Sweet Carolina(10)
Holy cow. What had she done?
The racing world was going to have a field day with this. Hawkins Racing didn't need the kind of publicity Dell would generate – they only needed to win. And lord knew, she didn't need Dell Wayne. Want? That was something entirely different.
Caro pushed away from the steering wheel and peeled her fingers loose. A tap on her window had her almost jumping out of her skin. A uniformed officer peered at her, signaling with his index finger for her to roll the window down. She lowered the glass half an inch and asked to see his badge. Satisfied he was the real thing, she powered the window down the rest of the way.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Are you okay, ma'am?”
“I'm fine. I needed to…” stop shaking? “rest a minute,” she said. “It's been a long day.”
“You might want to switch off the engine, ma'am.”
“Yes, good point.” Caro turned the key and smiled back at the officer.
He asked a few more questions, and being convinced Caro was fine, he bid her a good evening and walked away. She waited until he drove off before she allowed herself to slump in her seat.
Caro took in a deep, calming breath. The first full one she'd taken since Dell opened his front door and she got her first, up close look at the adult version of the kid she'd known. The ratty T-shirt he wore should have been a turn-off, but the way the thin cotton stretched across those broad shoulders… and when he moved, it hinted at firm muscles everywhere else. It was hot. And those jeans that looked like they'd been washed a million times? Oh, dear lord. The denim was faded all over, but in just the right places – a white denim whammy to the gut. The man needed new jeans. Jeans that didn't draw attention to places she shouldn't be looking. Or thinking about.
It wasn't seemly for a boss to lust… look at an employee that way. Like he was the last hot biscuit in the pan, with butter and honey oozing all over it.
Caro swallowed hard and licked her lips. She wouldn't mind having a taste of Dell Wayne. Just one little lick. Maybe on his forearm. That would be safe enough. As long as she didn't stray to the crook of his elbow where the skin looked so… or his neck. Heaven forbid if she licked his neck. She'd have to get real close to do that. Bodies touching close. Close enough to feel what lay underneath that T-shirt and those jeans. And if that happened, one lick probably wouldn't be enough.
Tires screeched and an engine roared nearby. Caro's head snapped up, and so did reality. This was ridiculous, sitting in a parking lot, lusting after a man she couldn't have. He was her driver. Or he would be, as soon as she got his signature on a contract, and that couldn't come soon enough. She looked around, spied a Starbucks on the far end of the shopping center, and headed toward it.
She ordered a venti hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, and took a seat by the window. The chocolate went a long way to calming her nerves. She'd made the biggest business deal of her life, and arguably, one of the stupidest. What did she really know about Dell Wayne? He'd burst into the Cup series four years ago, touted as the up-and-coming driver by all the reporters. And then his father died.
Caro sipped the warm drink and tried not to dwell on the negative, though it was hard to ignore the facts. Dell had been suspended from NASCAR, and fired from Anderson Racing for a reason, and it wasn't because of his innovative driving. But even when Dell was living up to his nickname, Madman, there was something about the way he drove that hinted at the potential he'd once shown the world. Things rarely happened to Dell. Everything, even the crashes, appeared calculated, planned, instigated – by Dell himself.
She sighed, finished her drink and tossed it into the bin by the door on her way out. She had work to do. Contracts to draft, a sponsor to win over to her new driver, and a fire suit to order. Getting Dell into a fire suit was high priority. Then she'd only have to look at his face and his hands. Hands that didn't resemble the ones she remembered in the least. She groaned. She wouldn't think about his hands, or his long fingers, or how strong they had to be to control a racecar. Or what they would feel like on her skin. Rough. Competent. Hot.
Gloves. She needed to order gloves. And a helmet. With a visor.
Chapter Four
Whatever made her think a fire suit was a good idea? Caro eyed the man standing in her office in the brand new fire suit – complete with gloves. The red piping on black around the neckline and waistband accented his slim physique, and extended over his shoulders, down his arms and the length of his legs, drawing attention to his height. He flexed his fingers in the buttery leather gloves and her lady parts tingled. She ignored the ill-timed feeling. After a week of seeing Dell almost every day, she had lots of experience ignoring those feelings.