Full Throttle(8)
She yanked the cord of his earphones, and when he clicked off the music, she muttered, “Between race engines and all that rackety music, it’s a wonder you aren’t deaf.”
Since Lexie had zero taste in music—Barry Manilow being her favorite artist—Kane took that as a compliment. “Anytime you want to entertain me with something more stimulating I’m available.”
“Dream on.”
“I was trying to.”
She rolled her eyes. “What did your dad want?”
“The usual—good luck, call your mom if you wreck.”
“He didn’t say anything about me?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“He wanted to make sure I was happy with you and the team.”
“And are you?”
“You know I am. You and Harry are the best on the circuit.”
“Maybe.”
“You have two Cup championships.”
She pressed her lips together. “My dad certainly does.”
“You know perfectly well you did more work on Mark Clayton’s championship than that idiot who was the car chief.”
“Then why is his name on the trophy?”
“You want a trophy?”
Her eyes lit with frustration. “It sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.”
“No, I guess not.” Harry’s former car chief got the glory, and Lexie got a pat on the back. Still, there had to be some satisfaction in knowing you were a vital part of a championship, that you’d given a longtime veteran a dream-worthy farewell season.
By contrast, if Kane’s career didn’t improve, he might be out of a job before longtime arrived.
“What did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
“The usual stuff—the car setup, the schedule.”
She shook her head. “You weren’t trying to brush off your dad for the usual stuff.”
Kane glanced across the aisle, where Pete and the jack man, Alex, were bent intently over a Game Boy. Their team was still a bit old school, as the two men traveled with him instead of flying in just for the race like the rest of the over-the-wall guys. But then, they both had other jobs—Pete helped James with PR on race weekends and Alex was the chief mechanic.
With those two occupied, Kane shifted his gaze back to Lexie. “How about another kiss?” he whispered.
Her eyes widened, then she darted a look over her shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers. “You’re crazy.”
He trailed his fingers across her jean-clad thigh. “No doubt.”
She brushed his hand aside. “Move back.” Her voice, even in a whisper, was unusually high. “You’ve lost your mind. Somebody’s going to see.”
Didn’t he agree exposing their attraction to the team was an extremely bad idea? Hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t risking his career?
Yes, but there was nothing wrong with talking.
He angled his body toward her, blocking them to anybody’s view. “I wanted to talk to you about Monday night.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.”
“Why did you run away?” He shook his head. “Not your usual fierce self.”
“Can we do this later?”
“No. You’ll find a way to avoid me later.” He grinned. “I like that you can’t escape.”
Not looking at him, she gripped the armrests. “Why don’t you go talk to James?”
Kane turned around in his seat. His best friend sat near the rear of the airplane, reclining and snoozing. “He’s asleep,” he told Lexie.
“What about Pete?”
“Video game.” Inhaling, he leaned closer. “You smell fantastic. Kind of tropical. Do you still use that coconut lotion?”
She leaned down, putting her head between her knees.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“No, I’m looking for my driver. Because you aren’t him.”
He patted her back, the warmth of her skin seeping into his palms, burning his fingers. “Sure I am, baby.”
She jerked up. “Baby?” Rubbing her temples, her gaze darted around. “Stop it, Kane. You’ve gone too far.”
“But I got your attention,” he said against her ear. The desire for her, which had been humming through his blood for months, reminded him how good things had once been between them. “So that kiss meant nothing to you?”
Her eyes fluttered closed. Her face flushed.
“Ah, so how often do you think about it?” he asked, happy that he wasn’t the only one with this particular problem.
“Once or twice.”
“Liar.”
She kept her gaze riveted on the back of the seat in front of her. “Wherever these feelings have come from, we’re going to shove them back in the box.”
“Can you do that, Lexie? Because I’m not sure I can.”
CHAPTER FOUR
HEAT FROM KANE’S BODY rolled through Lexie. The temptation he presented was becoming physically painful to resist. Personal relationships for her were few and far between—and certainly none as potent as the one she’d shared with the man beside her. She wondered if any other man would ever measure up.
Maybe not. But she was determined to at least try.
She’d never be first with Kane, and she wanted to be for the next man she handed her heart over to. She had to be. And even if dodging Kane was slightly humiliating to her sense of personal strength, she was willing to sacrifice. Her body was weak, and her libido was deprived.
Some part of her had to handle self-preservation.
“I want to see you later,” he whispered in her ear.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Just to talk. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”
More talking? They were just talking now, and she was a wobbly mess.
“Come on, ba—”
“If you call me baby again, I’m going to clobber you with a carburetor.”
“You didn’t used to mind.”
“I was seventeen and stupid.”
He leaned back a bit. “There’s an insult somewhere in that for me.”
Since he’d given her some space, she could finally turn her head without fear of her face—her lips—touching him. She sent him her best haughty look. “You bet there is.”
“You can’t avoid me all night. We have a sponsor party to go to.”
Frowning, she wished she could figure out a way to get out of that. They’d been invited to a cocktail-hour/dinner party held in the sponsor’s luxury suite. She’d heard the owner offered lobster and caviar to his invited guests, so the party would no doubt be a major classy affair. “Oh, right.”
“And don’t even think about trying to get out of it.”
Thankfully the pilot announced their approach to the airport before she could respond. Everyone who’d been distracted or asleep focused on getting their seat belts on and gear stowed before landing.
In the confusion of getting off the plane and transferred to the hotel—or the motor coach parked at the track in Kane’s case—Lexie made sure she was in a separate car from him. And, with him ensconced at the track, she didn’t have to deal with him being just a room or two away and popping in to talk about—or worse, pursue—this ill-timed chemistry between them.
She couldn’t, however, stifle the urge to fuss with her hair and actually put on makeup instead of just swiping on a single coat of mascara later that night. However, the elegant, pale-green cocktail dress she’d ordered online—after James had declared her usual black pantsuit unacceptable—didn’t fit just right. It bagged at the shoulders but was too tight in the waist.
Gazing in the mirror, she decided what seemed elegant on her computer screen looked like a mother-of-the-bride reject in person.
Plus, her makeup was too pale, giving her skin a sallow appearance. Her eyeliner was already smudged under her eyes. The lipstick felt gummy—it was probably old.
The new shoes she’d bought presented even more problems. First, she had to wind the straps around her ankle in some complicated twist that took her five tries to get right—those engineering classes clearly had no purpose in the real world of being a girl—then she had to hold out her arms to get her balance as she stood on the four-inch heels.
Not the kind of woman Kane was used to seeing on his arm, but would her future accounting, engineering or managerial husband be pleased? She hoped so, because she wasn’t dressing up for Kane. Nope. No way. She was scouting for a man. A Sonomic Oil man. Even if he did work for a NASCAR-sponsored company, he had to do something besides obsess about engines, shocks, tire wear and lap times. He had to be somebody besides the man who’d broken her teenage heart.
When someone knocked on the door, she wobbled down the hall to answer. “I can’t walk,” she declared to James as she held on to the door frame to keep from falling over.
“You’re beautiful,” he said as he brushed his lips across her cheek. “Every man in the room will volunteer to carry you.”
Feeling awkward, her face grew hot. Why couldn’t she have fallen for James all those years ago? He and Kane were both charming and handsome, smart and fun. But, somehow, she and James had connected on a NASCAR fan level, and no chemistry beyond friendship had ever developed.
Her eyes—and her heart—had been all for Kane.