Full Throttle (7 page)

Lexie didn't need a psychic to know what they were thinking:
Will the tires hold up? Did we just blow our chance at a top-ten finish with this gamble? We were running great. Did this chick screw us up?

Maybe that last thought was a touch of paranoia. Her crew respected her, female or not. But in the closing laps at Bristol anybody had a right to panic.

She fell back on the old standard—pacing. She listened to the spotter's directions to Kane and tried to swallow the anxiety threatening to crawl up her throat. So much of racing was trial and error, instinct and experience.

Then there were the crap shoots. She'd taken one. She'd suffer the consequences or reap the rewards with the grace and class that was expected from the Mercer name.

But, damn, she wanted to win.

As she paced, as her stomach tightened and her anxiety ballooned, the crowd roared and pit road grew more tense.

No other caution materialized, but Kane hung on.

Determination, strategy or engineering made it happen. Or maybe it was all three, as her driver rolled across the finish line first.

Their team erupted with hugs, high-fives and, in her case, a few hastily wiped away tears.

They needed this not only for the points, but the psychological boost. They all had to believe they could make The Chase. If not, it wouldn't happen. The team had to believe again.

And tonight, as they rushed to Victory Lane in anticipation of meeting their car and driver, they did believe.

Teams graciously congratulated them as they made their way to the spotlight. This was the part of NASCAR that Lexie appreciated more than any other. They were all fierce competitors, but at the end of the race, they equally understood how significant
any
win was.

In Victory Lane, Lexie embraced the jubilant crew. They screamed and let the cheers of hundreds of thousands of fans rain down on them from above. There wasn't anything like a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup win—the exhilaration and the relief, the sense that you earned the respect of your competitors for at least that day, the wonder that you might keep the job you loved so much a bit longer.

When Kane and his car rolled into their midst, she caught a glimpse of his flushed face and wide, confident smile. She knew her own expression mirrored his. She would have loved to wrap her arms around his neck and absorb his happiness. But their relationship was a complex mix of friends, ex-lovers, professional acquaintances and inappropriately attracted colleagues. And she honestly couldn't envision anything else.

Confetti spurted all over the car and the crew. As the TV crew zoomed in and the cameras flashed, she hung back to watch James and her father approach Kane. She knew they were handing him a bottle of Gatorade and making sure his hat was on straight, the bill bent at just the right rakish angle.

Like a flash from a movie she'd once seen but wished she could set aside, she remembered Kane sliding out of his race car after his first win at the track in Myrtle Beach. Maybe a photographer had been there to capture the moment, but they hadn't noticed. Kane's eyes had been only for her. He'd yanked her into his arms and kissed her long, slow and deep, much to the delight of the raucous Saturday-night crowd.

Crew chief and driver—a team and a partnership. Together forever.

But she also recalled coming to a race during college—after they'd broken up—as a pair of voluptuous blondes tucked their arms through his and kissed his cheeks. While she died inside and realized things weren't over between them, that things might never be over for her, he flashed the girls his mischievous grin.

They hadn't survived the stress and distractions. Together never again.

Where did this win stand professionally and emotionally? She didn't want to think about it. And though she was exhausted with the effort to balance the two, nothing could diminish the pride she felt at having her car in Victory Lane.

Through the swarm of people, she caught a glimpse of her father waving her toward the car. Her stomach fluttering, she quickly moved that way. Was something wrong? Why wasn't Kane getting out? The team, the media, the sponsor VIPs—every-freaking-body—was salivating for his big exit.

“He won't get out until you talk to him,” her father said in her ear.

Oh, hell.

If it was possible to be annoyed and flattered at the same time, she was. Emotions she thought she'd buried over the past few days clawed their way to the surface. Her hands shook. Her knees threatened to collapse.

Still, she braced her hands against the window opening and leaned close to Kane.

His dazzling blue gaze met hers. Unspoken emotions passed between them that one day she knew they'd have to face. But for now things were simple. They'd won. And they'd done it together.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing her a grin.

