by Lynn Turner
‘That wasn’t what I meant!’ Mal snapped. ‘Lord, I don’t know why I even bother to talk to you.’ He sounded fed up, as if he had reached the limit of his patience. ‘We’ve gone far enough. Turn the car around and head back.’
Abbie felt a faint prickle of alarm. The road was too narrow for a U-turn, which meant that she had to back up a couple of times to get the Shelby pointed back in the direction they’d come. When she looked over her right shoulder to make sure she wasn’t reversing straight into a ditch, she managed to sneak a quick glance at Mal’s profile. What she saw caused her alarm to escalate.
The sight of a full moon threw his head and shoulders into stark relief. He was staring straight ahead, his posture rigidly erect. Angry tension emphasised the thrust of his jaw, while the full curve of his lower lip had all but disappeared.
‘I’m sorry.’ From the corner of her eye, she saw Mal’s head swivel toward her in surprise. ‘You’re right—sometimes I do come on like the knee-jerk variety of feminist. It’s a conditioned response, I guess.’
She could feel him watching her in the silence that followed her sincere, if reluctant, apology. She knew when his gaze traced the line of her nose, the curve of her jaw. She was aware of the exact instant when his attention shifted to her breasts. They responded as if he’d touched them with his fingertips, instead of his eyes. She was grateful for the darkness that concealed her erect nipples and the hot flush that accompanied them.
‘A woman as good-looking as you probably has to put up with a lot of… bull.’
The quiet observation surprised Abbie. ‘Close enough,’ she murmured wryly.
‘I guess after a while it starts to get to you.’
She sighed. ‘Yes. I know I shouldn’t let it, but it does. You’d be surprised how many Neanderthals are running around loose in this country.’
Mal’s only reply was a non-committal grunt. Neither of them spoke again until after the Shelby had been reloaded on to the trailer, and then the conversation was limited to the car.
‘There are some last-minute things I need to see to,’ he told her. ‘I may be here for quite a while yet. You might as well go on up to the house and get some sleep.’
‘All right,’ Abbie murmured, knowing full well that she wouldn’t go to bed until she’d finished bringing her notes up to date. She started to turn toward the house, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the way he was standing, his shoulders slightly hunched and his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans. Purely on impulse, she asked, ‘Is there anything I could do to help you get the car ready?’
Mal’s expression went blank with surprise for a moment before a faint smile briefly touched his mouth. ‘I appreciate the offer, but most of what’s left to do falls into the category of fine-tuning. Besides, you probably won’t get much rest during the next couple of days. You’d better grab a few hours’ sleep while you can.’
Abbie felt oddly disappointed.
‘OK,’ she murmured. But when she started to leave for the second time, Mal suddenly clasped her arm to stop her.
‘Wait.’
Abbie gave him a questioning look. She tried not to appear too hopeful.
He released her arm and stuck his hand back into the front pocket of his jeans. Abbie noted the creases that had reappeared between his heavy brows and the way his lips were slightly pursed. His hesitation couldn’t have lasted more than ten or fifteen seconds, but, by the time he finally spoke, she had prepared herself for the worst.
‘Listen, about what happened before … when I made that crack about the helmet. I guess I was out of line, but I want you to know that I never intended to insult or offend you.’
His level gaze never wavered. He seemed to expect some kind of response.
‘I—er … well… actually, I wasn’t all that insulted,’ Abbie muttered, then added with wry honesty, ‘Or offended. To tell the truth, I was more fed up than anything else.’
Mal nodded solemnly. ‘Because of the way I manipulated you, you mean?’
Abbie opened her mouth to say yes, but just then Deke called out a question about the Shelby—something concerning an adjustment to the intake valves.
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Mal called back. He didn’t bother to look at Deke when he made the reply, so he wasn’t aware that three of the mechanics had come out of the garage and were gathered around the car.
‘Being fed up is something I can relate to,’ he drawled as if there’d been no interruption. ‘I don’t like to be manipulated either. Look, I’ll understand if you’d rather not do that favour I asked—no hard feelings, I won’t carry a grudge or anything. But I would like to know what to expect when we go into town tomorrow, so I’d appreciate it if you’d give me an answer now.’
His willingness to admit that he’d been out of line surprised Abbie. The fact that he was making an effort to mend fences impressed her. She only hesitated a moment before giving him his answer.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll do it.’
She couldn’t help smiling a little at his startled expression. Obviously, he’d anticipated a definite ‘no’. He recovered quickly, though, returning her smile as he offered his hand. Abbie started to take it, then changed her mind.
‘We have an audience,’ she murmured. ‘Deke and three of your master mechanics.’
‘They’re watching us?’
‘Avidly.’
‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘That means Deke’s been shooting his mouth off.’
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost to Abbie. Not so many hours ago she had decided to make herself as sexless as possible, in the hope that he would start to think of her as just one of the guys. Yet now, here she was, deliberately stepping closer to him, preparing to give the men gathered around the car the impression that if she wasn’t already his lover, she soon would be.
She placed her hands on the front of his shirt, looked him straight in the eye, and whispered, ‘Kiss me.’
