Hearts at Play(5)

“Two-twenty, Claude,” Brianna reminded him.

He pursed his lips and lowered his eyeglasses to the bridge of his nose. “It’s a good thing I love you.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose with his index finger. “Five more minutes. Then we’ll wrap, so Bree Bree can go get little Layla.”

She saw his cheeks rise behind the camera and knew he was teasing.

“Had a fab shoot yesterday. Wish you were here. The guy was hunkier than hunky,” Claude said as he climbed a stepladder.

Brianna listened to the click, click, click of the shutter, longing to be the one behind the camera. She found the sound as soothing as Layla found rubbing the ear of her stuffed Piglet doll and as inspiring as a writer’s muse.

“Did you hear me, Bree Bree?” Claude asked.

“Yes, sorry.” I was busy fantasizing. “Not interested. Thanks.”

Claude sighed and waved his hand at the models. The contrast between his cream-colored linen shirt and his coffee-bean-brown skin made Brianna wish once again that she had her camera in hand. It would be a long while before she would be able to replace her broken camera, but she held on to the dream of one day seeing the world through the safety of the filtered lens once again.

“Great job. Thank you for a hard day’s work,” Claude said to the couple before turning his back to them and whispering, “Beauty makes for a tough life. What I wouldn’t give to roll around on the sheets with that one.” He nodded to the lithe male model crossing the floor wearing nothing but black bikini briefs.

“You’re terrible. You say that about all the male models.”

Claude pulled his glasses down again and peered over them. The lights reflected off of his pointy bald head. “Good. Maybe some of my lusty leering will wear off on you.”

“Okay. On that note, I’m going to take off and get my lovely daughter from school. Is Reba coming by to help put things away?” Reba Wilkes was the sweet fiftysomething woman who ran his cleanup crew.

“Always,” Claude said. “I meant what I said. I really do wish you were here for that shoot. This guy had soulful eyes, and you could just tell he was a good one, despite his fame.”

Brianna waved as she walked toward the door. “Daughter, daughter, Claude. Talk to me in twelve years.” She hesitated at the doorway. “Love you for thinking of me, though.”

“Fine. Twelve years it is, but I need you on Saturday. Can you make it? Ten o’clock.”

Brianna bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. Saturday was going to be her first full day off in two weeks, and she’d planned on shopping for Layla’s birthday gift and taking Layla to the park later in the afternoon. They hadn’t been in ages, and Brianna had wanted some one-on-one time while the weather was still warm enough to enjoy it. She’d made enough in tips last week to splurge on lunch out, too, but the extra money from Claude would help toward her birthday party. She hadn’t told Layla about the park yet, so…

Claude must have seen her hesitation. “Stella won’t be back in time. I’ll throw in a little extra bonus.”

“Sure. Yes.” Sorry, Layla.





Chapter Five


HUGH ROUNDED THE racetrack at one hundred and eighty miles per hour. He’d been at the track since eight in the morning, after spending an hour at his home gym and going for a three-mile run. This was his last practice run. The world outside his windows went by in one thick blur, but Hugh didn’t see the bleachers melding into one another or the blob of fans standing outside the fence with their noses pressed against the gate. His vision was focused on the hood of the car, the road just beyond, and the curve of the track. His body, completely in tune to the vehicle, felt a slight drift to the right around the bend, and beyond the pristine roar of the engine that vibrated through his body, the only thing Hugh heard was his own mind noting the drift and calculating the strategy for the next race. There was no bigger thrill than race day, but practice came pretty damn close.

He downshifted on the straightaway and pulled into the pit. The pit crew flew around the car at lightning speed.

“Fix that drift,” Hugh said as he stepped from the car and felt the familiar sensation that everything around him was still moving. It took a few minutes for the hum of the engine to leave his body, and when it did, it stole a flash of the exhilaration from the ride.

“We’ve got it, Hugh. No problem,” Art assured him.

Hugh stood to the side as his heart calmed and the earth stopped moving under his feet. “Art.” He waved him over. Art was thirty-five with short, sandy hair and honest green eyes.

“Boss? Listen, we’ve got thi—”

Hugh put his arm around Art’s shoulder and walked him away from the crew. “Art, no more of that shit like last night, okay?”

