Pure Pleasure (2 page)

The resort faced the river, and an enormous picture window along the wall of the back atrium showcased the water and made the casino nice and bright during the day. At night, the lights from the marina and the boats in the slips twinkled as brilliantly as the stars in the clear sky. A near-full moon hung over the mountain range in the distance and, all in all, I found the scenery peaceful and serene.

My insides, however, were in anything but a tranquil state.

No, I didn’t care that every head turned as I passed through the casino and walked into the lounge—it was the prospect of seeing the mechanic that made my stomach take a wild tumble. My self-consciousness over being so ostentatiously dressed never surfaced, because a low whistle of appreciation and a flicker of lust in the eyes of my object of desire chased it away when he turned from a group of people and his gaze landed on me.

He was rugged and drop-dead gorgeous in a black T-shirt and Levi’s, both of which fit him sinfully well. His sandy hair was less windblown than earlier in the day, but still a tad on the misbehaving side, which worked well with his causal demeanor. His sky-blue eyes, however, were just as bright as they’d been when I’d met him this morning.

Once again taking my hand in a gentle way, he smiled down at me and said, “You didn’t tell me you were planning on taking my breath away.”

His words were as engaging as his smile. I could have jumped the man’s bones right then and there. Luckily, I’d been raised better than that.

Mustering my voice, I said, “You know, you haven’t even told me your name yet.”

My tone was sultry and provocative, surprising me. It seemed to please him, because he led me out of the bustling lounge while saying, “There’s a patio restaurant at the marina. More privacy and less noise. You game?”

“If you’ll tell me your name,” I said with a teasing lilt that was also unfamiliar to me. Where this flirtatious woman had come from was beyond me. I was usually very controlled and focused around men. But this one had my head spinning in a delightful way.

He was ridiculously good-looking and I found it impossible to take my eyes off him. With my peripheral vision and his guidance, I didn’t have to glance away from his strong profile as we walked. Once we reached the elevator and stepped inside, he turned to me and my heart fluttered. Oh yeah. He was devastatingly handsome and capable of melting a glacial epoch with his hypnotic eyes and devilish grin.

“I’m Ky. Sorry I didn’t mention that earlier.”

“Ky,” I repeated, liking that it wasn’t a common name. Because he certainly wasn’t a common man. “Short for Kyle?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just Ky.”

“Huh. Clever.”

As he pushed the button for the ground floor, he asked, “Did you learn anything new today?”

“All kinds of interesting tidbits.”

“So we can move onto other topics?”

I laughed. “You’re at a race. Isn’t this currently the
only
topic of discussion?”

“I know my role in tomorrow’s race.” He studied me a moment, as though waiting for me to respond to that comment. I didn’t have anything to say, so he continued. “If you need more information, I’ll tell you whatever you want. But,” he said with a mischievous look as we stepped out of the elevator, “I’d like to get to know
you
.”

Ah, he was a charmer.

We strolled along the walkway cut into manicured grass and lined with solar lights. The marina sprawled to our left, where a dozen or so boats were docked. Ky had been right. This was a much quieter area and there were fewer people milling about. They were all at the lounge inside and gambling in the casino.

I was glad I’d dared to wear my over-the-top sweater because there was a slight chill to the early spring night, although it didn’t seem to affect Ky, because he hadn’t bothered with a jacket. As we approached the restaurant on the water, the bite of frigid air ebbed with the help of a couple of fire pits blazing bright. Salsa music flowed from the speakers mounted to the wooden posts that held up the palapa-style thatched roof above the tables on the deck.

Ky directed me to a plainclothes cook manning a grill covered with chicken strips and chopped steak. He shook hands with the cook and chummed it up, obviously a repeat customer.

“Two specials,” he said, placing our order and then whisking me off to a far corner with a few empty tables.

Before we sat, he pulled me a little closer to him and shuffled me around the wooden floor with his comical idea of Salsa dancing that had us both laughing in a carefree way as we eventually fell into our chairs.

