One in a Million (5 page)

E
LI CROSSED THE SUN-FADED
grass, then walked around the side of Jen's house to the rutted driveway where he'd left his car. Not that he was about to “go find another girlfriend.” He had the fake girlfriend he wanted right here, and he wouldn't leave until she said yes.

A few minutes ago, he'd thought they were in perfect accord—sexual attraction sparking like crazy, kidding around, a healthy dose of mutual liking and respect…hell, most of his real relationships hadn't had as much going for them.

Then she'd turned all weird again. He wished to hell she'd be more predictable, like the other women he dated.

He sighed in frustration. Normally, in the rare event a woman didn't want to go out with him, he would cut and run. But Gil liked Jen. For once in his life, Eli couldn't just move on.

He made a sharp right turn and climbed the steps to the front porch.

“Where are you going?” Jen chased after him.

The frosted glass front door was unlocked. It squeaked as it opened. Eli walked into a narrow hallway lined with family photographs. Looking for something, anything he could use to convince her that, given how well they got along and the spark between them, faking a relationship for a few weeks should be no hardship. His life as a NASCAR
Sprint Cup Series driver was at stake. The one thing he couldn't give up without a fight.

Jen bustled in behind him. “I insist you leave.”

He stopped, and she bumped into him. Automatically he steadied her, his fingers wrapped around her slim, strong arms. Their gazes locked, and Eli's veins zinged. Like they did when he was in a race car and the green flag was about to fall.
Seize the Day.

“Jen? Is someone there?” The voice came from down the hall.

Eli let go of Jen and followed it.

In the modest living room, her grandfather sat in a recliner—one of the original models back from when those things were invented, Eli judged—in front of the TV set. Which was switched off. When he saw Eli the old man's brows drew together, much the same way his granddaughter's frequently did. “Who are you?” he barked.

“Granddad, this is Eli Ward.” Jen's eyes flashed daggers at Eli as she made the introduction.

“Don't get up, sir,” Eli said, as the old man began a laborious struggle to his feet.

Like his granddaughter, he did things his own way. He huffed and puffed until he was upright, then his left hand gripped the back of the chair while he reached his right to Eli.

“Carlton Ashby,” he introduced himself.

Eli shook his hand.

The older man looked him over. “I wondered if the TV made your hair look longer, but I see it needs a cut in real life.”

Eli nodded. NASCAR fans either loved the length of his hair or hated it—it wasn't something he was prepared to debate.

“Not a bad drive yesterday,” Carlton commented.

“Thank you.” Eli figured it was high praise.

“You have a good day at work?” Carlton asked Jen. It dawned on Eli the old guy hadn't seen her since she arrived home late after the race.

“Fine, thanks, Granddad.”

“Did you meet Kent Grosso?” Carlton asked.

She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

So, he was a Grosso fan. Kent, with his multigeneration family ties to NASCAR and a wife to whom he was devoted, was arguably the closest driver in NASCAR to an ordinary guy in a regular job. If you forgot he was a celebrity.

“Dennis Crane stopped by yesterday,” Carlton said. “His grandson, the boy that likes you, will be home for Thanksgiving.”

The hairs at the back of Eli's neck stood to attention.

“That's nice,” Jen said without enthusiasm.

“He's a steady young man,” her grandfather pointed out.

Who Jen dates is none of my business.
Eli rubbed his neck and forced himself to relax as he gazed around the Ashbys' living room, which was as ordinary as any he'd seen. Except for that stack of accounting textbooks on the dining table.

“Those are Jen's.” Carlton caught him looking. “She's studying business at the community college.” He added proudly, “Gets straight As, too.”

Jennifer made a shushing motion. “Eli doesn't want to hear about my
boring
degree.”

I really screwed up, dammit.

“What do you plan to do after you graduate?” Eli had to admit, an accounting degree did sound boring.

“No idea,” she said shortly. “That's a long way away.”

“She's taking next semester off, working extra hours
at the track,” Carlton said. “But after that, she'll be back into it.”

Money, Eli thought. Jen was probably slowing her studies so she could earn enough to support herself and her granddad. He examined his surroundings. This house hadn't seen any attention in years. Doubtless Carlton's arthritis chewed up a fortune in medical bills. The chicken farm was a minuscule operation, as far as he could see.

Eli had lacked family, lacked permanence in his life, but he'd never lacked money.

Money was convenient; it got things done.

Things like, making sure he had his Gil-approved “girlfriend” in Atlanta.

“Okay, I'll go now,” he told Jen abruptly.