She squeezed his hand and felt a surge of desire, an electricity that never completely dissipated when they were together. “You were amazing.”

He cupped her hand between both of his. “I need you, Lexie. And not just on the track.”

She swallowed. “Everyone's waiting. We can talk about this later.”

“Let them wait. This is my only chance to get you alone.”

“Alone?” Though she didn't glance back, she could feel the tension, celebration and anticipation of dozens—millions if you counted the TV audience—pressing against her. “Hardly.”

“But we could be.”

Dear heaven, he was blackmailing her. He was holding people hostage in hopes of her compliance. And as much as she wanted to smirk and walk away, she instead wondered if she really meant that much to him.

She licked her lips. “One night?”

“Yep.”

“I'll think about it.” She pulled her hand from his, then backed away. Was she angered or flattered by his insistence?

Both. Which was certainly more complicated than one or the other.

A mass of jumbled nerves didn't help her make the most rational decision. Still, the timing for anything personal was wrong. The moment called for much more than just the feelings between her and Kane.

When he popped out of the car seconds later, the crew showered him with Gatorade and cheers. Jubilation infused the party. The eyes of everyone present lit like sparklers as they gazed up at their driver. They were all part of the team, but he was their symbol. Fair or not. Reality or not. All the celebrations and defeats rested on his shoulders.

Mere seconds had passed since the moment she'd held his hand, but Lexie retreated to the back of the pack, knowing he was a world away. He was a champion. A hero. She was instrumental in his win, but she wasn't with him. She probably never would be. And yet that didn't make the win less sweet.

As she wiped Gatorade from her stinging eyes, someone grabbed her elbow. She turned, expecting to find another crew member and instead encountered Danny Lockwood.

“Congrats,” he said.

Having no idea why he'd thrust himself into their victory celebration, Lexie tensed. “Thanks.”

“Personally, I wouldn't want a win at the expense of another driver.”

“Happily, we don't have to worry about that.”

“Yes, you do.” A muscle along his jaw pulsed. “Your driver tried to put me into the wall.”

“Not from where I was standing.”

“That would be in the biased fifty-three pit.”

“You're also standing in
our
Victory Lane.” She smiled.

“Do you need somebody to show you to your motor coach?”

“I'm not leaving.”

She'd encountered angry drivers in her years on the circuit, but none of them had ever been so aggressive and disrespectful. And she'd had enough of this clown's whining. “Take your hands off me before I drop-kick your nearsighted, arrogant butt out of my victory party.”

He angled his head. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously, buddy, you'll want to move along before somebody on my team notices you're in my personal space.”

Almost before the words had left her mouth, James slid his hand around her waist. “Picture time. Let's do the hat dance.”

During the dozens of photos, in which the team smiled beside the trophy, changing ball caps for every picture so they could feature a different sponsor's logo each time, Lexie put Lockwood out of her mind. Bristol brought out all kinds of aggression, and he'd obviously gotten caught up in the moment. She recalled tales her father had shared, how drivers saved their confrontations—and even the occasional fist fight—for a fast-food drive-through in Mooresville.

Right or wrong, the rumbles had settled everything privately, without a media play-by-play, without PR reps or commentary. It seemed nearly archaic these days, but Lexie liked the principle of facing your adversaries on neutral ground, of handling things honorably instead of throwing a national-TV tantrum.

But it was also a sport of people, not just machines, so the drama of life was emotional and often made public. Being a wildly competitive person herself, she'd never judged anybody who got caught up in the moment.

Unless they came at her, her team or her driver.

Small compared to everyone else in the garage, female like virtually
no one
else, she might be dismissed by some. But that was a mistaken assumption.

As Danny Lockwood found out rather quickly.

After the TV interviews, she, her father, Kane and James shuffled through the crowd toward the elevators that would take them to the media center. The only disadvantage to winning was that they couldn't rush to the airport and fly home immediately. There were media appearances to deal with first.

