camera hadn’t caught the energy she exuded. It was like standing too close to the heat of a midnight campfire—you knew it could burn you, but it felt too good, and it was too beautiful to back away. Heat sluiced its way through his skin and wrapped him in tight knots of lust.

  He admired her bravado. She didn’t appear at all nervous or afraid of being broken down on the side of the road. Quite capable, really, she didn’t need his help. It was refreshing, considering where he came from. Women were always throwing themselves at him, calling because their car had broken down, or with some other tenuous excuse to meet him for dinner.

  The blonde in the truck continued to stare at him. She had recognized him. He could tell by the look on her face. The emotions were always the same: at first eagerness and excitement, then willingness, and then they became predators. He was starting to feel like gator bait. He could see the toothy jaws opening wide to snap him up. Run.

  This was bad. For a brief moment it had felt so good; he’d felt so alive. Dammit, he couldn’t do it this way. It wasn’t in his plan. His plans revolved around Annie. He had to take care of her. After the last three years of hell, she needed him. She needed the love and support of his family, and so did he. He would be there for her, no matter what he had to deny himself.

  In three months, this woman and her friend would be a memory. He needed to make sure she kept her distance, and everything would be fine. There were so many things he could be doing right now besides rescuing damsels in distress, especially when they didn’t need it or want it. She was looking at him like she expected something.

  Oh yeah, an answer to her question.

  *

  “Can’t say I do or don’t like racing. I’ve only recently had the opportunity to see any racecar drivers. They’re not people I usually meet in my line of work.”

  She vaguely wondered what kind of work he did. Was he a lawyer, a banker, an accountant? Each one reminded her of being closed in, locked inside a box while life passed them by. No thanks, not for her. Getting through school had been bad enough, long hours spent in class after class. She preferred the racetrack, or the open road. Open roads conveniently made for getting to the next racetrack, of course.

  More interested in what was under his fancy shirt, she raised her eyes to his and stepped a bit closer to him. She moved in so near, her butt was lightly touching his thigh. He smelled warm and spicy, like hot cinnamon rolls. Oh, mama. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  Normally she didn’t have much time for men in her life. Funny, considering there were mostly just men in her life. Maybe, just maybe, there would be a big fat exception made for this one. Did he taste as good as he smelled? Thinking about the places she’d like to lick made her warm and wet. She smiled again. “What line of work would that be?”

  Smelling gas, they both looked down at the same time.

  “Well, I—hey!” he yelled, as gasoline poured all over his sleek leather loafers.

  Mortified, Morgan dropped the gas can and jumped back as he yanked the funnel out of the receptacle. She looked at the opening, and realized there was nothing attached to the inlet. There was no gas tank on this side of the truck. What the hell?

  Damon.

  She suddenly remembered her little brother had removed the tank on this side at the beginning of the week because it had a small hole in it. He’d promised to get a replacement from the junkyard or try to repair this one. Obviously, he had forgotten. With everything that had been going on, she hadn’t remembered to ask him about it, either.

  She briefly contemplated what life would be like as an only child and looked at her knight in shining armor.

  Standing on one leg, cursing a blue streak in his deep southern-fried voice and trying to peel a soggy wet sock off of his other foot, he scowled.

  She laughed.

  Chapter 4

  She laughed so hard her sides ached. Bent over at the waist, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m so sorry.” She hiccupped out a breath, standing upright.

  He stood there, six feet of gorgeous, irritated man. Hopping back and forth from foot to foot. Why was he doing that? Uh oh. The sun-baked pavement had to be really hot on his bare feet.

  “Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the trailer, running the few steps it took to get there. His hand felt warm and firm, wrapped protectively around her smaller one. She let go of it at the open door and stepped up inside the hot shadowed interior.

  Without the chassis inside, it looked like a big empty shoebox on wheels, dusty black and white linoleum floor, with tools and open shelves across the front. He stepped in right behind her, light as a cat.

  The early evening wind whipped across the plains and blew the smell of cinnamon into the open doorway with them. Why couldn’t he smell like old sneakers?

  “You didn’t burn your feet, did you?” Morga
n dug into one of the open crates on the shelf and handed him a cylinder of baby wipes. “This should help clean them up until we can get you to a bathroom.” The trailer vibrated with the passing of another semi.