“But why are you here?” Carlton asked, suddenly realizing how odd it was to have Eli in his house.

“Jen thought you might like to meet me, being a NASCAR fan and all.”

Carlton's brow furrowed. “But I like Kent Grosso.”

Eli couldn't help smiling. “I see where Jen gets her bluntness. Thanks for letting me visit, sir.” He shook Carlton's hand with an enthusiasm that wasn't entirely returned.

“I'll see you out,” Jennifer said, as he knew she would. She would want to be sure he left.

Out in the hallway, she brushed past him to open the front door. Eli was shocked at how that glancing touch made him want to try that kiss all over again.

“Goodbye, Eli.” She held the door wide open.

“Ten thousand dollars,” he said.

She stared.

Eli took the door from her unresisting fingers and closed it. “That's how much I'll pay you to spend the next three weekends posing as my girlfriend.”

“Are you insane?” Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Do you have any idea how much money that is?”

“Less than I make in a week,” he said calmly. It was only a small fraction of his salary, but he figured that information would outrage rather than impress. “Enough for you to pay someone to help out around here while you speed up your degree. I'm also offering you a fifty percent share of any prize money I earn during those three weeks. Though I wouldn't count on that,” he said fairly. “I haven't won much money this year.”

“You need to leave.” But her voice was unsteady.

“Those plans for your future that you were discussing with the chickens…” He ignored her deep flush. “Are you going to turn down an opportunity to make them reality, just because I offended you?”

 

J
EN'S HANDS SHOOK
. She wedged them into the pockets of her cutoffs. Ten thousand dollars!

All she had to do was pretend to be Eli's girlfriend, which she'd been on the verge of agreeing to anyway, until he reminded her of the great gulf between their attitudes.

As if that mattered in a fake relationship! Which was all this would be, she reminded herself. Despite that brief hope their kiss had meant something to him, if she analyzed his words, nothing he'd said suggested they would genuinely be dating. Real girlfriends didn't get paid!

Ten thousand dollars.

“It sounds like a bribe,” she said.

“It's a job offer,” he corrected. “A temporary job to help secure your future. Compared with what I stand to lose, ten thousand bucks is chicken feed. Literally, in this case.”

Ten thousand dollars would bring the security she craved closer. But it would do more than that. The sooner she fin
ished her degree, the sooner she could get a good-paying job and stop feeling as if she was missing out on life.

“Why didn't you mention the money earlier?” she asked. “Why pretend that you like me?” It seemed her every encounter with him was designed to batter her pride.

“I do like you,” he said, without a trace of that teasing smile. “But that wasn't enough. Then I saw you need money…I like to seize the day.”

The second time he'd quoted that axiom. Life was seldom as simple as such mottos suggested.

Could it be that simple now? Granddad would freak out at what he'd call a “harebrained scheme,” Jen posing as Eli's girlfriend.
Granddad doesn't need to know.
She could “work” for Eli, and when it was all over, she could date Dennis Crane's grandson. Who was a nice enough guy…a plumber, actually.

Though she'd never felt much attraction toward him.

She thought about spending weekends with Eli. About kissing him. Which shouldn't be on her mind at all.

But it was. And now the money gave her the excuse to do what she was dying to do.

C
ARLTON
A
SHBY
bought the story that Jen was taking a temporary job as Eli's assistant. With no race at Bristol next week and only a local meeting the following two weekends, Bob Coffman was more than happy to release Jen from some of her hours.

There was no NASCAR Sprint Cup Series race scheduled the following weekend, either, but Eli invited Jen to accompany him to a charity gala in Charlotte. Those semisocial events were worse than races when it came to persistent fans.

Eli grinned to himself as he put the finishing touches to the BLT sandwiches he was assembling for an early lunch.

He'd met Jen at the airport an hour ago, brought her to his house on Lake Norman, settled her and her small overnight bag into his largest guestroom. Now she was perched on a bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island.

Everything was going just right. Gil had been delighted to hear Jen would be in Charlotte, and then at the Atlanta race. He'd lightened up on his scrutiny, which had given Eli the chance to meet informally with a couple of other team owners this week to talk about his prospects.

Best of all—at least, it felt best of all with her sitting right here, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that looked unintentionally sexy, as if they'd shrunk in the wash—their arrangement gave him a license to kiss her again.

“You want avocado salsa on this?” Eli asked Jen.

“Sure, thanks.”

Okay, so things weren't a hundred percent just right. Jen had barely spoken since she arrived—where was that bluntness he enjoyed? If her nerves, or whatever it was, didn't pass soon, their act wouldn't be convincing.

