by Lynn Turner
‘Stop that!’ she said in a furious undertone.
His hand stayed right where it was. ‘Settle down,’ he growled. ‘You agreed to play the part, remember.’
‘And you agreed to keep your hands to yourself,’ Abbie retorted. ‘Remember?’
‘After the race has started,’ he reminded her. ‘And I will, don’t worry. As soon as we pull away from the courthouse square, your sexy little body will be strictly off limits. But until then, it’s mine to do with as I damn well please.’
Abbie had nearly choked on her outrage as he yanked open the door and shoved her through it. ‘The hell it is!’
She’d caught a glimpse of Deke and several men dressed in white overalls standing about twenty feet away before Mal suddenly grasped her upper arms and spun her around.
‘The hell it is,’ he’d echoed, then hauled her against him and kissed her to prevent her from arguing. ‘Put your arms around my neck,’ he’d ordered against her stiff, uncooperative lips.
Abbie had glared at him defiantly.
‘Do it, Abigail.’
His deep, rumbling voice had lost all trace of a drawl. He’d sounded determined, implacable … dangerous. Abbie had reluctantly lifted her arms and draped them loosely over his shoulders.
‘You’re despicable,’ she’d hissed against his mouth.
‘And you’re still a pain in the ass,’ he’d replied. ‘Now kiss me, and look like you’re enjoying it—use some body language, wiggle against me a little.’
Abbie had sucked in a sharp, incredulous breath. ‘You’re carrying this a little too far, Garrett. I never agreed to act like a slut.’
Mal’s eyes had narrowed ominously. ‘Do it,’ he’d growled. ‘Or so help me, I’ll leave you in town and get Joey Bender to drive the Shelby to DC.’
Of course, she had given in. With an ultimatum like that, she’d had no choice. But she’d made sure he understood how much she resented being forced to demean herself in front of Deke and the others.
She’d spoken less than a dozen words to him since. Her stony silence didn’t appear to effect Mal in the least, damn him.
When they arrived at the courthouse square, Abbie was astonished at the number of people who had already gathered. There were old men in bib overalls, women clutching the hands of young children, a few teenagers—who must have skipped school to be there—and several businessmen types in suits and ties. Even more astonishing, they all seemed to know Malachi Garrett. People started calling encouragement to him and wishing him luck as soon as he alighted from Deke’s pick-up. He smiled and waved in acknowledgement, then turned back to the open door of the cab.
‘We’re on,’ he murmured drily as his hands closed on Abbie’s waist. The second her feet touched the pavement, he casually draped a possessive arm across her shoulders.
Abbie released a resigned sigh and just as casually slipped her own arm around his waist. ‘Is she here?’ she asked under her breath.
His eyes swept the crowd once from left to right. ‘No. She’s probably waiting to make an entrance.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asked with a frown. ‘You barely looked.’
Mal started steering her towards the trailer. ‘Believe me, I’d know if she was here.’ Abbie glanced at him sharply. She’d never heard him use that tone before. He sounded sarcastic, mocking; yet she sensed that the mockery was directed at himself.
‘I want you to back the Shelby off the trailer,’ he said as they approached Deke, who was already lowering the ramp. ‘We might as well make it clear from the start that you’re the driver on this team.’
Abbie cast an apprehensive glance at the narrow ramp, but she didn’t argue. She understood that this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, and also that the matter wasn’t being put to a vote.
‘All right,’ she murmured.
Some of her uncertainty must have come through in her voice, because Mal’s arm gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze before he grasped her firmly at the waist and hoisted her on to the trailer bed.
‘Don’t get yourself in a stew,’ he drawled. ‘I trust you not to demolish the car I’ve got two years and a half-million of my own money invested in.’
Abbie grimaced. She could have done without the reminder. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
Mal grinned as he dug the keys to the Shelby out of his pocket and tossed them to her. And then he calmly turned his back on her and his half-million-dollar car and strolled over to the kerb, where several bystanders had assembled to admire the sleek black machine. Despite Abbie’s misgivings, she didn’t have any trouble backing the Shelby down the ramp. As soon as all four tyres were safely on the pavement, she cut the engine and climbed out of the car to join Mal.