  She pushed a very large tire with a polished aluminum rim onto its side and slid it through a shaft of fading sunlight in his direction. “Have a seat.”

  He sat gingerly on the edge of the tire and opened the top of the wipes.

  She pulled one out, knelt down and reached for his foot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m cleaning the gas off your feet.”

  He swung his foot out of her reach, slanting to the side. “Oh no, you are not. I can clean my own damn feet.” He still sounded pissed. ”Do you always go around washing strange men’s feet?” He took off his sunglasses with his free hand and pocketed them in one smooth swipe. Light angled through the doorway revealing vivid blue eyes, narrowed in speculation.

  “Jeez. I said I was sorry. Here.” She dropped the wipe, and stood back up. “Get the gas off them, now. It’s not good for your skin.”

  She folded her arms under her breasts, leaned against the shelving and watched him cleanse one foot and then the other. His feet were long and lean, well proportioned, just like the rest of him.

  “On the four-one-one, I don’t ever wash any man’s feet. I screwed up, and was trying to make amends.” She wouldn’t deny the strange urge she had to touch him, but his feet? Eewww! She’d been out in the sun too long.

  The crew was waiting for her back at the restaurant, along with her parents. She didn’t really have time to waste on this guy, even if he was hot. “If you’re finished, tell me where you keep your extra pair of shoes and I’ll get them out of your car for you.”

  “How do you know I have extra shoes?” He looked at her like she’d sprouted two heads.

  This would teach her to check the gas tank. Nothing like having inane conversation with strangers on the side of the road to brighten your day.

  “Well, call out the FBI. You don’t look like Kansas, and you sure don’t sound like Kansas. It’s just a lucky guess on my part.” She shrugged her shoulders, and turned to reach into another crate.

  She handed him a Sharpie marker and a notebook she’d dug out. “While you’re waiting, if you jot down your name and address I’ll send you the replacement cost for your shoes and socks.”

  “My shoes are in the gym bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat.”

  Morgan stepped quickly out of the trailer, glad to put some distance between her and… well, hell. She didn’t want distance. She wanted to wrap herself in that warm cinnamon smell, and purr. What was up with that? She hadn’t reacted this way to a guy in as long as she could remember. Morgan shivered, having a visceral response to his scent, much stronger than any she’d experienced before. It felt as if her hormones were racing along in high gear, compelling her to leave common sense far behind.

  The sun hung, pale red now, low in the western sky, the last of its warm fingers caressing her skin as she moved toward his shiny silver car. Acres of ripe sunflowers stood in rows next to the highway with yellow heads bowed, ready for the long hot day to slither into a peaceful cool night.

  She breathed deeply, enjoying the warm fresh air. She loved sunsets. Everywhere she traveled, they were different. Each held its own beauty. She never tired of looking at them.

  The gym bag lay on the floor, right where he’d said it would be. On the seat, his cell phone rang on top of a briefcase.

  Morgan looked at it, debating whether or not to answer. The name Annie appeared on the display, and the chirping stopped. It was a good thing. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone else’s girlfriend. Still feeling guilty for the gas incident, she grabbed the phone along with his running shoes and headed back to the trailer.

  “Here are your shoes.” She handed them to him through the open doorway. “Your phone was ringing, so I brought that too.” Could she be any more accommodating? Sheesh.

  Morgan watched him check the name on the phone and smile. The man calmed down immediately. It was like watching ruffled feathers settle. Wow. If only she could have that effect on a guy. He pressed a button on the phone and looked at her.

  “Thanks. I’ll be done in a second.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She left him sitting on the tire and walked toward the truck. Some knight in shining armor he turned out to be. One phone call and she was history. She grabbed the funnel along with the gas can and trudged around to the other side. Where, hopefully, there would be a gas tank.

  Lynn leaned over from the passenger seat to roll down the window. “Is everything okay back there? He looked pretty upset.”

  “Oh, it’s just super. I poured gas all over his shoes and now he’s talking to his girlfriend on the phone.” Why that irritated her, she had no idea. He had every right to be upset. “Just hang right there, I’ll finish up here and we’ll be on our way.”