Hours later, when the press crush was over, she and James hustled Kane out the back door and headed across the near side pit road, then into the infield and past the rows of darkened, deserted garages. The rest of the team—and the company jet—was long gone. Her and James's luggage had been in the hauler, where it was being stored in anticipation of leaving that night, but one of the crew had e-mailed James on his BlackBerry during the media interviews that they'd transferred their luggage to Kane's motor coach. At least her shampoo and toothpaste weren't on a one-way trip headed south on I-77.

They'd probably wind up riding back in the motor coach. Maybe even driving it. She hadn't thought to ask James if Kane's home-away-from-home driver and unofficial team chef had gone back with everybody else on the company jet. Regardless, she, Kane and James were stuck together, bunking together—in a one-bedroom nine-hundred-square-foot mobile apartment.

Oh, boy,
that's
just what I need.

They had gotten about halfway down the line of garages when Danny Lockwood appeared.

“Go away, Lockwood,” James said as the rival driver fell into step beside them.

Lexie glanced up at Kane and watched his easy demeanor disappear from his body and face.

Not good.

She moved closer to him, hooking her arm through his. As if that would stop him from doing something crazy. Ha! It had been a long day. Obviously, she was delusional. And tired. And really not in the mood to deal with more driver drama. She wanted a nice, long, hot bath and a book.

Of course, Kane didn't even glance her way.

“Wanna tell me why you spun me out, Jackson?”

“That was your deal.”

“Wrong, pal.”

Kane ground to a halt and squared off with Lockwood. “I'm not your pal.”

“You're not a driver, either, but that doesn't stop you from screwin' up the race for the rest of us.”

Lexie exchanged a panicked look with James, who stepped between the men, while she tugged on Kane's arm. “Come on, guys. You wouldn't fight in front of a lady.”

Lockwood smirked. “You're not a lady.”

Even as Lexie flinched, red rage suffused Kane's face. And before either she or James could react, Kane had thrown his forearm against Lockwood's throat and pinned him to the garage wall.

“W
RONG MOVE
,
PAL
,” Kane said through his teeth.

Fury coursed through his body. Sweat rolled down his back from the effort of not punching Lockwood's lights out.

“Kane, please let him go. Please don't do this here. And now.”

Here and now seemed like the perfect time to Kane. He glared at Lockwood, who didn't look quite so cocky anymore.

“Apologize to Lexie.” He said it slowly in case he was cutting off so much oxygen that the idiot's brain cells were starving. More than usual, anyway.

“I just meant she was part of the team,” Lockwood gasped. “Like one of the guys.”

Kane shook his head. “If you can't see she's a woman, then you need your eyes checked along with your ass kicked.”

“I didn't mean anything by it, man. I swear.”

“Kane, please,” Lexie said urgently from behind him.

“James, help me. What if somebody sees?”

Nobody was around at this time of night. It had to be after 1:00 a.m. Though that hardly mattered. Even if his father strolled by, he wasn't moving.

He was tired of being nice and polite. He was sick to death of taking crap from punks like Lockwood because the media or a sponsor or a fan might see, or, worse, be offended. He appreciated his fans and sponsors, and he loved his job. He was a professional, but he couldn't be a puppet. And while Lexie might think he was out of control with anger, he felt more in control at this moment than he had in a very long time.

“If you ever,” he said to Lockwood, “look at Lexie again, much less say anything to her or about her, I'll finish this.” He pushed back and walked away, leaving the other driver gasping for air.

Lexie and James caught up to him as he stalked farther down the row of garages.

“Nice work, buddy,” James said with a grin.

“You two are crazy,” Lexie said. “Do you know how much trouble—”

Kane laughed. “I thought you wanted me passionate.”

“
On
the track! You can't go around—”

“Lexie, I'm really not in the mood for one of your speeches.”

“Beer?” James asked.

“Beer.”

Lexie said nothing more until they got to his motor coach and he and James had settled on the couch with a couple of cold beers, but he could hear her silent fuming as if she'd been yelling the entire time.

She stood in front of them with her hands planted on her hips. She looked so damn cute, he grabbed her hand and tugged her into his lap.

James raised his eyebrows but laughed.

“I was passionate on the track, you know,” Kane said.