She was instantly aware of a change in the mood of the crowd. There was an almost palpable tension in the air that hadn’t been evident five minutes earlier, and the soft but noticeable buzz of several dozen murmuring voices—some curious, others excited, a few overtly hostile. The sound increased in volume as two new arrivals made their way towards the Shelby. So many people had gathered at the edge of the street that all Abbie could see of the advancing couple was a pair of dark, professionally styled heads. Her scalp suddenly tightened in premonition. She hurried to Mal’s side and impulsively wound her arm around his waist. One of his brows formed a wry question mark as he laid his arm along her shoulders to complete the link. Evidently he hadn’t noticed the newcomers.
Abbie only hesitated a moment. He shouldn’t have to face the woman who had jilted him without some kind of warning, at least a few seconds to prepare himself. Guided purely by instinct, she laid the palm of her free hand against his cheek and stretched up to kiss him. Mal’s response was equally instinctive. His arm instantly locked around her neck. What Abbie had intended as a ruse, a harmless bit of play-acting that would give her a chance to warn him without being overheard, became something else entirely when his mouth opened and claimed hot possession of hers.
She was caught unprepared for the sensations that suddenly assaulted her: the scrape of his nails against her scalp as his hand closed on a fistful of hair; the hard, unrelenting pressure of his lips; the smooth, wet glide of his tongue as it sought and found hers. The soft rasp of denim against denim as he insinuated his knee between her legs.
The kiss seemed to last an eternity. When Mal finally released her mouth, his eyes were glazed and unfocused, his breath a blast of moist heat against Abbie’s forehead. She could feel his struggle for control in every taut line of his body. It was small consolation to know that the kiss had shaken him every bit as much as it had shaken her. She took a half-step backwards, desperately needing some space between them. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the crowd, which had become suddenly, utterly silent. To her chagrin, Mal’s arm remained hooked around her neck.
‘I should have known you’d be the centre of attention, Malachi,’ a smoky female voice drawled in amusement.
Abbie felt Mal’s shock in the sudden tensing of his arm, but she doubted that anyone else was aware of his reaction to hearing that voice. He slowly turned his head to face the woman who had spoken. His eyes were hooded, his long lashes forming a protective screen.
‘Hello, Roxie.’
Abbie gave him high marks for remaining cool under stress. He looked and sounded so casual and relaxed that he might have been greeting his sister. Then the name he’d used registered and her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes flew to the woman’s face.
If not for Mal’s restraining arm, Abbie might have darted into the crowd, or tried to crawl under the Shelby. Less than two yards away stood Roxanne Winston, famous—some might say infamous—female engineer, darling of the jet set, and former ‘close companion’ to one of Wall Street’s most, powerful investment bankers. Two years ago she had become an overnight celebrity, when she’d collaborated with a renowned cardiologist to develop a new artificial heart. Unfortunately, their design had proven unsuitable for the majority of potential patient
s, but twenty-six-year-old Roxanne Winston had quickly gone on to establish herself as the country’s foremost female engineer-inventor.
Abbie knew all this because she had once interviewed Roxanne Winston. In person and at length. The interview had resulted in her first sale to a national news syndicate. She remembered the three hours she’d spent in Roxanne’s plush apartment on Central Park East as clearly as if the interview had taken place that very morning.
Anxiety gnawed at Abbie’s stomach. Would Roxanne recognise her? It had been almost two years since their one and only meeting. Roxanne must have given dozens of interviews to dozens of nameless, faceless reporters since then. Surely she wouldn’t remember the brash, determined young woman who had conned her way past the building’s doorman and shown up at her apartment one Sunday morning, unannounced and uninvited, to request an interview?
Abbie had been so preoccupied with her fear of imminent exposure that she hadn’t been paying much attention to what was going on around her. She suddenly became aware that the muscles of Mal’s arm were bulging against the back of her neck and that his body was positively rigid with tension. Coming face to face with his former lover must have upset him more than she’d thought.
