“Don’t worry. We’ll find you a room.”
“Are you sure, because I can always sleep in my truck.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’ll call the shop and have them make you a reservation. Just hang out here for a bit while they get things lined up. Maybe call your daughter. I’m sure she’s dying to know how you did. I’ll let you know just as soon as I hear something.”
ADAM WATCHED her turn, the smile she’d shot him just before she’d walked away full of professional politeness. In fact, he’d wager he’d seen that smile on TV at least a hundred times.
Cool as a cucumber,
he thought. But she was right. He needed to call his daughter. She’d be over at Brandy’s by now.
She answered on the first ring.
“Well?” she asked, the word almost a yelp.
“Well what?” he teased.
“Daddy,” she scolded. “You know what.”
“How was school today?”
“Da-ad!”
He chuckled and said, “I did fine.”
Silence, and then, “Define ‘fine.’”
Smart girl. She knew the questions to ask.
“I did good, Lin. I did real good.”
“You did?” she squealed.
“The best of the day so far.”
“I knew it,” she shot out. “I
knew
you’d kick ass!”
“Lindsey,” he scolded. “You know better than to use that kind of language.”
“He kicked ass,” he heard her scream to her friend. “I
told
you he would.”
“Right on,” he heard Brandy say in the background.
“Lindsey, please tell me Brandy’s mom isn’t standing nearby.”
“She’s downstairs watching
People’s Court.
Sotellmewhathappened.”
He bit back a smile, shaking his head as he took her through the day’s events. She interrupted him about every ten seconds. By the time he’d told her all there was to know, plus a few details she didn’t need to know—no, he didn’t pee his pants when he heard how good he did—it’d started to sink in that he’d done it. He’d made it through the first phase. And now he had to come back for tomorrow’s testing, which meant he had to ask Brandy’s mother about Lindsey staying for two more nights.
“So now what?” Lindsey asked.
“I have to stay here through Wednesday.”
“You think your work will mind?”
That was something Adam had wondered himself. He’d worked for Ralph’s Automotive for years. Ralph even sponsored his weekend racing. But there was a difference between an employee with a hobby and an employee who might be changing careers.
Damn. He’d really done it.
“I’ll work it out.”
“So I get to stay here a couple more nights?”
“Yeah. Let me talk to Brandy’s mother to see if it’ll be okay.”
“It’ll be okay. And if it’s not, I’ll go down to the local shelter.”
“You will not,” Adam said. “You’ll stay right there until I can come get you.”
“Does that mean you’re going to come get me now?”
“No. So don’t get your hopes up. You’re staying in school.”
“Da-ad.”
“No arguments. Now. Let me talk to Brandy’s mother.”
But Brandy’s mother sounded as excited as his daughter did—not surprising since she was a huge race fan. She even came and rooted for him during the Saturday night races sometimes. Everything was so easy to arrange, it almost seemed preordained—and maybe it was.
But Adam’s smile faded when he hung up. The truth was he wished Lindsey was there with him. His daughter might be ten years old, but she was his best friend. He missed her company.
He glanced toward pit road. Cece and Becca looked to be in a heated discussion. But then Cece tipped her head back and laughed, Becca swatting her friend in the arm in obvious exasperation. He wished he was a fly on the wall because he had a feeling they were talking about
him.
CHAPTER SIX
THEY COULDN’T FIND Adam a hotel room in all of Charlotte.
There was some kind of conference in town, and that combined with a local sporting event and concert had every hotel within thirty miles filled to the brim.
Adam had resigned himself to sleeping in his truck, but Cece Sanders suggested he stay with Becca.
“Why not?” she said. “She’s got plenty of room.”
“That’s not necessary. I can sleep in my truck.”
“You will not,” Cece said. “I’d offer you our guest house, but our nanny’s living there and so we don’t really have the room.”
“You have five
extra
rooms,” he heard Becca mutter to Cece.
“And they’re all being redecorated. The house is a mess,” Cece said, and Adam was certain he saw amusement in her eyes. “Plus, we’re expecting company. But like I said, Becca’s got room—”
“Cece—”
“Unless you really want him to sleep in his truck.”
He saw what was going on then. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t put two and two together before. “Ms. Sanders, Becca, there’s really no need to worry about me. I don’t mind camping out here.”
“Security will mind,” Cece said, arching her brows in Becca’s direction.
“Fine. He can stay with me,” Becca said. “But you’re going to have to wait until I’m through watching everyone test,” she said, looking at him as if expecting him to try to back out.
He almost did exactly that, but something about the way she looked into his eyes gave him pause. There was something there, a sort of aloofness that Adam saw right through.
She
was
hiding an attraction.
He held her gaze. She blushed.
Or did she? “That’s fine,” he said, watching her closely.
The blush spread down her neck.
Well, I’ll be…
He didn’t know what stunned him more, that Becca Newman found him attractive, or that Cece Sanders appeared to be setting the two of them up.
“Okay then,” Becca said. “I’ll meet up with you later.
“Thanks,” he said, but he was looking at Cece when he said it.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a secret smile.
