Full Throttle (15 page)

Tim Butler, one of the other Hollister Racing drivers, swayed toward her, then buzzed her cheek. “Are we awesome, or what?”

All three Hollister teams had made The Chase. No other owner had achieved that feat. And since Bob Hollister was such a well-respected man in racing, she doubted anyone begrudged him the windfall.

As they moved toward the back of the house, they ran into many more people they knew, including members of their own team and veteran driver Mike Streetson, whose tanned, weathered face and mischievous smile always made her think of the Gulf fisherman near the beach house she and her father used to rent at Christmas each year.

When she and Cheryl reached the kitchen, they found Pete acting as bartender.

His eyes flew wide at the sight of Cheryl and her spectacular curves. “Something I can get you ladies?”

“Not beer,” Cheryl said, wrinkling her nose. “You have any champagne?”

“You bet.” He winked, his attraction to Cheryl obvious. “This is a classy joint.”

He served her a glass in an actual flute—which James must have rented for the night, as Lexie couldn't imagine Kane owning champagne glasses.

“And what can I get you?” he asked, turning to Lexie, his gaze drifting down her body and lingering in places it certainly wouldn't in the garage or on the track.

“You do remember I'm your boss, right?” Lexie said when his gaze finally landed back on her face.

“Oh. I—” His face flushed, and he cleared his throat. “Oh, right. Champagne?”

“Sure.”

“You look really…nice,” he said somewhat hesitantly and not meeting her gaze as he handed over the wine.

“Thanks.”

“Ignore her,” Cheryl said with an eye roll in her direction. “She's repressed.”

“I am
not
.”

Cheryl smiled. “Prove it.”

Knowing full well she was being dared into seeking out her date, Lexie gulped half the glass of champagne, then rolled her shoulders. “I'm going outside.”

After sliding through the crowd, she walked through the open sliding-glass doors and onto the back deck. The spectacular view always stole her breath for a second or two. The sun was setting behind the trees in vivid colors of orange, pink and purple, and the receding light dotted the lake like diamonds.

The back of Kane's house was its strength. The builder had constructed a series of multilevel decks with custom designs carved into the cedar railings. The decks spread out wide, then ventured close to the water's edge. The grotto-style pool was nestled on the right side of the house, surrounded by tropical foliage, featuring natural-rock waterfalls, fountains, a hot tub and artful lighting.

Dozens of people talked and laughed in small groups. Some had settled in the lounge chairs by the pool. Everybody seemed to be having a great time.

By contrast, nerves jangled in Lexie's stomach. She'd eaten very little for dinner, and the gulp of champagne was making her head swim. She set the half-full glass on a table that had collected several other cups and plates, then swallowed her anxiety and searched the decks for Kane.

If he could get in that car each week and face the track and all those other drivers, she could do this.

It's a party. You're supposed to relax.

Okay. She could do that. According to Cheryl, she was dressed for a party. She had a date. She'd had a drink—well half of one.

But instead of Kane, she saw her father, which naturally reminded her of work and not relaxing all over again.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, embracing him.

“Hi, sweetie. You look…nice.”

Nice
again?

Wasn't a woman supposed to look, well,
hot
for a date? But then she didn't want her
dad
thinking she looked hot. He might drag her home, like the night he had in junior high when she'd shown up at the track in a skintight miniskirt and halter top.

Probably not the moment to bring that up again. “Thanks,” she said. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a little while. I was about to go home.”

She linked hands with him. “Stay. Everybody's here. You'll just go home to an empty house.”

He sipped from his beer bottle. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He didn't look like a Chase-making crew chief. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “The real work begins now, doesn't it?”

Real
work? What the devil had they been doing the last twenty-six weeks? Slacking?

“Can we enjoy this for at least twenty minutes?” she asked, knowing she sounded like James.

“It's been twenty-four hours.”

“Come on, Dad. Everybody needs this. We've been killing ourselves the past few months.”

“Humph. Gonna be nursing hangovers in the morning.”

“You gave everybody tomorrow off, remember?”

He hunched his shoulders. “Shouldn't have.”

She smiled. Though he didn't say it, she knew he was so proud he could burst. The more taciturn he got, the more touched he was.

And despite the career boost everyone from her to Kane to the crew got from landing in the top ten, there was a great deal of satisfaction for her father, as well.

Being a crew chief had changed so much over the past twenty years. Her father had gone from chief mechanic to personnel manager. He'd transitioned from the stopwatch era to multimedia computers and real-time diagnostics. To most, the move appeared seamless. Lexie knew it had been anything but.

Her father wasn't a computer guru by any means, but he'd learned enough—from her and others—to understand the process and the data and, as a result, hire the right people to make the team mesh and succeed.

“You're amazing,” she said, hugging him briefly. “I'm going to mingle.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. You should try it.”

He grabbed her hand. “You're going to find him.”

She met his suspicious gaze without flinching. Kane had asked her not to tell her father about them. But, like everything in racing, she didn't see how they'd keep it quiet for long. “I'm going to mingle.”

With a wave, she descended to the midlevel deck. There she found the rookie whose mistake had wrecked Kane at Michigan. He and his girlfriend were ridiculously awed to meet her. They both looked fifteen, renewing Lexie's insecurities.

