One Last Hold (6 page)

All but her face and hair managed to avoid the majority of the champagne spritz. She shivered, but the excitement of the moment left her immune to the effects of the cold. Wesley grabbed a bottle, took a swig, and spewed the rest over his crew’s head.

A smile stretched across his face. Her heart turned over and over, like a car’s engine on a cold winter day. Any fool could see how important this was to him, how happy it made him. Even if she’d never known him, his smile could make her fall in love.

Remember why you’re here,
she chastised herself as she reached for her camera.
You’re here to do a story, to take pictures, not to drool over Wesley.

And definitely not to fall in love with him again.

A mixture of sweat and champagne poured from his face, but it didn’t seem to faze him. Her skin tingled in anticipation.

They’d be alone soon. And then what? What would she say? How would he treat her? And why did she even have to wonder?

“This is what it’s all about,” one of his crewmembers responded to a reporter’s question that Caitlyn hadn’t heard. “Winning.”

“To what do you owe this victory?” another reporter asked and slammed the microphone as close to Wesley’s face as possible.

“This isn’t only my victory,” he replied. “It’s also my owner’s, my teammates’, my sponsors’ and my fans’. I owe this victory to everyone who has helped me throughout this season and beyond, and I can only hope there’s more to come. They have all helped to make this race successful.”

“What do you have to say about Chad Armstrong?”

A shadow crossed his face. “What happened to him was an atrocious crime. I pray for his family and hope for the person responsible to be found.”

*

Although Wesley sometimes resented the media, it was because of them some fans were able to see their favorite drivers. He owed it to his sponsors and to his fans to grant interviews. The crowd cheering for him when he was carried from his vehicle was overwhelming and filled him with fierce pride. No matter what he really was, no matter what made up his life, no matter what happened, his fans rooted for him.

Of course, they didn’t know everything about the man they applauded, and he hoped to keep it that way.

The press crowd crushed each other, but somehow Caitlyn’s face stood out in the crowd. She could’ve done anything with her life. But a reporter?

She clutched her coat. Covered in champagne, hair drenched, confetti plastered all over her. She was a mess.

And damn well the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

The intense pressure inside his body dominated the cold. The long day in the car and the adrenaline from winning kept him warm. He told himself it had nothing to do with Caitlyn, but that was a lie.

When his crew shuffled the press away, Caitlyn glanced back at him. Wesley nodded and motioned for Adam to bring her to him. She moved toward him with a bag propped on her shoulder and a camera dangling from her neck.

A smile softened her features. He took her bag from her shoulder, more as a way to regain his equilibrium than to ease her load.

“Congratulations, Wesley.”

“Thank you.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes but I thought you’d like to wait for me in my RV.”

“That’d be great,” she said.

“Follow me.”

As they strolled past the other RVs, Caitlyn oohed and aahed over the impressiveness of the set-up. He had to agree it was pretty amazing. Most of the racers and their families spent at least three nights at a race track and more time in their trailers than in their homes. Some of them didn’t even have homes. Christmas was over, but the wintry season still sported lights and wreaths donned the exterior.

“Here we are.” He unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow her to enter first.

She stepped beside him and stopped, hesitating at the entry.

His nerves tingled with the need to touch her, flick her hair aside and taste the crook of her neck, find that familiar spot behind her ear that used to drive her crazy. Before he took that chance, she moved away.

He clenched his hands and swallowed.

She wandered through the living room and down a tiny hallway, turning her head to see if it was okay. He nodded.

“Go ahead, look it over. Make yourself at home.” His voice sounded guttural, even to his own ears, but he got that way around her. Even after all this time.

Trailing behind her, he watched as she touched his things and imagined her hands on his body. She opened the door leading to his bedroom, which held a queen-sized bed and wooden dresser, then traced the dresser with her fingertips and stroked the painting on the wall.

“Wow.” She fingered the luxurious comforter while he imagined her sprawled atop his bed. “This is bigger than it looks from outside.”

