Full Throttle (2 page)

“Passion, huh?”

Too late, she realized the door she'd opened. “You know what I mean.”

He grinned. “Do I?”

She felt the heat from his body and his stare.
That's old and finished,
she tried to tell herself. But with little conviction. Ever since she'd left the Research and Development division of Hollister Racing and come back to work with her father this year, the tension between her and Kane had been building. She wondered when—not if—it would explode.

Their relationship in high school had been just as volatile. Full of heat and conflict, frustration and arguments.

But very passionate.

The team needed that fever now. They needed the old Kane, not the one who'd somehow gotten buried over the years under the corporate endorsement man. They didn't need the man who moved to the side and let drivers pass when he should hold his position. Or the man who accepted sixth place when he should go for the win. The man who'd been trying so desperately all his life to fulfill his image of perfection, he'd somehow lost his racing fire.

Personally, though, she had to be careful about passion. She'd been hired to stoke some new life into Kane and the team. But how did she pour gasoline on a fire and not get burned again?

If she could get past his security team, masseuse, personal trainer, manager and accountant, she was going to kick Anton Jackson's butt when they got home. This “oh, well” version of the once-hot-blooded Kane could be laid right at Anton's feet. He couldn't turn his boy into a mini football version of himself, and he didn't approve of Kane's racing, so he chose to focus on his son's media image rather than his driving.

Anton sent Kane on endless autographing jaunts that crisscrossed the country. He'd forced him into anger management classes. He had reporters follow Kane around as he visited the children's cancer center his charity helped fund, even though Kane had always kept his philanthropic efforts private.

His constant interference and criticism had taken its toll on Kane, draining him of his personality. His confidence suffered. His driving became too cautious. He'd lost his will to win.

“There's always next week,” Kane said in that calm tone she'd come to hate.

“There aren't that many next weeks.”

Kane raised his eyebrows. “No kidding?”

“Don't be a smart—”

He waggled his finger. “Watch that language, Miss Mercer. NASCAR wouldn't be pleased.”

“I'm not worried about NASCAR. I'm worried about you.”

“I'm touched.”

“Dammit, Kane, wake up! That rookie screwed up big. This could cost us The Chase.”

“He's a
rookie,
Lexie. It happens.”

“It can't happen to us. We can't afford it.”

His eyes went frosty. His jaw tensed.

Come on…yell at me. Tell me to go to hell,
she thought.

“We'll do better next week.”

She bowed her head. “Sure we will.”

He slid his fingers along her jaw. “Chin up, L—”

She jerked back. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her. Her heart pounded as they stared at each other.

Dear God, why him?

The past washed over her as if a minute had passed instead of a decade. She recalled frantic groping in the backs of cars, private smiles and notes in geometry, sitting in the empty grandstands with a bottle of champagne, Kane next to her, unable to leave the scene of his first win.

But she also remembered shouts and tears, Kane leaving her at the homecoming dance, so he could sneak out to the garage at James's grandfather's house where they kept the race car they were secretly building. She'd introduced him to racing—and quickly fallen into second place in his heart.

A calmer, gentler Kane would be different,
her traitorous heart whispered.

For her, maybe. But not for her race team.

Confused and frustrated, she rose. “We have to win.”

He set his beer bottle aside and stood next to her. “You think I don't know that?”

“I mean, that's what it's going to take—finishing in the top five for the next three races and winning at least one of them. If Pat hadn't wrecked…well, it would be a lot worse. We can still make it. We just can't have any more mistakes.”

“I didn't make a mistake today.”

“I didn't say you did. I'm just telling you what we're dealing with.”

“No problem.”

The flare of attraction in his eyes turned to anger. Something about that moment when they'd looked at each other had set him off. Maybe he was struggling with his own memories. Maybe he was frustrated and tired. Or maybe…maybe he was finally fed up with swallowing his emotions.

“If it's no problem, why haven't we done it?”

“You tell me. You set up the cars.”

“There's nothing wrong with my setups.”

“There's nothing wrong with my driving. We won at Charlotte back in May, remember?”

“Oh, right.” She smirked. “It was so long ago I forgot.” She watched in fascination as his mouth thinned to a furious line. She could almost hear him start his count to ten.