The fierce surge of protectiveness Abbie felt surprised her. Usually she had no patience to spare for the frailty of the male ego, yet now she found herself instinctively moving closer to Mal, replacing her arm around his waist and reaching up to clasp the hand that hung over her right shoulder. Her actions, her posture, even the provocative glitter in her eyes, all telegraphed an unmistakable message to Roxanne Winston and every other female present.
The slight hardening of Roxanne’s expression confirmed that she had received the message loud and clear. She hadn’t spoken since she’d announced her presence with that cynically amused remark, but Abbie didn’t have to speculate about what she was thinking or feeling. Antagonism was visible in every delicate feature of her classically beautiful face. Roxanne hadn’t expected to have to share the limelight with another woman, and she was more than a little put out by the fact that apparently the other woman had already staked a claim on Malachi Garrett.
Resentment started to build in Abbie. She met Roxanne’s cool, disapproving gaze boldly. Who did she think she was, anyway? If the rumours were true, she had walked out on Mal without a backward glance or a fare-thee-well. Had she expected to stroll back into his life as if nothing had happened? Had she actually thought it would be that easy?
Roxanne’s husky alto brought her indignant thoughts to an abrupt halt. ‘You haven’t introduced us to your friend, Mal,’ she pointed out with a saccharine smile.
His arm stayed around Abbie’s neck as he made the introductions in a brusque, slightly impatient tone. ‘Abigail Kincaid, this is Roxie Winston, the lady who designed the other engine.’ He indicated the lean, handsome man standing to Roxanne’s right with a curt nod. ‘And this is Tony Ferris, who, I presume, will be driving Roxie’s car to Washington.’
Abbie hastily stifled a gasp. Tony Ferris had been one of the two Formula One drivers Mal had mentioned to Deke at the hotel yesterday, when they were trying to come up with the names of people he might recruit to drive the Shelby.
‘That’s right, old buddy,’ Tony said with a grin. ‘And I’ll bet you a hundred dollars here and now that we’ll get there first.’
‘You’re on,’ Mal drawled without a second’s hesitation. ‘What the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Indianapolis all month.’
‘Yeah, I thought so, too,’ Tony said drily. ‘But I rolled the Lotus during time trials the day before yesterday. Roxie heard about the crash on the news and called to see if I was still fit to drive, and if I was, whether I might be interested in taking on this little job for her.’ He flashed another boyish grin. ‘Naturally, when she told me who the competition was, I jumped at the chance.’
‘Naturally,’ Mal muttered. ‘And are you fit to drive … all the way to DC?’
Roxanne answered the question before Tony could. ‘I assure you, he’s in perfect physical condition.’ Her smoky voice and the sultry look she gave Tony implied that she had personally tested his strength and endurance. ‘When do we get to meet your driver, Mal?’
‘You just did.’
Roxanne’s and Tony’s heads simultaneously rotated forty-five degrees to the left, which made them look like a pair of pre-programmed robots. Their identical, almost comical expressions of astonishment added to the effect. Tony recovered first, smiling broadly as he stepped forward to offer Abbie his hand. She released Mal’s long enough to give it a single firm shake.
‘I’ll be damned,’ Tony said softly. ‘It must be love.’
Abbie wasn’t quite sure how to react to that. She turned to Mal for a cue, and was even more perplexed by the affectionate, almost tender smile on his lips and the unexpected warmth in his eyes. There was no doubt that that smile, that warmth was for her. She reminded herself, quite sternly, that he was only putting op an act for Roxanne’s benefit. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t prevent her heart from performing a double somersault.
‘Could be,’ he said in the husky murmur that was even sexier than his drawl. His thumb started tracing lazy circles on her palm. ‘What do you think, Abigail?’
Think? How was she supposed to remember to breathe, much less think, when his eyes were sending coded messages to hers and his voice had raised goose-bumps all the way down her back and the light friction of his thumb was filling her head with all sorts of wildly erotic images? She made a fist to hold it still and drew a tremulous breath.
