The Race

by Alice Ward

  Crap. I was being a bitch.

  Instantly sorry, I jingled the thing on my wrist. “Oh, I am. It’s just that I don’t usually wear jewelry. I don’t like it.”

  He looked at me like I was an alien from another planet. I knew, a woman who didn’t like jewelry probably didn’t exist in his pretty-boy world, but he didn’t remark on it. He simply lifted another present out of his bag. What was this, Christmas? “Present number two.”

  I stared at it, not wanting to take it off his hands. It was another box, this one with a green ribbon, but it was almost the exact same size of the other one, which worried me. One of them wasn’t enough? I needed to wear two?

  “Don’t you want it?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “I’m afraid, after the last one.”

  He pushed it onto my lap. “Go ahead.”

  I opened it reluctantly. The picture on the box told me what it was. “A cell phone,” I whispered.

  He grinned. “Welcome to the technological age.”

  “Oh.” I stared at the blank screen that was as big as my foot. “I don’t know how to—”

  “It’s all powered up and ready to go. You just turn it on, and it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Is this so that you can keep tabs on me at all times?”

  His grin grew wider. “Partly. It’s more because I was thinking that you’d probably want a way to get in touch with your family while you’re away from them.”

  I smiled at that. It was actually a good thing because I already missed them.

  We drove through to the entrance of a small airport, and I glanced out the window at the small building. I looked for a runway, but my eyes widened when I saw the helicopter. “Okay. You can just turn around and take me back. I am not flying in that thing.”

  His jaw sagged. “You drive at speeds of nearly two hundred miles per hour, and you’re afraid of a helicopter?”

  “Hell, yes. At least we stay on the ground.” I hugged myself as the limo came to a stop, and the contraption on my arm started to buzz, indicating my suddenly skyrocketing heartrate. I thrust my arm in front of his face so he could see it. “See? That’s the warning bell. Warning me not to get on that flying mousetrap.”

  The driver opened the door, and I stepped outside as my wrist warden kept buzzing. I was this close to ripping it off and stomping on it. Locke came up casually beside me, took my wrist, pressed a button, and the thing stopped vibrating. With a smirk on his face, he tugged on my elbow and led me toward the whirling deathtrap. The rotors spun overhead, and I ducked down instinctively as he led me to the door.

  He sat me down and fastened my seatbelt, stuck a headset on my head. He picked up another headset and put it over his ears. I jumped when his voice filled my ears. “Emma, this is Joe, and he’s been my pilot for six years. Before that, he flew in the navy. Joe, this is Emma, our newest Like a Girl spokesperson. She’s a virgin, so go easy on her.”

  I scowled at him as the wind from the propellers continued to whip my hair around. Oh god, I was truly going to have a heart attack.

  “Aye-aye, captain,” the pilot said, smiling at me. He looked a little like my father, so I immediately relaxed. A little.

  I was even fairly calm when we rose straight into the sky.

  When a stiff wind hit the side of the helicopter, we jerked violently to one side. I stiffened, my fingers latching onto the armrest until my knuckles were white.

  Locke, sitting beside me, put a warm hand on my gooseflesh-covered knee. I felt a jolt of electricity spike all the way up to my core. He leaned in and said in a low, sexy voice, “That’s normal. Just relax. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  I knew he only meant it from a business standpoint because I was one of his very expensive properties, but I liked it nonetheless.

  Scratch that, I loved it. And I wanted his hand to stay there. In fact, I wanted both of his hands on me, and on more places than just my knee.

  But he removed it a second later.

  As we sailed over the lights of the airport, I decided it wasn’t so bad. We usually took the camper to every race we went to, which limited my vision of my surroundings. Seeing the whole world spread before me, frightening though it was, was kind of cool.

  “Are we already in Daytona?” I asked when we landed an hour later. Damn, that was quick.

  “It’s Charleston,” he said, pulling the headset off and reaching over to unbuckle me.

  I frowned. “Okay, but why—”

  “My favorite restaurant is here.”