“I'd better give you our agenda for the day,” he said as he smeared the salsa on her sandwich. “Gil will be here in about half an hour, with a reporter from the
Observer
. She's writing an in-depth feature about Double S Racing.”

Jen's brown eyes widened. “You don't need me for that, do you?”

“Believe it or not, the reporter has me pegged as the team's wild card. Gil wants her to see my ‘more settled side.'”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Won't it just confirm her suspicions when you and I break up after Richmond?”

“The article will be out by then.” She definitely had the nicest-looking mouth Eli had seen in a long time, he thought, as that bottom lip caught again. “We should probably throw in a PDA or two,” he said casually.

“PDA?”

“Public display of affection.” He reached across the island, caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You sure have soft skin for a gal who works on a farm.”

She didn't reply, but this time it was a good silence—she appeared mesmerized by the movement of his thumb. Eli was finding it pretty hypnotic himself.

What was wrong with him? Since when had touching a woman's hand been a major turn-on? He'd been on this “good, clean living” kick too long, he thought, disgusted. With one early night after another, it had been the longest week of his life.

He pushed a plate with a sandwich across to Jen, then
carried his own around the island. He sat on the stool next to hers.

“After the interview, Cara Stallworth will take you shopping for a dress for tonight,” he said. “She's married to Jeb Stallworth, another driver. You'll like her.”

“I brought a dress with me,” Jen protested.

“This charity gala will be a black tie, red-carpet affair,” he explained. “There'll be some pretty fancy duds. I want you to feel comfortable.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Don't worry, I'm paying—this is on top of the ten grand.”

She frowned. Had she forgotten this was a business arrangement?
Uh-oh.
After a moment, she nodded, to his relief.

“Then you have a haircut with Rue Larrabee at the Cut 'N' Chat,” he said briskly.

“If anyone needs a haircut, it's you,” she said.

That was more like the Jen he knew. He grinned. “Are you kidding? My hair's practically a sex-symbol trademark.”

She snorted, reassuring him further.

“Most of the women there tonight will have had their hair done specially,” he said.

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. She squinted. “But don't even think about suggesting colored contact lenses.”

He laughed, the tedium of the week falling away. “There's something I should tell you, chickadee. I don't wear contacts.”

She set her sandwich down on her plate. Swallowed. “That's…your real eye color?”

He nodded. She leaned forward, peering into his eyes.

“I feel like such an idiot.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks and it made her look cuter than ever.

“An easy mistake to make,” he said graciously.

He might have guessed she'd take it more seriously.

“I could have asked Gil about your eyesight problems any time last weekend,” she fretted. “What would he have thought?”

“Same as I do, that you're a little odd.”

She swatted him. Eli grabbed hold of her hand, held it in place, a small, warm caress against his bare forearm.

“What else should I know about you?” she asked.

“Hmm, let me think.”

She tensed as he dabbed a finger against a smidgeon of avocado at the corner of her mouth.

“I have all my own teeth and hair,” he said.

She laughed, the sound fading as he transferred the avocado to his own mouth. If he wasn't mistaken, and he seldom was where women were concerned, there was hunger in Jen's eyes. The sooner they got to that kiss, the better.

“Eli,” she said, tugging her fingers free, “this weekend is more complicated than watching a race. You said yourself this reporter has an agenda where you're concerned. I need to know more about you.”

Eli lifted the top off his sandwich and shook salt over it. “Like what?”

“Tell me about your family. Do any of them live here with you?”

“It's just me.” He remembered how small her grandfather's house was. This showy, glass and concrete palace made it look even tinier.

“Most of the drivers have places like this,” he defended himself. “I don't own it, I have a one-year rental agreement.” Another fact it would be useful for her to know before the interview. She was right, he should have briefed her better. “I might try Mountain Island Lake next. Chad and Zack Matheson live out there.”

Her forehead creased. “Surely you can afford to buy a house?”

“What's the point when I'll likely want a change a year or so down the track?”

“Most people want a home of their own.”

“Home,” he said, “is overrated.”

He could tell he'd shocked her, but she didn't say anything, just held her sandwich away from her mouth and inspected it as if she expected to find a bug. Fine by him; he didn't want to argue.

“So where do your parents live?” she asked.

He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “They died when I was a kid. Car accident. I'm an orphan, like you.”

“Eli, that's awful.” She looked more upset than she had when she'd told him about her own parents.

He lifted one shoulder. “It happened…nothing I can do about it.”