Yeah
, he thought,
wow.

He straightened his spine against the doorway, watching her as his emotions skyrocketed. Caitlyn stood in his bedroom, looking hot with her disheveled hair trailing out of her beanie. Most of the confetti had fallen off, but a bright yellow piece still stuck to her waist.

Her gaze traveled over his furnishings, then to him. She smiled and continued her perusal. Warmth flooded him and he wiggled his fingers, chasing away the urges he couldn’t afford to feel.

She moseyed out the door, and he closed his eyes after she passed him. His posture grew rigid as he fought for control. Control not to touch her, to taste her, to breathe in her scent. The scent of cinnamon cookies and spicy champagne. His stomach bottomed.

Caitlyn returned to the living room, oblivious to her effect on the house. But Wesley noticed. It was the way his bedroom changed when she walked in, like she’d stamped it with her femininity. She only touched some of his things, but he wondered if his room would ever dispel her presence.

Shaking such stupid thoughts out of his mind, he moved into the kitchen. “Help yourself to drinks and food in the fridge.”

“I didn’t expect these RVs to be this big. This is incredible. Some people don’t even have real houses that look like this.”

“You’ve never been in one of these before?”

“Well, I’ve been in RVs, sure, but not like this.” Caitlyn dropped onto the couch and unzipped her boots, sinking her feet into the carpet. “Aah. This couch is more comfortable than the one I have at home.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

Caitlyn jerked up and grabbed her boots, her gaze falling to the floor as she yanked them on. “Sorry. I was caught up in the moment for a second, I guess.”

“Caitlyn?”

“What?”

“I was joking. Take your shoes back off.”

“What am I doing here?” She strode to the table and grabbed her bag, clutching it to her chest. She stood there, gorgeous as she tore the beanie from her hair, slipped it into the bag, and ran her fingers through her mess of hair.

His body stirred. He’d like to be the one to tear that beanie from her head, to run his fingers through her hair. She kept her gaze downward, lips pursed. Guilt ate at him. He’d made her feel awkward.

“I thought we’d have a second to talk and then I’d be on my way,” she said.

He stomped toward her and stopped, plucking the yellow confetti from her waist. Her gaze narrowed.

“You’re here because you called me, begging me to grant you an interview. I have some sponsors and stuff I need to deal with and I’m already late. I wanted you to be comfortable while you waited on me, unless you’re ready to go home.”

“You just told me not to get too comfortable.”

“I was kidding.”

“Were you really?” She’d always been good at making him feel like a jerk.

He stepped back, away from the lure.

She twined her hair around her hand. “I want you to understand this assignment is coming from my boss. He asked me to do a story on you, so I’m following you around. That’s all.”

“Relax,” he said, although the words were meant more for him.

“I’m excited…”

Excited? Hell, so was he. Oh, she was talking about a different excitement. What was she saying?

“I love to travel and write stories,” she continued. “But I’ll only report about the race, what’s been going on and that sort of thing, and whatever information you care to include. But that’s all. Nothing personal. I really hate that you don’t trust me.”

“That’s bullshit, Cait. If I didn’t trust you, do you think I’d leave you alone in my house?”

*

He had a point. He let her in his house then left for a meeting. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that and didn’t know what to do when he was gone.

He’d told her to make herself comfortable…
at home…
but she felt she was interfering just by being there. Sitting on the couch, she folded her hands in her lap and examined the quaint and simple décor. Where scores of pictures adorned her walls, his were bare.

He’d offered his shower to her, but no way. Her hair was mostly dry, albeit frizzy, and she put the beanie near the heater so it’d be dry any moment.

This was too weird for her, this feeling of not knowing what to do. This feeling that things were normal between them, when they were anything but. For a moment, it felt like the old times. She’d plopped into his couch, and he’d swiftly brought her back to reality.

Don’t get too comfortable.

Reality was they were not the same people. Reality was she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk to him like she had before their lives fell apart.

