Racing Hearts

by Candi Heart

  No way would I pine for a man who wouldn’t do the same for me. I certainly wasn’t looking for a commitment from someone whose heart had stopped working long before he’d ever laid eyes on me. Maybe there was someone who could scratch my itch for a risk-taker. One who was in full command of his wild side. One whose heart wasn’t three sizes too small while his head was five sizes too big. I wasn’t holding my breath waiting for him, though.

  Between Colton and my dad, I had all I needed in the way of positive reinforcement from men. Albeit, platonic relationships. Sure, I could always call Antonio when I wanted something hot and heavy with no-strings-attached. Admittedly, I usually felt a little empty afterward, but Antonio always treated me with respect, even if he had the attention span of a two-year-old where women were concerned.

  Grinning to myself, I took another sip of the raspberry liqueur, my eyes slowly closing as it bloomed on my tongue. Perfection. Speed Liquor’s line wasn’t cheap—not by a longshot—but I certainly enjoyed sampling it at racing parties. Their stuff had the perfect blend of buzz and flavor. I opened my eyes and looked around the room, and had to bite back a laugh.

  “Check out this asshole.” Nudging Colton with my elbow, I jutted my chin toward Jacques Raines, a racer obviously facing a midlife crisis of epic proportions. If he had been surrounded by any more whores, he’d have all the staff he needed to open a brothel. The overcompensation for his time off the track was fucking ridiculous.

  Colton laughed. “I guess when you win the Grand Prix one year, and crash and burn the next, it does something to you.”

  “Ya think?” I replied dryly.

  Lifting an eyebrow, I leaned back, drawing another sip before elbowing Colton again. I cut my eyes toward a tall brunette eyeing him. “You've got another admirer.”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  I frowned when Colton didn’t even lift his head to look at the girl I had pointed out. Alyssa really knew how to get her hooks into a guy, didn’t she? I seethed.

  It pissed me off, frankly, but I didn’t want to keep reminding Colton of his little ex-skank by bitching about her. I figured I’d take the other approach and encourage him to get back out there instead.

  At this point, the guy was having one too many Haagen Dazs nights on my couch, when, at twenty-six, he should be out there dating and enjoying how gorgeous he was. I just couldn’t see him letting that flake win like that. If Alyssa wasn’t ready for the best, it was certainly her loss, and one she’d realize sooner or later. There weren’t a lot of drivers like him who could probably do some modeling on the side. Hell, if there was ever a case for God showing off when he created someone, the product was leaning up on a premier race car to my left.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, frowning.

  Flicking a glance at me, Colton then quickly returned his attention to his phone screen. “Texting.”

  “Who? We’re at the fucking pre-season party at the Dalton Mansion, for crying-out-loud.” I scowled. “Remember, the one you were so excited to come to? Put your phone away.”

  He smiled down at his phone. “I will. Be back in a sec, all right?”

  Oh, I knew that look a little too well.

  The bitch was back.

  Ever flexing her power, she was probably teetering on the fence between him and whomever she’d momentarily chosen over Colton. Or, she’d gotten burned and planned on having Colton lick her wounds for her. I would hate her even more if she broke his heart again.

  Drawing another sip of raspberry, I forced the flames rising up in my gut back down into controlled and classy-land, and turned my attention to the rest of the party. I wasn’t about to let Alyssa fuck up my night, too. Colton was an adult and entitled to live his life as he saw fit. Even if it made me want to take a bottle to his ex’s head.

  Lifting my drink for another savory sip, my breath caught in my throat as I met the eyes of Tyler Dalton, who was now standing right next to me.

  I swallowed hard, unable to take the sip of liqueur that was paused at my lips. He was too gorgeous for his own good.

  Yes, I knew his name. I’d seen him race a million times. But his pictures, videos, and presence from afar all paled in comparison to the incredible way he filled out his charcoal three-piece suit. I would shake his tailor’s hand for that if I ever got the chance.