HE HUNG OUT at the track for the rest of the day, unable to keep his eyes off Becca. And if he were being honest with himself, he could admit to secretly having fantasized about her for years. That was why he’d agreed to stay at her place—well, that and because he didn’t really want to spend the night in his truck. She was racing royalty. The daughter of a five-time NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series Champion, a man who’d been the son of a racing legend himself. He remembered seeing Rebecca on TV when he’d been younger, standing next to her dad in Victory Lane. When he’d heard who she was he’d become completely smitten, had even felt a pang or two when she’d married Randy Newman. And now here he was, talking to her, interacting with her—cripes, staying with her. It didn’t seem real.
When he pulled up in front of her house a few hours later, it seemed even
less
real. Last time he’d been here, he’d been so consumed with worry for Lindsey that he hadn’t even noticed his surroundings. But now he could see that Rebecca Newman lived in a home bigger than the dealership down the street from his garage. The two-story brick house looked like it was Civil War–era, but he suspected it was less than ten years old. Set amidst tall pines and lush foliage, the home belonged on the cover of
Better Homes & Gardens,
especially with a 7-UP-can-green lawn surrounding the premises. Her yard looked like a damn golf course.
“Go on in,” she said after getting out of the sporty red Cobra. “I’ve got some files and stuff I need to grab from the back.”
Adam slung his overnight bag over a shoulder. Lindsey had insisted he pack it even though Adam had been convinced he wouldn’t need it. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, no,” she said, waving him toward the front door as she used her keys to pop open the trunk. “Michelle, my housekeeper, will show you to your room. Just go on in and introduce yourself.”
But he went over to her, anyway, which might have been a mistake because the minute he was close to her, he smelled her and that seemed somehow wrong. Becca Newman shouldn’t smell like the wildflowers that bloomed near his Kentucky home. And that smell shouldn’t make him want to stand there, to close his eyes and figure out exactly which flowers they were.
He’d turned into a poetic fool.
“Here,” he said, holding out his hands.
“It’s okay,” she said, piling another file atop the five or so she held in her arms. “I’ve got it.”
“No, you don’t,” he said right as she piled some loose papers on top, except she didn’t get them square and so a few of them glided to the ground with the back and forth motion of falling leaves. “See?” He bent down and scooped them up. When he straightened he realized she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “Here,” he said, placing them back on top again.
“Thanks,” she said, her hand holding the papers down. “Look,” she said after the trunk lid slammed with an audible pop. “I’m probably going to eat up in my room, so you—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t eat up in your room. Eat dinner with me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He looked away for a moment, knowing he needed to get this right. He didn’t want to sound unprofessional, but he didn’t want her to think he was merely being polite, either. “Have dinner with me,” he said, suddenly deciding that to heck with it. He
liked
Becca Newman. What would it hurt to get to know her better?
“I need company tonight,” he admitted. “Usually, I have Lindsey around to calm me down whenever I’m amped up, but she’s not around and I really wish she was. So do you mind standing in for her?”
“Mr. Drake—”
He lifted his brow at her relapse into formality.
“Adam,” she corrected. “I have a lot of files to review. Even though we’ve cut the field in half, tomorrow will be just as grueling as today, and Wednesday will be even harder and so I really need to study the drivers’ profiles.”
“Please?”
“I don’t think—”
“I promise not to make a pass at you.”
Green eyes widened. “I never thought that you would.”
“But you’re worried about it, aren’t you? Don’t,” he said, squirming a bit at the lie. “I admired your husband too much to ever disrespect his widow.”
But instead of the relief he expected to see, what flitted through her eyes was something almost like irritation. But it was gone so quickly he might have imagined it.
“Thank you,” she said, a silent “I think” tacked onto the end of that sentence—or so he suspected.
“We can go to a restaurant if you like,” he said. “If that would make you feel better?”
“No,” she said with a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
BUT SHE WASN’T SURE.
In fact, as she changed into some cotton capris and a casual yellow top, she found herself thinking she’d been a fool to agree.
I admired your husband too much to ever disrespect his widow.
What the heck did that mean? Was she so dried up and dusty from lack of, well, lack of
that
that she no longer appealed to men? Or was he seriously too in awe of her husband’s memory to try to touch her?
Shouldn’t you be
glad
he doesn’t want to touch you?
Don’t answer that,
she told herself firmly.
So she went downstairs a few minutes later, no closer to understanding why Adam Drake had her riled than she was before. He’d been a perfect gentleman every time he’d come near her.
Maybe
that
was the problem.
Maybe she wanted him to touch her, the way Cece had teased earlier. They’d been standing near pit road right after Adam’s test session and she’d hit her friend in the arm when Cece had said that. Only now she wondered if Cece had been right.
“There you are,” Adam said as she slipped out of the house and onto the patio, where Michelle had set out dinner. Fajitas by the look of it, she thought, eyeing a tray of grilled veggies and meat. One of Becca’s favorites. The smell of cooked onions alone made her mouth water.
“I was about to dig into this stuff without you.”
“You should have,” Becca said, suddenly aware of how nervous she’d become. No, not nervous. Terrified. “I wouldn’t have minded.” She swiped a lock of hair from her face. Why had she left it down? Why had she taken the time to curl it so that the ends brushed her cheeks and tickled her ears?
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said.
It was a perfect evening for dinner poolside. The sky was a vivid pink near the horizon, turning orange and then blue and then purple near a star-studded sky. Clouds were backlit by the setting sun, turning the edges bright silver, the insides of the clouds a purple so dark they looked like spilled ink.