Caitlyn glanced around, trying to get a sense of what he was like now, how he’d changed. A table held a vase of picturesque flowers exuding color and warmth. A bookcase displayed books, magazines, and awards but no other personal items. Nothing to reveal what kind of person he was or what kinds of things he liked to do besides race. No pictures to make someone ask questions.

A large TV occupied the living room, a laptop computer set on the desk in the corner, and the kitchen held the basics, along with a stocked bar perfect for entertainment. She wondered how many women he entertained and a pang, fierce and hot, hit her.

Her nerves tapped along the inside of her skin, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She shot up from the couch and paced, drumming her fingers against each other. She loathed feeling vulnerable and insecure.

A light rap on the door made her jump. At first, she thought Wesley had returned and was being polite by knocking. But when she peeked outside, two uniformed officers stood side by side, watching the door.

She dropped the curtain and shuffled aside, ducking in an attempt to hide before they noticed her. Should she answer?

They knocked again and she opened the door a crack. Better to get them out of here as soon as possible. Surely when they found Wesley wasn’t home, they’d leave.

“Can I help you?”

“We have a warrant to search the motor home and its premises.” The officer handed over a document.

A search warrant? What did that mean?

Lord, what should she do?

She ignored the warrant. “I’m sorry. This isn’t my house. You’ll have to come back later.”

“No can do,” the burly one stated, barreling past her.

“Excuse me.” Caitlyn swirled around to face the officer. “A man was murdered last week in his private trailer and you want to come in here when I have no idea who you are?”

“Sorry,” the tall one, who seemed to have the most manners, stated. He presented his ID and she studied it, glancing between him and his badge. His picture swam in front of her and she couldn’t concentrate long enough to figure anything out. Her mind reeled in fear and confusion.

“I think you should come back when Wesley is here.”

“The warrant lays out exactly what we can do,” he told her. “We’ll do it and be out of your hair.”

“I don’t see where the warrant gives you permission to be forceful and discourteous,” Caitlyn said.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the man continued, but didn’t leave.

Caitlyn clutched the screen door, trembling as she watched outside, urging Wesley to come home. She glanced behind her several times to watch the officers—and her back—and prepare to run if need be. Their badges appeared real, their IDs matched, but after what happened to Chad one could never be sure. She didn’t know what else to do and had nowhere else to go.

“May I ask you what you’re looking for?” she asked.

“Anything leading to Chad Armstrong’s murder.”

*

Post-race inspections sucked, at least for most people. Adam, unlike the others, thought it something akin to a sexual experience. Taking cars apart, putting them back together. It was like a puzzle, and he usually got in trouble when his hands weren’t doing something. It was better for all involved to keep his hands and his mind busy.

Adam was a stickler for seeing the car was tight and official and if he so much as suspected someone of messing with the parts, he was all over them. His job was his mistress and one he took seriously.

Wesley was the kind of man he would have strived to be if his life had been different. When he first started working for the racecar driver, he didn’t expect to like the guy as much as he did, but he’d grown to admire and respect him. They had worked together a few years now and Wesley never suspected Adam had been anything other than good at his job.

Everyone had a past they kept secret.

Some more than others.

Wesley had a past he wanted to keep hidden. His lips were sealed. He had no desire to tattle to the reporters no matter how they tried to beg or seduce him to give them dirt. As far as Adam was concerned, his past had no dirt. He’d just received some rotten luck in life. Having Johnson Webb for a father was a prime example.

“How’re things going here?”

Adam glanced up to find the man in question. He’d taken the pretty brunette back to his trailer and Adam thought he might be getting lucky tonight. Guess not.

Wesley’s weariness was unusual even for a demanding day like today. Adam suspected something else was wrong with him. Had the brunette already rebuffed him?

“Just about to tie it up. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Wesley said, but his tone of voice spoke otherwise.

“Want to go have a drink?” Adam asked, thinking he might need a cold beer to wash away his troubles.