  Tyler Dalton dripped sex, money, and danger, and was a legend in his own right. It wasn’t just his body I was celebrating internally, though. He was literally freaking beautiful. Like runways in Paris beautiful. High, sculpted cheekbones like some sort of living version of an Adonis. Lips made for sucking and biting. Dark-brown hair that made a girl want to slide her fingers through, and crystal-blue eyes that penetrated to the depths of one’s soul.

  I blinked incredulously as he just stood there, looking at me.

  Say something, you idiot! I screamed inside.

  He gave me a panty-dropping smile and pointed to my drink. “You’re not drinking the raspberry, are you? The apple’s so much better. Here, let me show you.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t let a man take control like that, but Tyler Dalton was too charming to resist. He lifted the drink out of my hand and set it on a passing tray, where he picked up a wine flute brimming with Speed Liquor’s Green Apple Liqueur.

  Tilting my head at him, I studied the insistent glimmer in his eyes before I dared to hazard a sip.

  “You won’t regret it,” he encouraged with a sexy smile.

  I didn’t think I would... Whatever he was truly implying.

  I had a feeling the drink was sure to pale in comparison to the raw masculinity he could truly offer. I could see the invitation in his eyes, and it wasn’t just the encouragement for me to try a new flavor of his sponsor’s liqueur.

  “I guess we’ll see,” I finally said, finding my voice.

  “I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” he murmured, leaning in closer to me.

  It was clear by his approach that he would draw everything out, enticing me some before he went in for the kill—and that was fine with me. I didn’t mind being the prey sometimes.

  I liked a man who could temper his urges and take his time reeling me in. So many guys were juvenile in their approach, like overgrown schoolboys who’d barely learned their way around a woman, let alone graduated to being worthy of enjoying one with even the barest level of class.

  I wasn’t sitting on a mountain of money, and I didn’t have the most traditional job or the body of a model, but I did have class, and I knew very well what I was worth to a man. I wasn’t content to give myself up to just anyone for the sake of a fumbling around for a few hours of fun, unless it was a prearranged thing we were both aware of. But faced with the level of refinement standing in front of me, I could feel myself reining back my extreme interest before it showed too easily on my face.

  An aura of danger plumed the air around this man, and it was already weaving its way under my pebbling skin—even well before he’d earned it. Even if he was magnificent enough to win an access card without doing a thing to earn it outright. Tyler Dalton was scary beautiful, and I was going to play it as cool as I could with him.

  For as long as I could.

  Suppressing a groan as the apple liqueur slid across my tongue and warmed a trail of happy down my throat, I couldn’t help but grin. Okay, he’d won that one. It was definitely better than the raspberry.

  “I told you,” he quipped, smiling again.

  Chapter 6

  Tyler

  “MR. DALTON?”

  Shaken out of the complete daze this beauty had me wrapped in, I turned to see a pleasingly not disheveled version of my personal assistant standing at my side. She really was a marvel. Dutiful to the core, Zara had obviously taken the time to visit a spa, get her hair done, stop by a high-end boutique, and make a stop at Aro for some sexy shoes.

  “What's up?” I asked with a smile.

  She flicked her gaze at my sexy companion, smiled apologetically, then looked back at me, stress color
ing her features. “There’s... a slight problem with your, ah, budding superstar.”

  The words had all the effect of a record scratch.

  Shit. Perfect timing...

  I grimaced and gave her a nod. “Thanks for letting me know. Be right there.”

  Giving me a quick nod, Zara hurried away, iPad in hand, obviously determined to put out the proverbial fire whose name was Kristoff Vance before matters spun out of control. The kid was magic behind the wheel, but was overly emotional, socially stupid, and unaccustomed to fame. It’d be a while before he got a handle on how to compose himself at these types of high-profile events. Hopefully it wouldn’t take a lawsuit the size of Texas to teach him that lesson.

  Sighing, I returned my gaze to the woman who made the crowd all but disappear. Maybe Kristoff’s flare-up was good timing, after all. Any longer around this one, and I was sure I’d lose my head.