Naturally, she wasn't letting him get past five.

“How about I call over to Bristol and tell them to go ahead and engrave your name on the trophy? Or maybe you're the next Petty or Earnhardt, and they'll name a grandstand after you.”

“Stop it, Lexie,” he said in a barely controlled whisper.

Maybe she'd feel guilty later for pushing him over the edge. But she didn't think so. “While you're doing all that winning, you can do the setups yourself, too.”

He leaned close to her face. “Why won't you let me touch you?”

“I—
what?
” She stepped back.

He jabbed a finger at the seats they'd just vacated. “You jerked away from me like I'd hit you.”

“I was just…It was nothing. I was…surprised. It's been a long day.”

“So you thought you'd pick a fight.”

She swallowed, struggling between peace and honesty. Honesty won, of course. “I don't like watching you struggle.” She pinned him with a glare. “Or lose.”

“You think I do?”

“I think you're willing to accept less than you should.”

“You're wrong.” He paused, his gaze sliding down her body almost like a caress and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “I want it all.”

He jerked her against him before she'd had time to even blink. She'd clearly underestimated those lightning-quick reflexes of his. In the next instant he'd cupped her jaw, and his mouth had captured hers. Frustration and anger poured from him in waves, and he channeled that emotion into his kiss. She tried to fight against the warmth that spread through her veins, against the desire overloading her body, against the emotion he always managed to pull from her heart.

She failed thoroughly. She melted in his arms.

For a few stolen moments she dreamed that things could be exactly the way they were years ago and that things could be different, that the future would be an unrealistic combination of the two. She breathed in his familiar scent of sandalwood and pine. She laid her hand over his heart and felt the intoxicating rush of his pulse.

“Well, Kane,” said a familiar voice, “you didn't win the trophy, but it looks like you got first prize, anyway.”

K
ANE JUMPED AWAY
from Lexie, his gaze jerking to James, who gestured with his beer bottle. “Is there something you two want to tell me?”

Kane exchanged a guilty, panicked glance with Lexie. “No,” they said together.

“No way,” Kane added.

Lexie practically ran to the door. “I, uh, I've got to get…something.”

James watched her scramble down the stairs, then he turned back to Kane. “Well, that was—” he grinned “—unexpected.”

Kane sank back into his seat. He grabbed his beer bottle and rolled the cold glass against his forehead. “Don't start.”

James dropped into the seat next to him. “
Me
start? I didn't even hear the call to fire the engine. You guys were halfway around the track before—”

“I've lost it.”

“I wouldn't say that. Sure, she's too brainy for her own good. And she can be bossy as hell, but underneath that uniform and ball cap, she's a total babe.”

Kane stared at his best friend, the guy he'd built his first car with, the guy who'd caught most of the lousy passes he'd managed to throw on the football field, the guy he'd cheered for at Florida Gator games for nearly three years before his career-ending knee injury, the guy who'd turned down dozens of job offers to manage Kane's life in racing.

And decided he didn't like him very much.

“Babe, huh? That's my girlfriend you're talking about. Have you had a thing for her all this time? You think you can have her for your—”

“Girlfriend?
Hey, bud, that was years ago. How hard did you hit your head, anyway?”

He hadn't. But he really wanted to now.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I bet you don't.” Sipping his beer, James was silent a moment, then added, “But you'd better get your thoughts together. Harry was nearly on my heels as I came this way.”

Lexie's father.
His crew chief. The
boss
. What was he going to say? Do? How would he—

He was saying and doing nothing. In fact, the longer
she
was gone, he couldn't remember why he'd felt so panicked. He'd kissed her. Big deal. He'd certainly done that before.

And more.

With a wave of his somewhat shaky hand, he dismissed the past. Like a dieter who'd tasted his first slice of chocolate cake in months, he'd just gorged, there, for a moment or two. He hadn't hit his head, but the wreck had clearly rattled him. He'd been so confident, so upbeat during the race. It was natural to dive after such a disappointing finish. And grabbing Lexie like that had just been an impulse to find something safe and familiar.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he decided his anger management therapist would be proud of his ability to examine his actions. And even without her infamous engineering genius and computer calculations on car balance and performance, Lexie would agree with his diagnosis.