Art smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “I heard you last night. No more setups. Got it.” He looked out over the track and then back at Hugh. “Was she really that bad?”

“Worse.” Hugh smiled. “The only good thing that came of it is that I found a place I can hang out without being recognized.”

“No shit?”

“Yup. Hell, if I’m here for a week or two, I might as well have a place to grab dinner.”

Art pointed at him. “See, now, that’s why you need a wife.”

“Oh hell no. That’s why they make restaurants. I’m off the market, remember?” There was a time when Hugh would have fought to the death to protect his bachelor status, but now, as the words left his lips, his vehemence deflated. He didn’t want a wife to cook for him, but every day he was growing more certain that he wanted to have a real relationship with a woman. Something more than wham, bam, thank you, ma’am with women he barely remembered ten minutes after they were done in the sack.

“Hey, you told me to tell you when it was three. It’s three fifteen. Sorry.” Art held up his arm for Hugh to see his watch.

Hugh patted him on the back. “Thanks, man. Let’s go over the notes for tomorrow; then I’ll take off.”





HUGH SHOWERED AND dressed in a pair of distressed jeans and a white T-shirt beneath a black cashmere sweater. He splashed on Eros by Versace cologne and slid his feet into his favorite pair of black boots before heading out to his garage.

He drove his Roadster to Old Town Tavern, contemplated parking behind the building, where Brianna had said she parked the night before, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to take a chance that she’d think he was a stalker, even if he was there for a second day in a row specifically to see her as she arrived at work. He mulled over not going in and taking a chance in a day or two. As with everything else in Hugh’s life, he was less than patient. The hell with it. He drove down the street and around the corner and parked in the public parking garage.

As a thirty-one-year-old race car driver, it took a lot to make Hugh nervous, but as he pulled open the heavy wooden door to Old Town Tavern, his nerves were on fire. One quick scan told him Brianna wasn't there. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and disappointment settled heavily on his shoulders.

The blond waitress he recognized waved from behind the bar. “Hey there.” She pointed at herself. “Kat, remember?”

“Of course. How’s it going?” he asked as he climbed atop a barstool. He hadn’t given much thought to Kat’s looks the evening before, and now, without the distraction of beautiful Brianna or fluorescent Tracie, he noticed that she was quite attractive with big blue eyes and a tall, slender frame, though she wore a splash too much makeup and too tight of a push-up bra. Hugh had never been into blondes for more than a roll in the sheets, and tonight was no different as his mind drifted back to Brianna.

“Can’t complain,” she said with a smile. “Nice to see you again, Hugh. Sidecar?”

“No, thanks. Water would be great, thanks.”

She opened a bottle of Perrier and set it on the bar beside a glass of ice. “Who comes into a bar and orders water?”

“You’re right. Give me a sidecar, too.” He checked his watch. It was four forty-five. Where is she?

“Now you’re talkin’.” Kat made his drink.

“It’s pretty dead in here, huh?” he said, hoping she’d say something about Brianna. “Will it get busier when the game comes on?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s still early.” She leaned against the counter behind the bar. “So, Hugh, did you just move to town?”

He laughed. “Not really. I’ve owned my house for a few years, but I travel a lot.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

Hugh took a sip of water, trying to form an answer other than the truth. He really didn’t want to out himself in the one place he could let his guard down.

The door flew open, and Brianna hurried across the floor, looking down as she stuffed her keys in her purse. “I’m sorry. I swear I hate my stupid car. It wouldn’t st—” She stopped cold. Their eyes locked.

Hugh’s pulse kicked up a notch as he drank in the rest of Brianna—all the lovely curves he had missed the night before. Brianna didn’t just have a nice body. She was smoking hot. He couldn’t help but drag his eyes down to her perfect round breasts, slim waist, curvaceous hips, and long, luscious legs in tighter-than-tight jeans that disappeared into knee-high black boots. Hugh felt a smile stretch across his face. He drew his eyes back up to her face and knew that it didn’t matter what kind of killer body she had. It was those thoughtful, intense eyes that drew him in. Shit. She wasn’t smiling.