Mal stared at her as if he thought something had gone seriously wrong with his hearing. Abbie heaved a long-suffering sigh. ‘If we want to be convincing when we meet your old flame tomorrow, we’d better get in a little more practice.’
His eyes narrowed in surprise, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Preferably in front of an audience,’ he agreed as his arms slipped around her.
When his head began to descend, Abbie stretched up to meet him. His, lips were firm, smooth and surprisingly cool. The thought flitted across her mind that pretending to be intensely attracted to this man wasn’t going to require a great deal of acting talent. And then his tongue delicately traced the seam of her mouth, coaxing her lips to part for him, and she forgot she was only supposed to be pretending.
His right hand wandered down her back, lingered briefly at the waist of her jeans, then continued on and proceeded to snuggle her pelvis into the wider structure of his. Abbie’s bones dissolved; her muscles turned to jelly. She sagged against him with a small, helpless moan. Mal responded with a hungry groan and a restrained thrust of his hips that sent heat surging through her veins. The fingers of his left hand raked through her hair, then closed on a fistful of curls. He tilted her head first left, then right, experimenting with different angles, his mouth and tongue constantly in motion, until Abbie couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been kissing her.
When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, her eyelids fluttered open to reveal passion-fogged eyes that had darkened to jade. Gradually, as her brain began to function again, she became aware of the heavy thud of her pulse and the shallow, rasping sound of her breathing. She was comforted somewhat by the fact that Mal was displaying symptoms identical to hers.
‘I don’t think we have to worry about being convincing,’ he said. His voice was deeper than usual and undeniably husky.
‘No,’ Abbie agreed. Belatedly realising that her arms were still wound around his neck, she withdrew them and took a hasty, self-conscious step backward. Mal i
nstantly released her.
‘This …’ he began, then broke off and ran an agitated hand through his hair. ‘I wasn’t expecting this.’
He sounded perturbed. Abbie’s chin lifted a couple of centimetres. ‘Neither was I.’ She told herself that it wasn’t an outright lie. True, she had felt a spark of electricity when he’d kissed her in the kitchen, but that kiss had been chaste compared to this one.
Mal’s brows pushed together in a frown that looked slightly belligerent. ‘This … chemistry, or whatever you want to call it, between us can’t interfere with the race.’
‘I agree,’ Abbie said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. ‘It can’t and it won’t.’ Her story had to come first, no matter how attracted she might be to her subject.
‘We’ll just have to …’ He trailed off and made an impatient gesture.
‘Keep our hands off each other,’ she supplied.
‘Right. No touching if we can possibly avoid it.’
‘And no more kissing,’ she put in firmly.
Mal’s gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘God, yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘No kissing, under any circumstances.’
Abbie started to concur, then suddenly remembered why she had asked him to kiss her this time. ‘What about tomorrow morning?’ she asked with an anxious frown.
Mal closed his eyes and swore under his breath. ‘I forgot. All right, the moratorium on touching and kissing will begin as soon as the race has officially started.
Abbie’s frown remained in place. Did he actually believe that they could pretend to be lovers right up until they got into the car and started the race, and then suddenly switch off their emotions and become completely immune to each other?
‘I don’t know …’ she murmured uncertainly.
His eyelids came down to screen the expression in his eyes. ‘If you don’t think you can handle it, say so now.’
The challenge pricked Abbie’s pride. She dismissed her doubts with a negligent wave of her hand. ‘I can handle it,’ she told him. ‘No problem.’
‘Good. Then we’ve got a deal?’
‘We’ve got a deal,’ Abbie confirmed. She started to stick out her hand, then glanced over Mal’s shoulder and quickly brought it back against her side.
‘I assume our audience is still there,’ he drawled.
‘You assume right. I don’t think they intend to leave until they’re sure the show’s over.’
‘Well, hell,’ he muttered in disgust. He bent his head to study the toes of his shoes, then looked up into her eyes. ‘I’m going to have to kiss you one more time.’
He sounded as if he’d rather dive naked into a crate of razor blades.
‘No hands!’ Abbie warned as he leaned toward her.
Mal froze. His mouth tried to twitch into a grin before he got it under control. ‘No hands,’ he promised solemnly. ‘Just one quick little goodnight peck.’
Abbie didn’t trust the gleam in his eye, but he closed the last two inches of space between them before she could tell him so. The instant his mouth touched hers, she knew the kiss wasn’t going to be just a goodnight peck. He might have intended it to be—though she had her doubts about that—but the current that arced between them was too powerful to deny or resist. When Mal felt it, he made a deep, guttural sound; a sound that was part hunger and part despair. A sound that sent shock-waves all the way to Abbie’s toes. His lips suddenly hardened, the pressure of his mouth increased. He wasn’t asking for a response this time, but demanding one.
Abbie held out against the demand as long as she could. But she was only human, and he was putting out enough heat to melt both polar ice caps. Her lips softened and parted, willingly moulding themselves to his. Fortunately, when his tongue stabbed past them to plunder and pillage, the shock jolted her back to her senses.