He didn't really
want
his car chief. He just wanted…well, he wanted to win. And Bristol was as good a place as any. He'd learned to bury his emotions there, to stay patient and out of trouble. With three NASCAR Busch Series wins and a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup win last year, it was one of his best tracks.

He would once again bottle the feelings Lexie had forced out of him. He'd encourage the guys at the shop and get under the hood himself if anybody was stuck. He'd hit the gym hard and catch up on fan club autographs.

He would do all that—after his two-day trip to Cincinnati, where he'd committed to signing autographs for a model-car collector's club, a sponsor party and fan question-and-answer session. Suddenly the week didn't seem so bright. It seemed full and long. Crowded with people he didn't know. Whose respect he didn't see how he'd earned.

You should feel privileged, son. Do you know how many guys would trade places with you in a second?

Hundreds. Maybe thousands.

But the pressure of that idea only made him feel worse. He'd never measure up.

Voices at the door yanked him from his self-pity. A group of crew members moved toward him. All of them had genuine smiles on their faces as they passed.

“Bad break, Kane.”

“Another inch or two and who knows?”

“You wanna get that rookie later?”

“We're behind ya, man.”

The responsibilities he had weighing on him weren't any more complex than the ones of his team. The hours they put in and the time away from their families were sacrifices they'd made to build this team. Sacrifices to
him
. They wanted to get behind a winner, to work for a champion. They were tenacious and loyal, but he also knew if he didn't rise to the top, another guy would come along and lure them away with the promise of working on a better team.

“Tough wreck, Kane,” Harry said, laying his hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

Kane looked up and managed a smile. Harry always found the right tone, the right thing to say. How many times had he longed for his own father's unending support? “I'm fine, boss. We'll get 'em next week.”

Looking as if he wanted to say more, shadows filled Harry's eyes, then they were gone and he smiled. “Sure we will.”

 

T
HE NEXT NIGHT
Kane walked onto a high school auditorium stage in Cincinnati as he prepared to answer on-air questions for a local radio station, as well as a select live audience of stock car collectors. The applause made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, but he waved at the gathered crowd and hoped he'd meet their expectations.

“So, Kane, how do you like Cincinnati?” the DJ, Brian, asked.

From long experience, Kane answered the question, along with ones about racing and his past with ease. Even when the inevitable came, he didn't flinch from the truth—or at least the portion he felt comfortable expressing.

“Come on now, you're telling me your dad didn't want another Heisman trophy in the house?”

“He did, I guess. But when you're a junior in high school, and you're five-eight, one-forty and slow, there aren't a lot of colleges scrambling for you to lead them to victory.”

The crowd laughed as they always did, and he focused on the freedom that had come after that momentous revelation in his life and not what had gone before.

“You traded the Heisman for the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Championship?”

“Let's hope so.”

“And I understand you stole another football great for your team. All-American receiver James Peterson of Florida is your manager.”

He looked to the wings of the stage, where Lexie, James and Pete, his front-tire changer and a graduate of the high school where they'd all gathered, stood in silent support. “That's true.”

“You also have a female car chief.”

Kane's heart gave one hard thump in response. “I do.”

Wolf whistles followed, which he could hardly argue against.

“A Duke engineering graduate,” Brian added.

“Certainly smarter than me.”

He didn't dare look at Lexie, who was no doubt flushing and rolling her eyes, wondering when they could get this whole business over with and talk strategy for Bristol. He hadn't seen her at all before the moment she'd stepped on the plane for this trip. And Pete had sat between them on the way to the auditorium.

The separation was for the best. They needed to get back on their professional track and not let a personal…relapse interfere with this week's race.

“Don't forget Pete,” someone in the audience shouted out.

Brian chuckled. “I don't see how we could. In fact, why don't we bring out James, Lexie and Pete? I'm sure our audience has questions for them, too.”

The crowd roared at this, and his friends walked out on stage, with James practically dragging Lexie in his wake. Her hair was down for once, brushing her shoulders and framing her face with soft-looking brown waves.