  So, in Locke Cage’s perfect little la-la-world, going out for dinner meant jet-setting across state lines to get his best girly, flavorless meal. I rolled my eyes. “Not McDonald’s, then?”

  We got into another fancy looking car that took us down to the harbor, where there were narrow cobblestone streets. The owner of this place, Magnolia’s, knew him too. When we were seated at a candlelit table for two overlooking the harbor, I couldn’t help thinking how romantic it looked. Maybe he did this with all his new associates, but I shivered as the waiter put a napkin in my lap. “This is cozy,” I said, feeling awkward.

  He grinned at me across the table. “They don’t have burgers here.”

  I looked down at the menu, then licked my lips as a bread basket appeared. “But they have bread,” I said triumphantly, grabbing a roll and slathering it with butter as he watched, that frown back in place. “Why do you hate carbs so much?”

  “I like complex ones,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “Simple, not so much.”

  What? I stared at him, wondering if he was serious. “You’re about as annoying as this thing.” I waved the CageFree in his face. “You got to live a little, boy.”

  “That a challenge?”

  I looked up from my roll to find him watching me closely, and my stomach twisted deep and low. “Maybe. Tell me that wasn’t your first stock car race.”

  He nodded. “I confess. You just popped my stock car racing cherry back there.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I liked you,” he admitted. “I liked watching you. You were impressive, Miss James.”

  He had me on the verge of blushing, something I promised myself I wouldn’t do. But god, he was attractive in his blazer, in the candlelight, dashing and debonair, like something out of one of those men’s magazines. I’d always thought those men were not my style, but I’d definitely begun to change my tune.

  “Before we got to Daytona, I wanted to fill you in on a few of the demands of your contract,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “There was one thing I wanted to clarify.”

  I nodded, wondering if this was where the dream fell apart, and they told me that I’d have to pose nude or sell my soul or wear tons of jewelry or any one of the many things I simply refused to do.

  “We’re working on the arm for Brody,” he said, tenting his hands on the table in front of him. “But it’s only an arm in the sense that it’ll help him to perform the duties as pit chief. I’m told custom builds for racing cars are entirely different, and more expensive, possibly in the range of mid-six figures. And that’s not a part of the deal, as it’s your racing career we’re interested in, not his.”

  I frowned. “Fine. Then I’ll just have to win the money to pay for his custom build with my first race.”

  He grinned. “You seem so sure of yourself.”

  “Well, Mr. Cage. Popular opinion is, I’m not worthy competition, but I’ve always gone with the unpopular opinion. It’s more fun that way.” I tapped the table with my fingers. “You said it yourself. If I was a natural at this, I’d have been born a man.”

  He smiled. “As I recall, your brother responded to that one. How would you have responded?”

  I laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t mean to be crass, but I’ll give you a hint. It starts with fuck and ends with you.”

  I expected him to get upset, but he didn’t. He just lifted his glass of wine and held
it up, and we toasted. “I think this is going to be a very interesting racing season,” he said.

  After dinner, we got back into the helicopter, and this time, we went straight to Daytona. An hour later, I was bushed. The day had been never-ending, what with an early rise to get ready, the race, the celebration… hell, I felt like I’d left my dad and Brody eons ago. I couldn’t stop yawning. Another limo, this time a gorgeous Audi A8 extended, drove us downtown as he explained the schedule for tomorrow. Turned out, I’d have to be up at the crack of ass to get ready for the shoot.

  The shoot. Like I was some damn model. I’d seen the other Like a Girl ads, and they were good, all black-and-white, the women fierce, sweaty, determined… hot. Right then, I could probably pull off sweaty, but that was it.

  “Fine,” I grouched. “Just show me to a bed.”

  We stopped at a high-rise. It didn’t look like a hotel, and according to a sign, we’d arrived at Luxury Condominium Living. When we got to the top floor, the door opened up to a huge, wide space adorned with modern furnishings. About twenty of my house-over-the-shop could’ve fit in this one room. He dropped my bag in the foyer and turned on an overhead light, making the place look even bigger. I walked about, meandering to a couple of sliding doors that led to a cavernous bedroom. The whole place was walled in windows, and it was so pristine and huge and… perfect for a my-shit-don’t-stink man like him.