  I turned to look at the gorgeous redhead and gently grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on it. “I’ll come back and check on you; make sure your drink choices are nothing short of exquisite.”

  She grinned with a flirtatious intelligence that intrigued me, a glinting in her hazel-green eyes, and a slight blush on her dimpled cheeks. “I’m sure nothing on your drink list will disappoint.”

  “I aim just a little higher than avoiding disappointment,” I joked.

  Her eyebrow arched and she bit back a smile.

  I left her there, knowing her eyes were on me as I drifted away from her and exited the room entirely. Oddly enough, it was like I could still feel her. As if her unique essence had clung to me in the short time we’d spent together.

  Yeah, I’d definitely be back to check on her drink... and then just her.

  “IS THERE A GOOD REASON you’re behaving like a giant toddler, Kris?” I asked, my jaw bunching in annoyance. Apparently, Kristoff had almost gotten into a fist-fight with his ex-girlfriend’s new man.

  His eyes flashed in defiance and anger as he glared at me. “Is there a fuckin’ reason—”

  I poked him in the chest. “Before you answer me, consider whether or not my paying for your customized ride and the three drivers you insist on having, not to mention what we do for our mutual stock racing aspirations, is something you want to lose. Because believe me, kid, I can make all of those things disappear like magic.”

  Kristoff gritted his teeth and huffed like an angry bull, but he’d clearly gotten my point. These types of histrionics were beneath all my drivers, and he might have gotten away with it on the last team he’d been ejected from, but he wouldn’t be doing it here. Not under my employ; I was paying this fucker far too much money to turn my father’s company into a laughingstock. Kristoff might be among the best, but there were other contenders up for the job, and I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to call them if I had to.

  “No,” he murmured.

  With my hands in my suit pockets, I pulled one out made a dramatic gesture of craning my head toward him, hand cupped around my ear. “I’m sorry. I’m going to need you to speak up.”

  “No. There’s no good reason for acting like a giant toddler,” he replied sarcastically, looking ticked but resigned.

  I then folded my hands in front of me, my eyes burning with resolve and only the barest hint of satisfaction. “I know adjustments take time, but this is the last talk of this sort we’ll be having. Are you trackin’, ace?”

  Swallowing his nerves, it was clear Kristoff was trying to hold onto at least some of his dignity, even if I was wielding the bigger dick right now.

  “Got it.”

  “So, we’re clear?” I asked, not breaking eye contact.

  “Crystal, boss.”

  “Great. Get your shit together, and get the fuck outta here. Your groupies aren’t going to fuck themselves, and our investors are waiting to meet the prize cow. Chop, chop.”

  It was cockishly unnecessary for me to take it that far, but sometimes you had to speak to hotheads like Kristoff in a language they understood best. Especially whiny ones who might pull the absolute worst stunts on racing days. If Kristoff couldn’t handle fame, I needed to know now. Now that the kid had agreed to leave his attitude at the door, I’d better only require reinforcements. And that wouldn’t come from playing Mister-Nice-CEO. I would have to be a fucking lion regularly, if only when it was needed.

  Kristoff wavered, like he still wanted to raise whatever matter had caused his initial tantrum, but he stopped short, catching the warning in my eyes.

  “Is there still a problem?” I asked.

  Sighing, Kristoff shook his head, and disappeared.

  My gaze moved over to Zara with an unspoken keep an eye on him. She nodded and immediately flanked him as he all but stormed out of the room.

  We both knew tonight was critical. This had to be the last show of idiocy beyond a drunken show of lust and stupidity that could be easily explained to the press, so long as it happened later—after the race.

  Drawing a sharp breath, I made my way outside. I used the side door leading to the small alleyway that would afford me some privacy. I needed a minute to get my shit together. I didn’t want to go around snapping at people. Grabbing another drink was a fast track to losing my perspective when I needed it the most. Looking out over the winding forestry circling the Dalton Mansion’s perimeter, I slowly reeled in the anger and took some deep breaths to calm me down and get the adrenaline to level out.

