Full Throttle (16 page)

“I—” He stopped, realizing Alex meant Lexie. “That's Lexie.”

Alex squinted. “Nah.”

“Yes.”

Alex patted him on the back sympathetically. “I think you oughta lay off the beer, buddy.”

As he walked away, Kane wondered why Lexie was unrecognizable without her uniform and ball cap. No one seemed to have any trouble drooling over her at the sponsor party at Bristol. Maybe it was just that no one could imagine them together. They probably thought he wasn't smart enough to interest a brain like Lexie.

You sure didn't hold on to her before.

Yeah, well, this time was different.

He returned to the group and handed Streetson his beer. “So Matthews decided his car was crap, but he wanted one of those grandfather clocks Martinsville gives away as a trophy.”

“Hey, everybody,” Pat Williams said as he walked up. “Congrats, Kane,” he said, holding out his hand.

Kane leaned around Lexie and shook his competitor's hand. “Thanks. You, too.” After his wreck at Michigan, “The Hatchet” had fought his way back to first in points. Everybody said he was the man to beat, and now Kane was one of the drivers determined to do just that.

They were casual friends and hung out sometimes, racing go-karts or playing computer games, but for the next ten weeks they'd be pitted against each other on the track and in the media. Kane was glad James had invited him and they had this moment of calm before the storm landed full force.

“Pull up a seat,” Kane added, indicating the chairs scattered alongside the pool.

“You bet.” He dragged a chair over, and others in the crowd scooted to make room.

“Am I ever going to get this story out?” Streetson asked the group in general.

“Yes,” Kane said. Anything to keep Lexie smiling.

“So we've got Matthews and a clock,” Streetson said, leaning forward. “In those days they kept the clock in this storage closet behind one of the concession stands. The lock on the door was just a plain old Master padlock. A pair of bolt cutters would take care of things easy. But the track did have a security guard, who supposedly had this big, mean dog go on patrol with him.”

“They probably paid him in hot dogs,” Pat said.

“Must have been a stout dog,” one of the guys in the crowd added. “Those things are lethal.”

Streetson shook his head. “Great minds think alike. Matthews figures if he encounters the dog, he can toss a couple of hot dogs its way, giving him the chance to escape. He even hires a lookout.” He looked over at Lexie.

“Hires?
The jerk blackmailed me.”

“Oh-ho,” Pat said with a grin. “Straitlaced Lexie has a skeleton in her closet? Wanna share?”

She exchanged a flushed glance with Kane. “Ah, no.”

“He'd caught us making out behind Streetson's motor coach,” Kane said, caught between amusement and exasperation by her embarrassment. “He threatened to tell Harry.”

Streetson snorted. “As if he didn't already know.”

After another quick, guilty glance at Kane, she said, “He said he had
pictures.
The letch. It's one thing to know, entirely another to
see
.”

Before Kane could question her about these pictures he hadn't known existed, Streetson continued. “So Matthews and his unwilling accomplice head to the trophy's storage shed, where he's planning to cut the lock, then load the clock on a dolly.” He raised his eyebrows. “By himself, I mean to tell ya, obviously not realizing that clock must weigh three hundred pounds.”

“And I'm supposed to whistle if I see the guard coming,” Lexie added. “Of course, I'm looking for the guard so I can tattle and go back to bed.”

“Poor guy,” Pat said. “The plan was flawed from the start.”

“Matthews is hard at work with his bolt cutters,” Streetson continued. “For any normal person this would be like cutting cardboard with the kitchen scissors, but Matthews weighs 110 soaking wet.”

“He made Barney Fife look hefty,” Kane added.

“Well, the break-in is taking some time and eventually the guard and his dog get around to the storage shed. Matthews's lookout—” He nodded at Lexie.

“Is long gone.”

“So it's a big shock to our thief when the dog starts barking. And soundin' real close.

“And here, my good friends, is where the story splits into the Matthews version and the real version. In the Matthews version, he ducks behind a post, waiting until the dog and the guard are just a few feet away. Then, heroically, he jumps out from behind the post, charges the dog and the guard, tosses the hot dogs, then does some kind of fancy footwork and escapes before either man or beast even thinks about chasing him.”