  I whirled to him. He was leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me, watching for my expression, eyes intent.

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Wait. Um. I’m sorry. When I said I wanted to go to bed, I didn’t mean your bed. I’m… this isn’t… I meant my own hotel room.”

  “This is your bed,” he said, turning on a light that illuminated it more fully. “All of it is yours.”

  “You mean…?”

  The truth hit me. This was my place. My own apartment.

  I knew he’d get me top-of-the-line everything, and while most of the stuff I thought was overkill… this?

  This. Was. Awesome.

  For a girl who’d owned nothing more than a hand-me-down mattress in a closet-sized bedroom in a crappy house in Wintersburg, this was beyond what I’d dreamed of. Everything in here was mine. I walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress. It was a king-sized bed, delightfully fluffy, and easily the size of my bedroom back home. All mine. There were about a thousand pillows atop the bed, when at home, I’d only used one. Every one of them, even the girly round one that didn’t look comfy at all, was mine. The pictures of seashells on the wall? Mine! Everything about this place was so extra. And all mine!

  I spun around the place like that chick on the mountain in “The Sound of Music,” wanting to break into song while replaying Brody’s words to me again and again. This is your one shot. Be grateful for all of it. “Wow.”

  He smiled. “Your driver will be outside at six. Enjoy.”

  When he pushed away from the doorjamb and turned, panic seized me. “You’re going?”

  He stopped at once. “You don’t want me to?”

  The windows overlooked the dark city. A city I’d spent so little time in, a city full of strangers. I’d never truly slept alone before. Even when we traveled, I’d always had someone snoring nearby in the camper, or in a room just next-door at the hotel. I hugged myself. “I just… not yet.”

  What the hell was wrong with me? I was a grown woman. Like he said, I raced at speeds near two hundred miles per hour and never had a fear when most people would’ve run screaming from that. And yet something about me needed him.

  So he couldn’t see my pathetic neediness, I whirled and looked out the window. “So this is Daytona? What am I looking at out here?”

  He opened another set of sliding doors to the outside and led me out to a balcony. I shivered, but the breeze was warm and pleasant. He went right up to the railing, but I stood back, fidgeting, gooseflesh on my bare shoulders. “You’re afraid of heights?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just…”

  Terrified of them.

  He nodded back as if he understood. Then he took my hand and gently helped me toward the railing, where the lights were laid out beneath us. He held me in front of him, cradling me between the railing and his hard body, and though we were at a dizzying height, I felt safe. I felt his breath on my ear. “That,” he said, pointing at the line of midnight blue against the horizon, “Is the ocean.”

  “Oh, really?” I turned my head to give him a duh look, but we were too close, so I kept my sarcasm to myself.

  He pointed to the left, to a dark area that broke the thousands of little lights below. “Out there is headquarters. I’ll show you the training center too. It’s not far from there.” His hand came back and brushed against my breast. The nipple stiffened. My breath hitched. Oh, god.

  I leaned my back into his chest, savoring the feeling. He was like one solid wall of muscle. “Where is the speedway?”

  “Behind us. The amusements and the boardwalk are over there — see those lights?”

  I nodded.

  “And that, over there,” he pointed to the right, his breath tickling me, his voice husky and low, “is the Streamline Hotel. That is said to be where NASCAR was born. I should take you there. They make a good burger.”

  “Really?” I breathed, leaning into him. I wasn’t listening at that moment. It could have been pure gibberish because the only thing I was aware of now was his presence. I was drowning in it, and content to continue that descent.

  He didn’t finish, because at that moment his mouth was on my neck, and he was kissing me there. I tilted my head to the side to give him more room to roam, and he used it. He licked his way over to the bones of my vertebra, coming in contact with the tie for my halter.