  She didn’t need rescuing, anyway. But damn it, couldn’t she want to be rescued? By a rich, good-looking guy?

  *

  “Okay, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Tyler clicked off the phone and slipped it in his pocket. He walked around to the front of the trailer just in time to see Morgan twist the gas cap on the driver’s side. He didn’t care if she’d overheard his conversation.

  She picked up the can and funnel and walked around toward him.

  He reached out to take them from her and she shrugged him off.

  “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  He followed her as she practically stomped to the trailer to put the stuff away. What the heck was she upset about? It wasn’t like he’d ruined her three-hundred-dollar shoes. If she wanted to be upset, he might as well help her out.

  “Where were you going?”

  She looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean where was I going?”

  “Where were you going when you ran out of gas?” He repeated the question patiently, like he was talking to a child.

  “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

  “It’s my business, all right. You weren’t supposed to leave the racetrack and here you are, gallivanting all over the countryside, doing who-knows-what. You did read a copy of the contest rules?”

  Her jaw dropped and her lovely brown eyes went even wider. He had the most potent urge to taste those lips, stroke her jaw, to see how quickly he could turn the surprise to passion. She was so slight he could probably pick her up with one arm. The energy of arousal growled, unwelcome, inside him, like a lion scenting his mate.

  “Contest rules? Just who the hell are you?”

  He watched her shoulders stiffen with suspicion, which only made her breasts more prominent. Her nipples hardened in the breeze, presenting themselves proudly for his inspection. His fingers itched to reach for the tiny points, to stroke and fondle.

  Down, boy. He thought he’d left his straining libido in California. Go figure. This wasn’t the time or place to be stupid. He’d been there and done that already.

  “While we’re on the subject, why are you shutting out the camera crew? When you signed on as a contestant, you gave them permission to film you in any way necessary, for the good of the show. Have you changed your mind about being on the show?”

  Perverse pleasure hummed through him as he watched her steam up. Morgan didn’t appear the least bit afraid of him and certainly wasn’t backing down. Surrounded by a halo of fading sunlight, she appeared almost mystical. Tyler wondered if sparks would fly from her fingertips. With curling sable hair blowing in the wind, not a speck of make-up on her smooth skin, she was amazing.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind. I ask again, who are you to think you can question me like this? It’s none of your damn business where I was going, or what I was doing.”

  “The minute you signed on, you became my business.” It would be better for him if she stayed mad. When she found out who he was, she’d be upset all over ag
ain. Perhaps she’d be more stand-offish, maybe keep her distance.

  He had enough going on right now handling the rest of the contestants and camera crews. This was proving to be the most complicated show yet. Since the locations would constantly change, every team required their own crew for filming. The logistics were a nightmare, a far different animal than having everyone in one place. “I can have you removed from the show for breaking the rules.”

  He saw her eyes widen just a bit along with the surprised moue of her mouth. She actually took a step away from him. If he hadn’t been watching for it, he’d have missed her reaction completely.

  He’d give her credit for quick reflexes, though. She looked out over the fields, inhaled, and gathered her thoughts in a flash.

  “I don’t know who you are, or what you think you know about me or anything else. If you’re not too busy kicking me off of your show, take some time out for yourself, so you can kiss my ass.”

  “Now there’s a pleasant thought.” He grinned wickedly at her, suddenly in a much better mood. “Kissing your ass.”

  He had himself a time, watching the emotions careen across her face. He’d love to kiss her pretty little butt. Oh man, he’d be keeping that thought to himself.

  Evidently she didn’t agree. She slammed the trailer door and locked it. Then she stomped off toward her truck without a backward glance at him. He couldn’t help himself. He had to needle her one more time.

  “Morgan,” he called out, demanding her attention. “I expect to see you at the screen test in Charlotte on Monday!”

  He expected her to stop or slow down, but she kept walking, turned halfway around and flipped him the bird, never slowing her pace.

  The invitations were just getting better and better. If it weren’t for Annie, he’d give some serious thought to taking her up on them.

  She was hiding something. He could feel it.

  He laughed all the way back to his car.

  *

  Morgan hopped in the truck and slammed the door. She fastened her seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition, pumped the accelerator and the truck started right up.