Streetson shook his head. “When he tells me and my team all this the next morning, we figure most of it's bull. Since we were working with a rain delay, we decided to find the guard and get the real story. According to him, Matthews tossed the hot dogs all right, but the guard dog caught them in the air in one gulp, then charged. Matthews freaked out, turned and ran. The dog caught him in three strides and chomped down on his butt.”

As his audience roared with laughter, Streetson added, “The guy had to sit on a cushion during the race. Plus, the guard was so proud of his pooch's crime foiling, he insisted on showing us a picture of Bitsy. It was a stinkin' poodle!”

“In all fairness, it was a
big
poodle,” Lexie said.

“It was a
show
dog,” Streetson said. “Had those silly looking pom-pom things all over its head, tail and legs. Any man who runs from a dog that looks like that deserves to get bit in the butt.”

“So the clock was saved?” a woman in the group asked.

“Yep.” Streetson smiled. “And it looks pretty nice sittin' in my den.”

Though he knew the story well, Kane laughed along with everybody else. Many of his friends and teammates were younger than him and new to NASCAR. To have a legend like Streetson pass on stories about the good ol' days, to have a driver of his caliber sitting a few feet away, sharing a beer with them like buddies, must be a surreal experience.

It certainly was for him every time it happened.

The stories crowd swelled, then diminished. At one point, Lexie excused herself from the group. When she didn't come back after several minutes, Kane went in search of her.

He found her by the lake, staring into its moonlit depths.

Even her silhouette was inspiring. He swelled with pride as he imagined her standing by his side. The tip of his fingers tingled with the urge to stroke her skin, to hold her in his arms and absorb her touch and inhale the fruit and coconut scent he couldn't seem to put out of his mind.

He desired her as he never had another woman. He longed for her respect as he never had another person.

Could he really be a strong enough man for her? With all his faults and shortcomings, his past mistakes and the ones he'd no doubt make in the future, did he even deserve her?

His own father didn't respect him. How could he expect Lexie to?

He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to walk closer, banishing his insecurities and doubts. “You never told me Matthews had pictures,” he said as he approached her.

She didn't turn around. She'd no doubt sensed him there long before he'd spoken. The woman didn't miss a thing.

“He was probably bluffing. You know what a talker he was.”

“Are you thinking about him?” he asked, stopping just behind her. Ricky Matthews had died of a stroke just a few weeks ago, no doubt prompting her and Mike Streetson's memorial by storytelling. It was the way of a Southerner. The way of racing.

“No.” She turned her head to look at him. “I was thinking about you.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

She faced him, laying her hand on his chest. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Her eyes glittered with longing and promise. “I never got to really congratulate you for making the top ten.”

He could already taste her on his lips. His chest tightened in an effort to draw a deep breath. “We ought to do something about that.”

Her lips curved. “Yeah, we should.”

Their mouths met gently, with promise and need. The future and the past were both prevalent in their minds. So much was at stake.

But he concentrated only on her, on the way she made him feel, on the way he wanted her to feel. They'd given so much of themselves to their jobs, to other people and other aspirations. They deserved to enjoy each other.

When she pulled back, she was breathing hard. “I should probably go.”

He held her tighter against him. “Don't. Don't go.”

She stroked her fingers through his hair and smiled.

W
RAPPING HERSELF
in a throw from the end of the bed, Lexie padded to the balcony off Kane's bedroom. She sat on the porch swing and curled her feet beneath her, staring out over the dark and silent lake.

Right or wrong, she and Kane had taken an irrevocable step forward tonight.

Being held in his arms was as wonderful as she remembered. And just as burdened with problems.

Their careers and reputations were seriously on the line now. As teenagers they'd worried about their fathers catching them, but young love had made them bold and blind to any true consequences. Now there was no denying the risks they were flouting.

Maybe Kane wasn't worried. Racing was a wild, risky profession. Was she just another risk to take? Another challenge to overcome?

She had to prepare for that possibility, but she knew, regardless of his feelings for her, she'd gone and done it again—fallen hard.

Fast. Sure. Completely.

Without him she was pretty sure she wouldn't draw another easy breath. With him she wondered if breathing would be even harder.

She'd longed for an accountant, a lawyer, a waiter. She'd gotten none of those. As a teenager, she'd fallen in love with a race car driver, and, truth be told, she'd never fallen out.

With a quiet giggle, she pushed aside that practical, think-of-everybody-before-yourself side and indulged in happiness. A long time had passed since she'd felt this content. As she basked in the glow of reunion, she remembered a time when she and Kane had been wrapped in each other's arms as young lovers and looked out on this same lake.