  He pulled once on the tie, letting it free. Then he kissed me again and lowered my top, his hands delving under the fabric, finding my breasts. “Emma,” he growled, running the pad of his thumb over each nipple.

  Then he whirled me around. His eyes locked on mine and a thrill of exhilaration surged through me. My heart pounded, and my fingers trembled as I slowly traced the outline of his perfect, full lips. Desire pooled like hot lava in his eyes, and the touch of his skin was pure electricity.

  Without hesitation, our mouths came together. The second my lips connected with his, that scared feeling of being a stranger in a strange city went away. Now, I knew I was in the right place.

  I kissed him softly at first, savoring the feel of him, the warm smoothness of his lips and feel of stubble on his skin. He was even more beautiful up close. I lifted my hands to his face, discovering the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, drinking him in with every one of my senses. Our tongues danced together, slowly, seductively, his thick, muscular arms tightening around me, crushing me to his rock-hard chest.

  I arched up against him, claiming his mouth with my own power while Locke groaned into my mouth. The sound sent me spiraling, shivering, and I felt heat surging straight between my thighs. His hands gripped me tighter around my waist, and I felt his control with every ragged breath.

  Dizzy and reeling, lost in a rush of fire, I didn’t come up for air until I absolutely had to, until I couldn’t tell whether the fire in my chest was from lack of breath or from him. When I did, he nudged my halter down, pushed me up against the wall of the balcony as his hands molded around my breasts.

  “I didn’t bring you here to fuck you,” he growled into my skin as his tongue trailed down my jawline.

  I wasn’t sure. It was clear Locke Cage had many, many admirers, and probably got a lot of sex. But did it matter what his reasoning was? I wanted this. Wanted more of him. As much as I could get.

  “Do it anyway,” I murmured back.

  That was all the permission he needed. He pushed the makeshift dress down over my hips, and it puddled at my feet. His hands were everywhere, roaming over my back, fondling my breasts. I slid my hands under his shirt and… holy chest. Holy abs. Holy everything. My sto
mach twisted as my fingers explored the strength of him, the ridges and valleys. There wasn’t an ounce of flab anywhere.

  He pulled his shirt over his head, and as much as I wanted to feel his skin against mine, my eyes just wanted to feast on the glory that was his naked upper half. He was incredibly cut, tanned, with just a little reddish hair smattered over his pectorals. I ran my fingers through the warm field of hair, then pulled him to me, bringing our bare skin deliciously together. The heat was almost too much, sending the rest of my body screaming for more.

  He kissed me desperately, hungrily, leaving my knees weak but every pore in my body operating on full overload as he kneaded my breasts. Dipping his head down, his lips closed over one taut nipple, and he sucked.

  I lost it. Control. My will. Everything but my need as I arched into him, wanting more.

  “Oh, god,” I murmured, sliding my hands through his hair. “Oh god.”

  Where only moments before I was tired and sleepy, I was now wide awake, hungry for more. Maybe I should’ve been nervous, but when Locke sank to his knees, kneading my ass, dragging his lips down my belly, hips, and thigh, I wasn’t. “You’re so beautiful,” he said against the cotton of my pink thong.

  And that was all the courage I needed. I threw my head back as his open mouth trailed down my body, delivering kisses between my legs, and…

  He stopped.

  Just like that, his hands loosened their grip on my ass, and he looked up at me. “Dammit,” he said, looking miserable and beautiful at once.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Pushing to his feet, he shoved all ten fingers through his hair as he paced away from me. Grabbing up his shirt, he thrust an arm into a sleeve before meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry. This was wrong. I shouldn’t… I… dammit. I’m sorry.”

  His apology was like a punch in the gut. Slowly, I covered my breasts with my arms. “But I wanted it too.”

  The other arm was in, and he stopped the process of buttoning to run a hand down his face. “The wanting isn’t wrong, Emma. The acting on it is. You’re my property… business property. Not property for me to… dammit.”

  I felt his struggle, and I still wanted him. My clit was pulsating, my nipples stiff and aroused. I was so wet, so ready for him, and he was clearly… not.