Sweet Carolina(41)
“Stand with me,” Dell said in her ear as he dropped her feet to the ground. “I don't want to be out here all alone.”
Caro turned and frowned at him. “You could have just asked,” she said, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her fire suit.
“You wouldn't have come,” he said. “I know you.” He placed a hand on the small of her back, gently turning her and compelling her to walk beside him. She complied rather than put up a fight to draw even more attention. “All the other owners are out here for the national anthem, you should be too.”
“The other owners aren't me,” she said.
Dell dipped his head close to hers. “What you mean is, the other owners aren't sleeping with their drivers,” he said. Her skin flushed with heat and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down on them. Dell's next words knocked her completely off balance. “But you don't know that for sure.”
Caro laughed the rest of the way to Dell's car where he arranged her so they stood hip-to-hip, facing the flagpole. She was vaguely aware of cameras snapping around them, but Dell's ridiculous statement drained the tension from her body. He was right. There was nothing wrong with her standing with her driver during the pre-race festivities, Caro rationalized. So what if the spot she occupied was traditionally filled by wives and girlfriends – or husbands in rare cases. Some of the younger drivers invited their mothers to fill the spot.
The ceremony came to an end, and Caro turned to wish Dell good luck. Before the words were out, he snaked an arm around her and brought her flush against his hard body. She instantly stiffened and tried to push away, but he held her tight. She looked up at him, a protest on her lips. Dell kissed her. Right in front of God and the elite of NASCAR. Her first instinct was to get away, but it lasted the span of one record lap around the track, no more, and then she kissed him back.
As quickly as he grabbed her, he let her go. With a knowing smile, he hoisted himself through the car window and into the driver's seat. Caro watched in muted shock as he settled in and reached for his helmet. He paused, holding his helmet in his hands, and winked at her. “Wish me luck,” he said.
Caro fumed. The sparks flying off her could have fired the engines on half the cars lined up to take the track. She took a step back as Dell heeded the order to start the engine. The roar of fifty high performance engines firing at the same time drowned out whatever retort her sizzled brain might have come up with, provided her brain was actually functioning – which it was not. The ground trembled beneath her feet, reminding her it was time to leave. Dell smiled at her, and with a flick of his fingers, shooed her away.
* * * *
Dell fired the engine and called himself all kinds of an idiot. He didn't know what came over him. One minute he was immersed in pre-race musings regarding strategy in a winner-take-all race like this one, and the next, he was sweeping Caro off her feet, and all because he'd caught a glimpse of her fire suit-clad ass. Hauling her out on the track to stand beside him wasn't so bad. He'd told the truth. Most of the owners were out there, so there wasn't any reason she shouldn't be too.
What he hadn't expected was the way it felt to have her standing beside him – like he was some sort of gladiator and she was his woman. He made her laugh, and that made him ridiculously happy for some reason. She didn't laugh near enough these days. The Caro he remembered from their shared childhood laughed all the time. The sound of her laughter was like sunshine on the cold, dark places in his soul, and when it was time to send her on her way, he couldn't not kiss her.
Her body language screamed at him to stop, and he was going to, but something shifted and she went all soft in his arms, kissing him back. God almighty, he was a knight in shining armor going to battle to defend the damsel in distress. It took all his strength to step away from her, and he soon found out folding himself into the seat with a hard-on was no picnic either.
Damn. He needed to concentrate. With a million dollars at stake in the All-Star race, everyone took it seriously. He'd be a fool not to. He waved her away and dragged his thoughts back to where they belonged. Just because he was hell-bent on giving away his inheritance didn't mean he wanted to live the life of a pauper. He needed money of his own, and a million dollars would go a long way toward his goal of living off his own winnings rather than his father's.
The first twenty laps went without incident. The car handled well so he decided to skip the first optional pit stop in favor of possibly gaining track position. He'd love to win a million dollars, but there was a bonus purse for the winner of each twenty-lap segment too. Winning at least one would be good – preferably the last one. That would set him up as one of the first four to take the track after the mandatory pit stop before the final segment.