“Everything. There isn't a used part on it – all brand-spanking new.”
“I'll look forward to it then.”
She held out the folder in her hand. “Good. Then you won't mind confirming the reservations for Las Vegas.”
Dell laughed as he took the folder. “Damn. I set myself up for that one, didn't I?”
“Yep, you did. Now go make phone calls. I have work to do here.”
Chapter Six
Caro pretended to work as Dell left her office, folder in hand. Good lord! Why wouldn't he go away? Dell Wayne was a distraction she didn't need. It was bad enough he looked like sin in a fire suit and drove like a demon, but Dell in tight jeans and a T-shirt was more than any woman should have to deal with. If there were any doubt whether racecar drivers were athletes, one look at Dell dressed like that, and the naysayers would shut up. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the man, and his body-hugging clothes outlined every hard muscle.
Ever since the night she went to his home to offer him the job, inappropriate thoughts about peeling his clothes off and touching every sculpted muscle she found, ran through her mind on an endless loop that kept her on edge, and horny. Denial was pointless. Dell Wayne was too luscious, too damned hot for words. He made her want and need things she'd been successfully ignoring for a long time.
Caro stared blankly at the parts order in front of her. Focus. She needed to concentrate on her work. The garage couldn't function without parts and tools, and she was going to be on the road for at least the next two weeks.
Two weeks. On the road. With Dell. She gave a moment's consideration to booking a different hotel from the one where he would be staying, but this close to race day there wouldn't be a decent room available within a hundred miles of Phoenix. She'd simply have to keep her distance. Just because they would be in the same hotel didn't mean she had to see him any more than absolutely necessary. Besides, he probably had women in every city on the circuit, and if he didn't, he wouldn't have any trouble finding one, or one hundred.
Moreover, she reminded herself, there were enough rumors going around about the state of their relationship, and there was no reason for her to add fuel to them by being seen with him outside the garage. She smirked as she signed the purchase order for the parts and moved on to the fuel and tire requisitions. Did people think she didn't hear the comments they made behind her back? As soon as she walked into her first owner's meeting, the rumors began to fly about whom she was sleeping with, and why. The world of professional stock car racing was the original old boys' club, and few had any place for a woman among them. Much less one her age.
She'd heard it all. She was too young. She didn't know cars or racing, or her head from a lug nut, even though she'd grown up on the racing circuit, hanging out in most of their garages at one time or another. She'd spent more time in the Hawkins Racing garage than in school in the days before her father sent her away. And as much as she hated those years away, they'd been a gift of sorts. They'd given her the freedom to learn everything she could about cars without her dad interfering. If she'd stayed, he would have controlled her access to the scientific and mechanical data she'd consumed like other underage kids did alcohol – and she'd done it all without her dad knowing a thing about it.
She was capable of providing knowledgeable input on the car's performance, and she had ideas that would make Hawkins engines run better. Convincing everyone else her ideas would work was going to be hard. And she'd never be able to do it if she were sleeping with her driver, or anyone else connected to racing in any way. From the NASCAR officials down to the pit crew, they were all off limits.
That meant her life was her work. Even if the company could afford the kind of staff it needed, Caro would still be here, putting in ridiculous hours by anyone's standards – because she had something to prove.
She needed to prove to NASCAR, to the fans, to her team and to herself her dad had been wrong. Maybe they were right to believe not just any woman could own and run a successful race team, but there was one woman who could. Caro Hawkins could. And she was going to prove it or die trying.
* * * *
Dell throttled up as he came out of turn three, only to throttle back down again as he made it into turn four. With the backstretch ahead of him, he throttled up again and made another run at the lead. Only twenty laps to go, and victory was within his grasp. The adjustments Caro ordered to the fuel injection worked. After four hundred and eighty laps, the car still purred like a kitten, and ran like a cat with a pitbull chasing its ass.
“Nineteen to go,” Caro's voice came through his headset. “We've made a good showing today,” she said.