“I noticed,” she said, squirming to try to escape his lap. “And if you don't mind my saying so, it worked. Sixth to first. I also never suggested you punch anybody. There's a fine line.”

“Yeah, well, the rookie who spun me out last week just made a mistake.”

“Whereas Lockwood was born a jerk,” James added.

He and Kane clicked beer bottles.

“I'm outnumbered here,” Lexie grumbled, finally stopping her squirming and crossing her arms over her chest. “And I'm really getting tired of it.”

Kane patted her hip. “But we like having a little beauty and class on the team.”

She glared at him. “I'm a professional, not a beauty.”

“You're both.”

“You're patronizing me. And changing the subject.”

James ruffled her hair. “Not at all.”

“Sweetie,” Kane finished.

She caught him off guard by surging to her feet. “I'm taking a shower.” She stormed down the hall, grabbing her overnight bag—which some thoughtful crew member must have dropped off—on the way.

“Your butt looks really cute in that uniform,” Kane called after her.

“And I'm using up all the hot water,” she called back.

“Should I come scrub your back?” Kane called.

“And I'm giving my
be a responsible driver
speech when I get out.” She slammed the door.

“Drink up, buddy,” Kane said, raising his bottle. “She's really worked up.”

James leaned back into the corner of the sofa and eyed him shrewdly. “Do you really want to scrub her back?”

Kane took a sip of beer before answering. “Maybe.”

“Hell, there isn't any
maybe
about it. Something's going on with you two.”

Kane leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess there is.”

“Man, you know I think Lexie is the best, but you've got a banquet of chicks lined up. You really want to give that up?”

“I don't know.” Though a banquet of women sounded much less appealing than getting Lexie to agree to their one night. After that night, he could consider variety again, but admitting that to James didn't hold a lot of appeal.

“It might be awkward for the team.”

“So everybody keeps telling me.”

“You've worked really hard to get to this point in your career. You need to think about that.”

“I have been. It isn't helping.”

James glanced toward the hall, then back to him. “What if you just…give it one night? Get it out of your system?”

“You're reading my mind, man.”

“Lexie isn't goin' for it?”

“Nope.”

James sighed. “Some win. We're supposed to be hoisting beers with the boys, not talking about relationships.”

“No kidding.”

James took a long pull of beer. “Forget Lexie. When we get back home we're going out. Just you and me. We'll hit the clubs in Charlotte and celebrate your win in style.”

“Sounds great.” He needed a distraction. Would a voluptuous female work where racing hadn't? Could it be that simple?

“It's just what you need.”

Kane almost believed it.

When Lexie returned, freshly scrubbed, dressed in cotton pj's with checkered flags all over them and smelling like coconuts—that damnable lotion again—Kane had to swallow hard and breathe carefully through his mouth.

Could another woman smell so tempting and fantastic? Could another woman—voluptuous, draped in sexy lingerie, less complicated, more amenable—really keep him from thinking about Lexie?

She didn't seem inclined toward speeches, either. In fact, she looked exhausted.

Kane rose. “James, why don't you use the shower next?”

“Sure.”

As he left, Kane cupped Lexie's elbow and urged her to the sofa. “After we have showers, you can get in the bed and sleep.”

Eyes soft, she lifted her gaze to his. “I'm fine on the sofa.”

“You're sleeping in the bed.” He avoided thinking—much less saying—
my
bed. “James and I can bunk out here.”

“I couldn't—”

“My coach, my decision.”

“Okay.”

“You want some tea?”

She started to rise. “That would be—”

“I'll get it.” Kane headed to the kitchen. He always kept a box of her favorite honey-vanilla tea in the cabinet, because he knew how it relaxed her after a long day and night in the garage. He retrieved a mug and brewed the tea, adding a bit of honey at the end.

When he handed her the cup, she said, “I should be taking care of you. You ran the race.”

He smiled. “So did you.”

As she tucked her legs beneath her and sipped the tea, Kane's mind flashed back to the raucous, confetti-strewn celebration in Victory Lane, then forward to tomorrow when James would make sure they were in a hot club surrounded by hot chicks and hot music.