‘No!’ The word was little more than a gasp as she jerked away.
One of Mal’s hands lifted towards her, but then he seemed to realise what he was doing and shoved it into his pocket.
‘I’m going to the house.’ Abbie intended to sound forceful and censorious. Unfortunately, her voice quavered as if she were about to burst into tears, which rather spoiled the effect.
‘Good idea.’ Mal’s tone was curt, his expression dark and brooding.
As Abbie marched up the slight incline to the farmhouse, she berated herself for having behaved like such a simple-minded fool. It was one thing to help him out of the predicament his macho posturing in front of Deke had got him into, but quite another to let herself succumb to his potent sex appeal.
‘Idiot!’ she muttered as she slammed the front door behind her. ‘Dunce. Boneheaded half-wit.’
She continued to hurl insults at herself while she paced the floor of her room. For the moment, at least, all her frustration and anger were directed at herself. She was the one who had agreed to go along with his insane idea.
She abruptly stopped pacing and sank down on the bed. Until now, she hadn’t been particularly interested in knowing more about the woman, but all of a sudden she was eaten up with curiosity. Who was she? When and how had she and Mal met? How long had they been together? Had he been deeply, passionately in love with her?
That last thought brought with it a sharp, unexpected stab of pain. Abbie hastily rationalised that she would feel a pang of sympathy for anyone who had been treated so callously … even a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist like Malachi Garrett. The woman’s only importance was as his opponent in the upcoming race. The fact that she had once used him to further her own career and then ruthlessly discarded him was irrelevant.
And what about the fact that you intend to use him to further your career? her conscience slyly asked. Is that irrelevant, too?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Abbie took advantage of a relatively smooth stretch of road to cautiously arch her back, attempting to ease her cramped muscles without drawing attention to herself. But of course Mal noticed. He transferred his left hand from her hip to the back of her neck and began to lightly massage it with the pads of his fingers.
‘Gettin’ a little stiff, sweetheart?’
The phoney solicitude in his lazy drawl made Abbie want to kick him in the shins. ‘A little.’
She refused to look at him. She suspected he was grinning. If he was, she didn’t want to know. He’d been doing a terrific job of needling her all morning.
It had started as soon as she came downstairs. Mal had taken one look at her conservative, buttoned-up shirt and squeaky clean face, and ordered her back up to her room to take off her bra and put on some make-up.
‘Wear that sexy blouse you had on yesterday. And the pearls,’ he’d added as an afterthought. Rather than begin the day with an argument, Abbie had turned around and headed back upstairs. When she was halfway through the dining-room, Mal yelled a reminder to use plenty of purple eyeshadow.
When she returned twenty minutes later, he had her stand in the middle of the kitchen floor while he walked around her, inspecting her appearance from head to toe.
‘You’ll do,’ he pronounced when he’ was finished. ‘Have a seat. Breakfast is ready.’
Breakfast had turned out to be a mountain of sourdough pancakes, link sausages, hash brown potatoes, a pitcher of orange juice and a fresh-brewed pot of coffee.
‘Surely you don’t expect the two of us to eat all this,’ Abbie said as she pulled out a chair.
Mal spared her an impatient look as he forked a stack of pancakes on to his plate. ‘Once we start the race, I don’t intend to stop till we reach St Louis. That’s a long, hard drive. Either fill up now or go hungry later.’
She had considered telling him what he could do with his link sausages, then thought better of it. She studied him surreptitiously as she helped herself to four of them, as well as a couple of pancakes. Apparently he’d decided to pretend their little encounter down by the garage last night hadn’t happened. That was fine with her. She didn’t care to discuss it, either. The entire episode would be better forgotten.
She’d thought she had herself fairly well in hand … until she’d entered the kitchen and seen him standing at the stove, barefoot and shirtless. He’d been in the act of flipping a pancake, his right arm lifted slightly, his muscles well defined by the bright morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Abbie had stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth suddenly dry. She might have made a sound; she didn’t know. Mal glanced over his shoulder at her, and the next thing she knew he was telling her to go back upstairs, take off her bra and for God’s sake put on some make-up.
It was not exactly an auspicious beginning to the day. Unfortunately, things had gone downhill from there. Deke had arrived as they were finishing breakfast. His knowing smirk when he took in Mal’s partial state of dress grated on Abbie’s nerves, but a sharp look from Mal had convinced her to let it pass.
When they left the house for the garage, Deke had taken charge of Abbie’s suitcase. He walked slightly ahead of her and Mal. Abbie thought he was probably embarrassed by the steamy looks Mal kept giving her and the way he was openly fondling her bottom. She was certainly embarrassed, not to mention annoyed as hell. She hadn’t objected when he’d put his arm around her waist—she had agreed to go along with the charade, after all—but before they were ten feet from the front porch his hand had dropped several inches and was lightly stroking the curve of her hip. By the time they reached the garage, she was stiff with resentment and pink with mortification. Deke preceded them into the building. Abbie took advantage of his temporary absence to reach back and pluck Mal’s hand away. He immediately replaced it.