  I’d been a hothead once, too. Just like Kristoff, I’d thought I had the world in my palm, and it was everyone’s job to cater to me. If it hadn’t been for my father’s firm but tolerant guidance, I’d have spun out of control, too, and blown my chances altogether.

  Could it be that Kristoff was now needing the same kind of guidance my father had provided for me? I took a deep breath and tried to summon up patience and empathy, the kind my father had shown me when I’d been on top and thought the world was my oyster.

  So... Patience. Firm, measured patience.

  It would be fine. Everything would fall into place. No deals would be blown.

  Things will work themselves out.

  I sighed. All too often, I had to talk to myself like this. Had to calm the inner beast with hard logic on repeat like some sort of mantra. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, I needed to just roll with what I was feeling. Usually, that meant letting that tightly wound rubber-band snap to get my point across. It was in those moments that my first instinct was to grab keys and go for a ride to calm me.

  But right now, driving wasn’t an option. I was feeling better after the internal pep-talk, and that was all I really needed. I’d hold onto that, and go on with the night as if that potential million-dollar scare never happened.

  Straightening my tie, I took a long look at myself in the reflection of the mansion windows, remembering my image. Because that was what it was about. What everything was about. Clearing my throat, I drew a deep breath and made my way back into the party, quickly putting on my friendly business face when I passed several, low-level partygoers—bloggers from a popular digital magazine.

  Granting them a brilliant smile, I gave them a nod. “Glad you could make it out. Remember to try some of Speed’s newest flavors. You won’t regret it.”

  I swept past them before they had a chance to request an interview. If they were press, their passes weren’t out and visible where they should be, and they knew they had to go through my assistant to schedule that sort of thing.

  Not to be a prick, but there were only so many hours left to this thing, and my first priority was to my investors, plain and simple. My second priority... my eyes swept the room, landing on the hottie who’d taken my breath away before I’d been called out to douse Kristoff’s tantrum. My gut clenched when she laughed and tilted her head back, revealing a companion beside her.

  A dude.

  Some Thor-looking guy, who was just a bit less muscular, and clearly lacking the hammer. He had the look of a timid, displaced young man in his mid-twenties. Like
me, but far less experienced in the ways of the world. Definitely not of the lady’s caliber I had expected her to be seen with. I really should rescue her from the windbag. He was probably bothering her.

  I sighed. I should have gotten her name. What had I been thinking, not even getting a name?

  Fuck it. I could get my feet under me on this. I would need an excuse to get her away from him. Maybe a tour? What girl wouldn’t gush over being invited on a tour of the assembly room floor, complete with priceless vintage models of vehicles nobody else could get close to?

  A tour it is.

  I could spare at least that much time before the pre-show and midnight race. Needlessly adjusting my tie again, I made my way to the center of the room, intent on claiming my prize.

  Chapter 7

  Charlyse

  TYLER STROLLED OVER to me, a confident smile on his face. I swallowed hard at the determination in his eyes and offered him a weak but nervous smile in return.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m told by that resigned look of boredom on your beautiful face that you haven’t toured the vintage stock. May I interest you in a view of the assembly room, miss?”

  I almost choked on my drink. What! A tour of the assembly room? Have I died and gone to motor heaven? Hell yes, I want a tour.

  But Colton had to come.

  Tyler Dalton might or might not want to give me a private tour. And I might or might not want to receive exactly that. But it wouldn’t be fair to keep Colton out of something so monumentally awesome.

  “We’d love to,” I answered with a cool smile, noticing the way Tyler’s grin faltered just a bit.

  Colton obviously caught it, too, because he was quick to do the self-sacrificing ‘go on without me’ thing. “Love to join, Charlyse. But it’s clear Mr. Dalton was addressing you. Besides, I have a phone call to make anyway.”