“So who did you live with after they died?”

He didn't want to dig that up now. “Who
didn't
I live with?” he quipped. “Mom and Dad left me well provided for financially, and I had plenty of relatives willing to do their bit. But it was hard for anyone to commit to a permanent addition to the family. I moved around.”

She flushed. “That's why you had multiple ninth-grade English teachers. You weren't expelled.”

“I'm not as reprehensible as you'd like to think,” he agreed.

She tilted her head to one side, her eyes warm with concern. “Oh, Eli.”

“Don't even think about getting on a ‘poor Eli' kick,” he warned. “I learned to make friends quickly, and walk away without a backward glance when I had to. I learned that whether you're in a good situation or not-so-good, there's always another opportunity ahead. Lessons that have served me well.”

“I see.” A piece of bacon had fallen onto her plate. She
popped it into her mouth, reminding Eli about that kiss again. Dammit, everything she did reminded him of the kiss.

“Did anyone teach you that loyalty, the ability to stick around when things get tough, is important?” she asked. “That anything worth having is worth fighting for?”

“I know all that,” he said dismissively. Apart from racing in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series, he couldn't think of anything much he'd fight for.

She wiped her lips with a paper napkin—the kiss again, dammit!—and said slowly, deliberately, “Did anyone teach you they would love you through thick and thin?”

He jolted back in his seat, her words a slap in the face.

“Stop it,” he ordered.

“Stop what?”

“You've got that crusading look in your eye, like when you're lecturing me about contraception or my responsibility to my unborn children. I know everything I need to about…about relationships.” He was damned if he was going to talk about
love
with her. It was the one word he assiduously avoided with his real dates and it was even more off the table with a fake girlfriend.

“I have friends in every county in a fifty-mile radius,” he said. “The reason you're here, don't forget, is because I have too many people in my life.”

“Fans who wouldn't look twice at you if you weren't a NASCAR driver.”

Dammit, she had a nerve. Eli clattered their plates together, taking the opportunity to break eye contact as he cleared them away. “More than a few of those women think I'm charming in my own right.”

“You're very charming,” she agreed. “Tell me, Eli, what happens when you're not charming? Who's going to stick around when you
don't
have your own teeth and hair?”

He recoiled.

“Because that's what matters,” she said.

“That's what matters to
you.
” He regained his equilibrium, slanted her a flirty smile. “What matters to me is enjoying the moment. Which, frankly, chickadee, you're making difficult with all this girl-talk.”

“You don't think knowing you're loved would make even the most ordinary moment more enjoyable?” she persisted. She had the nerve to look sorry for him, nibbling on the corner of one thumbnail.

Eli staged a yawn. “Shucks, chickadee, what would a guy like me know about ordinary moments?”

 

G
IL AND THE REPORTER
, Marion Galton, arrived five minutes ahead of schedule.

Jen sat next to Eli on the couch for the interview, his arm slung along the back of the cushion so that his fingertips rested on her shoulder, their caress as light as a summer breeze.

His touch distracted her from processing their earlier discussion—she wouldn't be surprised if that was the whole point. She'd learned that somewhere beneath the flirty, flighty Eli Ward, the real Eli Ward was carefully fenced-off. Because the real Eli Ward was vulnerable.

If he'd been attractive to her before, discovering he had hidden depths made him truly, ironically irresistible. Just like the magazine said.

Marion, the reporter, was firmly focused on the superficial. Her eyes raked Eli with a blatancy that would have been questionable had their genders been reversed.

“So, how did you two meet?” she asked.

Eli trotted out the story they'd agreed on. His index finger drew lazy circles on Jen's shoulder, but she sensed a latent pressure. He was annoyed by her breaching his defenses.

Too bad. Because the real Eli Ward took intriguing to a new level.

“Very romantic,” the woman cooed when he finished. “Are you two serious?”

“We've only just reconnected,” he said. “Ask me again in a couple of months.” By then, of course, her article would have been printed.

“If you two are still dating in a couple of months, I won't need to ask,” the woman joked. “That would be a record for you.”

Eli's mouth tightened. “The length of my past relationships isn't relevant to this interview.”

Jen couldn't agree more. Besides, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the lack of permanent relationships in his youth had made Eli commitment-shy. All those women, all those connections made on the basis that it wouldn't hurt when they were severed.

“What about the length of your professional relationships?” Marion asked.

Eli paused. “I'm not sure what your question is.”

Marion leaned forward. “Is it true you're looking for a new ride? That you've been interviewing with other teams?”