Kane had loved her at seventeen. Twelve years had passed since then. Her mother had been married with a child by this age. What was she doing here in jeans and a red tank top and looking for a date with a man who could literally pick any woman he wanted?

Strong arms embraced her from behind. “Hi,” Kane said in her ear.

She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in his scent. There was something so right, so reassuring about his touch. His nearness made her tremble.

“Hi,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder.

His blue eyes, bright with pleasure and anticipation, focused on her face. “When did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, my God, you're Kane Jackson.”

Suppressing a laugh, Lexie turned back to the rookie's girlfriend.

Introductions were made, the rookie flushed even deeper, and Kane wound up signing the girl's plastic beer cup with a Sharpie she produced from her jeans pocket.

Just as Lexie was about to question whether or not the girl was even legal to drink beer, Kane gripped her hand and tugged her away. She noted he was wearing faded jeans and a black polo—and looked
amazing
.

As they descended the next set of steps to the pool deck, she couldn't help noticing the way the jeans hugged his lean hips. She was so used to seeing him in his uniform—which, admittedly, left little to the imagination regarding his body—that seeing him in civilian clothes did strange things to her pulse.

Another bar had been set up on the pool deck. Kane got her another glass of champagne and himself a beer, then he dropped into a lounge chair and settled her next to him, her legs draped over his.

“Comfy?” he asked, tapping his plastic cup against her plastic champagne glass, which somebody had thoughtfully provided for the pool area.

“I, uh…” She stared at his meltingly handsome face and tried to swallow around her dry throat. “Sure.”

“Nervous?”

“Of course not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What do I have to be nervous about?”

“Me. You like me, and you don't want anybody to know about it. Least of all me.”

“Maybe you should have asked your ego to this party.”

“It's too much to handle. You, however…” His eyes darkened as he slid the back of his hand across her cheek. “Are just right.”

Her stomach quivered. He had her so off balance she couldn't think straight. “People are going to talk.”

“No kidding? That'll be a switch.”

“I'm serious.”

He pressed his lips against her jaw. “So am I.”

Unbidden, her eyes fluttered closed. She was pretty sure she'd gone crazy. She
knew
he was crazy. But a nuclear explosion couldn't have pulled her away from him.

“Are you going to relax now?” he asked against her cheek.

She looked up at him. “I'm a puddle at your feet. Do I have a choice?”

“No.” He raised his cup. “How about a toast?”

She raised her own glass. “To the top ten.”

He shook his head.

“To the team?”

Another shake.

She pressed her lips together briefly. “To us?”

He smiled and tapped his cup against hers. “And our future.”

 

E
VENTUALLY
K
ANE LOST
Lexie's exclusive attention.

As with any racing gathering, a small crowd formed on the pool deck to remember past races and share old glories. To everyone's delight, Lexie and Mike Streetson shared stories about her early days at the track, when he used to drive for her father's team.

Kane watched the tension and uneasiness fall away from her face as she talked. He loved seeing her laughing instead of consumed by the pressure of her job. He'd nearly swallowed his tongue earlier when he'd glanced up at the deck and noticed her standing there in a red tank top and curve-enhancing jeans. With her hair falling in a smooth curtain to her shoulders, she looked soft and approachable, not like the all-business crew chief everybody jumped to attention for.

And while his ego liked making her nervous, deep down he wanted her as comfortable being his date as she was being his pit road guide. Streetson and racing stories were familiar to her, making her forget the double takes they'd been getting for the past couple of hours.

He'd known they were going to be news, and he should have expected Harry's cold shoulder and other members of the team goggling like they'd seen a car take flight in Turn Two. His own father would also have some choice words for him about his lack of focus and professionalism, along with the perils of dating a colleague.

Well, too damn bad. They were all going to have to get used to seeing him and Lexie together. He had no intention of letting tonight be a one-time event.

“Remember when that goofball Ricky Matthews tried to steal the Martinsville clock trophy back in '93?” Streetson said to Lexie.

“It's kind of hard to forget,” she said dryly. “He used me as a lookout.”

“You gotta hear this one, guys.” He gestured with his cup. “Let me just get another beer.”

“I'll get it,” Kane said as he leveraged himself off the lounge chair. “You want anything?” he asked Lexie.

She glanced up at him, and the friendly laughter in her eyes immediately heated. She licked her lips. “I'm fine. Thanks.”

Fine with what? Kane dragged his gaze from her glossy mouth. What had he asked her? What was he about to do?

“Get movin', kid,” Streetson said. “My throat's drying up over here.”

Oh, right. Beer. He started off in the direction of the bar, wondering what he could drink to get his heart to stop its out-of-control gallop.

“Hey, Alex,” he said to the team jack man, who was filling his own cup from the keg.

“Hey, K. Great party.”

“Everybody needed it.” Kane filled Streetson's cup, then his own. “Wanna join us?” he asked, nodding his head toward the crowd around Streetson and Lexie.

Alex shook his head. “I'm looking for a woman.”

“Anybody in particular?”

“Nope. I'm not picky. Where did you find that foxy woman you're with?” he asked with a comical leer.