Several more stools were brought out, and Kane found himself sitting between the DJ and Lexie. Their gazes met for a moment as Brian questioned Pete about life on the racing circuit, but Lexie quickly looked away.

Kane fought a wince. Maybe his silence had been a mistake. He hadn't even apologized. He'd justified himself by insisting she'd provoked him—and on purpose. But that didn't excuse his actions. Taking out his frustration on her was uncalled-for. He definitely didn't want her to think it would happen again, or that she was in danger of being grabbed at any moment. They needed to trust and support each other.

As a team, of course. The other…personal stuff, well, that was over.
Way
over.

“So, Lexie,” the DJ said as he turned away from Kane, “you're the only female car chief on the circuit. How does it feel being surrounded by guys all the time?”

“Sweaty.”

Kane grinned at Lexie's deadpan tone. She always shied away from the spotlight and hated talking to the media, answering “all those stupid questions.”

Naturally, everybody laughed at her response, which only caused her frown to deepen. She was no doubt serious.

“But how well do you get along with the team?” Brian persisted. “The track is kind of an odd place to find a woman.”

“After the voting booth, it seemed to be the last barrier for us.” Silence and a few uneasy chuckles followed this statement. And though Lexie was definitely more comfortable in the garage than on stage, she sensed the tension immediately. “We get along fine, Brian, and I raced go-karts as a kid, so I'm used to guys. And challenges.”

“Go-karts,” Brian said, glancing down at a piece of paper in his lap. “This was back in California. Your father was your coach and crew chief.”

“If you want to call me and my mom the crew.”

“She passed away suddenly, and you moved to North Carolina.”

Lexie pressed her lips together briefly. “Yes. Dad got an offer to work in stock car racing, I retired from the track and we became part of the NASCAR family.” She glanced at Kane and smiled, and even though he knew her joy was for the audience, warmth still spread through his chest. “James and I even took Kane to his first race.”

“Again, football's loss is NASCAR's gain.”

This time her smile for Kane was filled with genuine warmth. “Oh, yeah.”

After a few audience questions, the interview was wrapped up, and Kane slid off the right-hand side of the stage for autographs. A long line of car collectors formed, and he spent the next two hours signing mini plastic versions of his race car and taking photos with fans. A few would undoubtedly wind up on eBay to be resold, but most people seemed to be big fans of his, Hollister Racing or just NASCAR in general.

The kids, in particular, were a blast. They liked to push the cars across the table and make “rrrring” noises. The older ones claimed they, too, would one day be signing autographs; the younger ones were just happy to be part of the excitement.

Kane remembered signings from his own youth, when his father had been the star. When he'd sat on the floor of the stadium media center, pushing toy cars and trucks around on an imaginary track. When the fans had smiled indulgently over a legend's cute kid. Maybe he didn't see the devotion and awe in the eyes of Cincinnati people that his father inspired, but he didn't need it. He was happy making a living at the sport he loved.

Though having legions of fans wouldn't suck.

“Nice job, everybody,” James said as they climbed into the rented SUV. “Who's hungry?”

“No burgers,” Lexie said. “Let's go somewhere besides the drive-through window.”

James, sitting on the bench seat next to Lexie, laid his arm around her shoulders. “As it happens, I made reservations at a charming Italian place just a few blocks away.”

Lexie grinned up at James, and Kane clenched his hands into fists. How could she be so easy with James when all Kane managed to do was irritate and annoy her?

“
I
made the reservations,” their driver, Stan, reminded them. A race fan and manager at their premier sponsor, Sonomic Oil, he'd volunteered to serve as host and designated driver for their night in Cincinnati. After the last few stressful days, James had decided they all needed a break, so they were spending the night in a hotel.

A relaxing dinner sounded like a dream compared to the upcoming weekend at Bristol. Forty-three drivers, all hell-bent on surviving the grueling half-mile track on a wild Saturday night in front of more than 150,000 fans was an intense experience.

After Kane shoved aside his stupid irritation at James and Lexie, their dinner group was upbeat as they were escorted to their corner booth by the hostess. Over pasta, salad and buttery garlic rolls, they shared stories and talked racing. Kane tried to ignore his tingling hands when Lexie laughed.