They'd shared so much together. The disappointment of his football days dying. The birth of his enthusiasm for NASCAR. The hopes for their future together. The sadness when their love had been overwhelmed by careers, jealousy, arguments.

She'd lost the love of her life, but somehow she and Kane had formed a new bond. She felt the same in some ways, and completely different in others. Her emotions were all over the place—blissful, exhilarated, worried. They'd changed and grown up, but would things really be better this time?

Could Kane love her? Real, true, deep love? The love of his life?

“Can't sleep?” he asked softly.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hair wavy and mussed, wearing only his jeans. She swallowed hard and had to look away before she could answer him. “I'm just thinking.”

“Regrets already?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. She didn't regret. She dreaded.

Big difference.

But with him so close and their renewed intimacy still lingering in the air, she had no intention of dwelling on her fears at the moment. She held out her hand. “Join me?”

He cast a glance back—at the bed, no doubt—then sat on the swing, pulling her back against his warm chest.

“It's quiet,” she said.

“Probably why so many drivers live out here.”

“You?”

“Yeah. The isolation is nice.” He stroked his fingers down her bare arm. “And sometimes lousy.”

She recalled many Sunday nights she'd sat on her own back porch and wondered where everybody had gone. After the buildup to race day, all she had left was her own company. “The loneliness in our business, alongside so much intensity, is hard for a lot of people to understand.”

“Not you.”

“Only because I've been a part of it for so long. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a normal life,” she added quietly.

“You'd rather have a nine-to-five job?” he asked, his surprise evident.

“No.” What would she do if she didn't spend all her time either working on cars or going to the track? The idea was as likely as flying to the moon.

“You ever think about what you'll do after you retire?” she asked.

“No.”

She glanced back at him, but the night shadowed his expression. “Yes, you do.”

“My father thinks I ought to do PR for the NFL.”

She stiffened. Conversations about his father were always loaded with tension. And, as was typical with Anton Jackson's suggestions, she completely disagreed.

She'd never known anybody less likely than Kane to work in public relations. He was great with the fans, but he was also impatient. He was terrible at organization and worse at playing politics. Plus, he would never get anywhere on time if James didn't schedule every minute of his weekend.

He surprised her by smiling, then kissing her forehead. “I can read your thoughts, you know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah, you're thinking you haven't heard a worse idea since Ricky Matthews suggested you be the lookout for his clock-stealing scheme.”

She laughed and turned slightly, laying her head against his chest. “Pretty close.”

He stroked her hair. “I like having you here.”

“I like being here.”

“Are you sure?”

His heart thumped beneath her ear. Doubts and worries pushed her to confess their concerns, but she ignored them. “Yes.”

“You seemed uncomfortable earlier.”

“I didn't see any point in broadcasting our relationship—past or present.”

“We were among friends.”

“I'm not ready to share us with them, either.”

“You're embarrassed.”

Startled, she lifted her head. “I'm not.” She cupped his jaw, then pressed her lips briefly against his. “I'm not at all. It's just that once everybody knows we're…”

“Sleeping together.”

She winced. “Too much information. I was going to say
reunited
.”

“You don't want anyone to know we're sleeping together.”

Hearing the angry, wounded tone in his voice, she sat up straight. “Once everyone knows about us, the speculation, the truth, whatever…it'll become a
thing
.”

“A thing?”

“An excuse for why you're driving great. Or not so great. A reason why I'm happy and made the right adjustment on the car. A reason why I'm annoyed and forgot to double-check the ignition box. Then it's not about us anymore. It's about everything else. We're entitled to a private life.”

“I don't want to apologize.”

She slid her thumb across his bottom lip, which was entirely too firm. “I'd never ask you to.”

“You did with Victor Sono.”

He was their primary sponsor. They couldn't afford to annoy him. There was nothing personal about her request. “I was a car chief then,” she said.

“You're not now?”

“Definitely not.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth, reassurance welling up in her as she realized how nice it was to touch him, to not be constantly holding back. She wanted to relive their longing and passion over and over again, until he was again familiar, until she'd memorized every sigh and touch. “Remember what we did the night we sneaked out to your parents' lake house?”

“Vividly.”

“You wanna do that again?”

“I think I could be persuaded to go there.”