All in all, he preferred this quiet moment with Lexie.

He dropped onto the sofa next to her. Close, but not close enough to touch. They didn't talk, but he was comforted by her presence and grateful he had her by his side—professionally, anyway. And personally, they were still friends.

But could that friendship survive the tension between them? Would the attraction fade and the friendship strengthen? Would taking their relationship beyond friendship destroy everything, or make them better than ever?

It certainly hadn't worked out the last time they'd tried. They were older now but were they wiser?

Lexie wanted—and certainly deserved—more than a guy who spent every moment of his life figuring out how to get his car across the finish line first. He wasn't sure if he was the man to give her that any more today than he had been twelve years ago. His offer of one night no doubt insulted her, not tempted her. He was thinking impulsively, selfishly, of his needs. Wasn't tamping down his rash impulses what the anger management classes had all been about? Wasn't that what his father preached continually?
Think before you act. The great ones are conscious of their image at all times.

So why were his instincts screaming everything but restraint? Was passion a flaw or a strength?

When James returned a few moments later, Kane retreated to the back for a shower. The pulsing water felt good on his sore, tired body, but his mind was as cloudy as ever. He knew if Lexie so much as glanced at him in an interested way, he'd forget whatever he was doing, or toss out what he was “supposed to” do. He couldn't let go of the idea that giving in to their attraction would solve personal things—one way or the other. But would he lose his potentially championship-winning car chief in the process? And was it a good long-term solution for anybody?

You weren't ever thinking long-term anyway, right?

Right. Maybe that was the problem.

 

L
EXIE LEANED
next to her father under the hood of their race car for Saturday night. “I checked the spark plugs three times,” she said, annoyed that he appeared to be doing so again.

“Doesn't hurt to check again.”

At her father's calm response, Lexie stuffed her aggravation. She was tired and on edge.
Everybody
was tired and on edge. Except the unflappable Harry Mercer, of course. He'd been under the gun too long a time and too often to let a little thing like a NASCAR NEXTEL Championship get to him.

That was what the media said, anyway. Lexie knew better. She knew her father was worried and exhausted. He'd just learned how to hide it better than everybody else.

After making a delicious cholesterol cocktail of eggs, sausage, grits and hash browns, she, Kane and James had driven the motor coach home themselves on Sunday morning after winning Bristol. They'd sung goofy camp songs such as “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” then pulled the bus-chassis coach into the driveway at Kane's house on Lake Norman and proceeded to drink a few beers themselves. Just like old times.

August had come to a close. They'd raced in California and finished third. Richmond—the last race available for making the top ten in championship points—was four days away. They hung in limbo in eleventh place, with the twelfth- and thirteenth-place drivers only twenty and twenty-five points, respectively, behind them.

Bob Hollister had made it very clear at the team meeting yesterday that he wanted the fifty-three car in The Chase. If it didn't happen, he intended to make “some key staff changes.” It wasn't just their ambitions or their pride on the line at Richmond. It was their jobs.

If that wasn't enough—and it seemed to her that it was—she was also on edge for another, far more personal reason. She happened to be walking through the lobby that morning when a stunning, buxom blonde had asked the receptionist for Kane. Since that happened several times per week, she'd initially dismissed the incident.

Unfortunately, she'd walked by the conference room at lunchtime, where the same blonde and Kane had been cozily enjoying pasta and salad.

Lexie's mood had gone south immediately afterward.

She
should
be happy. She and Kane had kept their distance over the past week and a half. They'd managed to work amicably. The Chase was within reach. Teamwork. Success. Peace.

He hadn't mentioned
them
again. He hadn't flirted with her, touched her or really looked at her. It was what she'd wanted and needed. It was what the team needed even more, though it was clear nobody but James had a clue how fortunate they all were.

Is he dating the blonde? Is he, even now, flirting with her, touching her?

The very idea made her blood boil hotter than brake fluid at Richmond. And how ridiculous was
that?

“Something going on with you and Kane?” her father asked, jerking her from her thoughts.