‘I think its too soon to tell.’ The lie came easily, but then she’d had a lot of practice at lying lately.
‘How sweet,’ Roxanne drawled. ‘I must admit I’m surprised, though,’ she added in the same world-weary tone. ‘I used to beg you to let me drive the Shelby, but you wouldn’t hear of it. You claimed it was a classic, much too valuable to entrust to an inexperienced driver.’
‘That’s right,’ Mal replied flatly. ‘It is.’
‘And yet you’re going to let your … friend—’
‘Abigail,’ he interrupted. He was still outwardly calm, but there was a distinct edge to his voice that Roxanne couldn’t have missed. She hesitated a moment, then yielded with a tight, insincere smile.
‘As I was saying, I’m a little surprised that you’re prepared to let Abigail—’ she deliberately gave the name a slightly mocking emphasis ‘—drive your precious Shelby all the way to Washington. She must have-excellent qualifications.’
It irritated Abbie to have them discuss her as if she wasn’t there, but she held her tongue. This was Mal’s confrontation; she would let him handle it in his own way. He looked straight into Roxanne’s eyes as he responded to the overt scepticism in her last statement.
‘She’s a top-notch driver,’ he said softly. ‘But she’s driving the Shelby to Washington because she has something that’s even more important than the ability to handle a high-performance car.’
Roxanne’s right eyebrow rose a curious centimetre. ‘And what might that be?’
Mal’s slanting smile was hard, cold, almost grim. ‘She has my trust.’
Two dull red splotches appeared on Roxanne’s flawless ivory cheeks and she stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Abbie might have felt a twinge of compassion for the other woman, if she hadn’t been so busy trying to conceal her own distress.
She has my trust.
Guilt churned in her stomach. She was sure it must be written all over her face, as well. It did no good whatsoever to tell herself that he had probably said it just to get at Roxanne.
She wished she could expunge the words from her memory, conveniently forget that he’d said them or she’d heard them. Damn it, it was too late to start having second thoughts. She was committed both to the race and to the story. Besides, as she’d pointed out to Mal last night, he had to trust her if he wanted a shot at winning the bet. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, as i
f his trust had been given willingly.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be aware of the battle Abbie was waging with her conscience. ‘I hate to break up the reunion,’ Tony said into the strained silence. ‘But it’s almost eleven, and there are one or two things we need to go over before we take this show on the road.’
‘Right,’ Mal said tersely. He glanced past Tony to the crowd. ‘How about moving over to Gladys’s? We’d have a little more privacy there.’
‘Good idea,’ Tony agreed. ‘I could go for a cup of coffee and a slice of Gladys’s rhubarb pie.’
Roxanne had been as stiff and silent as a totem pole since her last exchange with Mal, but when Tony stepped off the kerb she suddenly came back to life. ‘Just a minute, Tony.’ The tone she used made it an order rather than a request. Tony’s eyes narrowed with displeasure as he stopped and looked back at her in question.
‘I’d prefer not to leave the car on the other side of the square while we have this meeting.’
During the pause before Tony responded, Abbie wondered if he was considering telling Roxanne to move the car herself. Despite his easygoing temperament, he didn’t strike her as a man who was accustomed to taking orders. But he must have decided the four of them had already given the crowd of spectators enough to gossip about, because he merely shrugged.
‘Fine. I’ll bring it round and park it next to the Shelby, then we can keep an eye on both cars from the cafe.’
Abbie noticed as the other couple headed back across the courthouse square that Tony’s right hand had a firm grip on Roxanne’s arm and his head was bent close to hers, his mouth almost touching her ear. She’d have given a lot to know what he was saying. She left her arm around Mal’s waist and let him steer her toward Gladys’s Cafe, which was directly across the street. She didn’t try to make conversation, because she had no idea what might pop out of her mouth once she opened it. Her conscience was still sniping at her, urging her to confess all before it was too late, despite her urgent pleas for if to shut up and let her get on with her job. When Mal uttered a soft, heartfelt ‘Bitch!’ halfway across the street, her heart lurched in alarm.