She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head toward her lips. “Go there.”

 

A
FTER FINISHING SIXTH
in the first Chase race at New Hampshire, Kane arrived in Dover on Thursday night with a surge of confidence.

Which lasted about ten minutes.

Apparently, Lexie had told her father she was staying with Kane in his motor coach this weekend.

When they got to the track, they'd rushed to the hauler for a brief meeting with Harry. And his crew chief—the man who'd been his mentor for too many years to count—gave him one long, hard stare, then ignored him completely.

He'd talked to his daughter about race details and the car setup, but not with his usual easiness and affection. His anger and disappointment was evident.

Lexie had warned Kane this would happen. She'd told him a lot of people were not going to be happy for them and had convinced him last week to say nothing about their relationship. She'd also refused to stay in his motor coach with him.

But he had no intention of hiding from anybody.

He wanted her to stay with him, despite her dire warning that the team was going to worry about how their relationship would affect the team, their communication and chemistry. Their friends were going to worry they would be pushed aside. His female fans, according to Lexie, were going to hate her.

Kane had dismissed most of her concerns. Until now, anyway.

What was
with
people? Didn't they have anything else to worry about?
He
wasn't entitled to a slice of happiness?
He
wasn't supposed to have a private life?

He stalked out of the hauler and paced outside. Looking back on his lunch with James yesterday, he remembered even his best buddy still had reservations about him and Lexie dating again. He'd asked Kane how things were going, as if he expected trouble.

Did they think being with Lexie was going to affect his driving? Like Samson cutting his hair, he'd suddenly forget how to press the gas pedal? That he'd get on the track and wonder whether he should go right or left? Surely they'd all settle down once everybody realized how ridiculous that was.

If anything his concentration should improve, since he wasn't focusing on his conflicts with Lexie anymore. He'd had a great finish last week, and that seemed like proof to him.

He'd just have to act as if nothing had changed. He wasn't into public displays of affection, anyway, but he'd make double sure he treated Lexie professionally in public. He'd make sure he treated all the guys the same—though he couldn't imagine why he wouldn't.

The door opened behind him, and Lexie stepped out. “Ready to go?”

“Sure. How did—” He stopped when he saw tears glimmering in her eyes. Immediately the no-PDA vow died. He drew her into his arms. “What did he say?”

“The usual parent stuff—you're making a mistake, you're ruining your life.”

But Harry wasn't a usual parent. In all the years he'd known them, he'd never heard him and Lexie fight. A reunion with him, however, had provoked an argument that ended with her in tears. Not exactly a confidence booster or a mood destined to keep the spark alive in their romance.

Why couldn't they share their happiness with the people who meant the most?

He sighed in disappointment and hugged her against his chest. He'd caused a rift between her and her father. He'd pushed her and pursued her. He'd convinced her nothing would change except that he'd finally be able to look into her eyes and be honest in telling her he no longer wanted to just be her friend and teammate.

His chest tightened when he considered that it wasn't just any man involved with his daughter that upset Harry. It was him personally.

Was that just because of their positions on the team, or did the resentment go deeper than that? His own father had never fully accepted him and the choices he'd made. Harry always had. Would his relationship with Lexie cost him that respect?

“You wanna dump me again?” he asked her, striving for humor.

Sniffling, she clutched him tighter, her face pressed against his throat. “No.”

“But you told me so, didn't you? You told me everybody was going to freak out.”

“I did tell you so,” she said, her voice stronger.

“But then, you're always right.”

She lifted her head and looked up at him. A tentative smile hovered on her lips. “I must really be pitiful if you're conceding that.”

“I concede nothing. I was trying to make you laugh.”

“Doesn't make me less right.”

“Depends of the subject. Gear ratios?”

“Mine.”

“Wind tunnel statistics.”

“Mine again.”

“Pass protection in football.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You can have that one.”

“What about…” He whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear.

“Oh, well, okay. You get that one, too,” she said, her tone husky.

He kissed her gently. “I'm sorry you and your dad argued.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Later. I'm starving.” She tugged his hand, and they headed to his motor coach.

There they made dinner together, then watched a sitcom on TV. Tomorrow he'd have to share her, so tonight he planned to be greedy. Shades drawn, and the rest of the racing world shut out, they made love on the sofa. Each time he held her he was reminded of the precious gift she was to him. He could very easily fall in love again.