“I hope you’re a better mechanic than dancer,” I told him when I caught my breath. “Or the team you work for is screwed tomorrow.”

He chuckled as he scooted his chair next to mine. “We’re favored to win, so I’m sure we’ll have a good showing. We’re running against Robby Gordon and Jesse James, but we’ve beaten them before.”

I hadn’t seen either one in the pits today, and no one had mentioned them, as though invoking the big-shot names would jinx their team’s chances of winning the race.

“Have a little faith, is that what you’re telling me?”

His grin was, I finally decided, his defining feature. That was saying something, considering how fantastically built he was, in such an erotically stirring way. Above all else, though, that teasing lift at the corner of his mouth sucked me in and made me absurdly crazy about this person I didn’t even know.

Before he could reply to my comment, a small Hispanic woman wearing an apron covered with cartoon-type red and green chili peppers appeared at our table. She greeted Ky with a big smile and welcomed him back. When it came to me, she sized me up and then seemed to give her approval with a slight nod. She set a Corona in front of both of us, along with a shot of tequila and a plate of limes.

“I’ll be back with the fajitas in a few minutes.”

I eyed the Corona as Ky said, “If you’d prefer a glass of wine…”

“No, no. This is fine. This is great.” Trying something different never hurt, right? Besides, I liked this laid-back atmosphere and comfortable setting. The music was sassy and upbeat and the strands of tiny white twinkle lights wrapped around the railing of the deck, along with the stars and moon, lit the river with a vibrant golden glow. This was no fancy Scottsdale restaurant, which was what I found so appealing about it. Well, that and the fact Ky was sitting next to me, lifting his bottle and tapping the rim gently to mine.

“Cheers,” he said, a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes.

“Bottoms up.” I took a deep sip of beer and found it refreshing, considering my insides were ablaze. Christ, I’d never imagined it possible to be so turned inside out by a man, but this one had me nearly vibrating out of my chair.

He showed me how to shoot the tequila, instructing me to lick the crook of my hand between my thumb and index finger, sprinkle some salt on the damp skin, then suck the salt from it, throw back the liquor and squeeze the juice from a sliced lime into my mouth. I executed the move following his demonstration and he watched me intently, a flicker of excitement in his eyes, which gave me a good indication he was as aroused as I was.

The chicken fajitas arrived, and I made small talk over dinner as that dull throbbing started again in my pussy and heat oozed through my veins. The latter not being a result of the spicy food or the tequila, but from the way Ky looked at me. As though my obvious willingness to experiment both intrigued and stimulated him.

Swallowing down a mouthful of brilliantly flavored chicken and peppers, I asked, “How’d you get into racing?”

He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and told me, “Family tradition. Four generations of Richards have been in the racing business. My dad was a top competitor in Trophy Trucks before he died a couple of years ago.”

For a moment, he deviated from the topic and I could see from the flash of pain in his eyes it had something to do with his father. “I was going to tell you about Trophy Trucks, wasn’t I? They’re the premier race vehicles on the circuit. Costs about a million bucks to build one, sometimes more.”

I whistled under my breath. “Wow, that’s crazy.”

“Not when you take it seriously. We’re all die-hards. Depending on the race and the class they run, teams might pay up to sixteen-hundred dollars or more for an entry fee. So, of course, everyone is determined to win.”

“I had no idea there was so much money involved in this sport.”

“Interestingly, it’s more of a lifestyle than a sport. There are several racing organizations that host a series of races, mostly throughout the Southwest and in Mexico. We’ve been prominent in a number of series, but the big fish to fry is always the Baja 1000.”

“I heard about that a while back, when Patrick Dempsey ran the course,” I said, perking up. “SCORE International hosts the Baja Peninsula race.”

He seemed pleased I knew about the Grand Poohbah of races. He smiled as he nodded. “It’s very intense. Very unpredictable. There’s no telling what will happen to the race vehicle or with the track and weather conditions. Racers get lost or misdirected by the locals. Cars break down in the middle of the desert. Drivers run for hours getting the hell beat out of them by wild bumps and turns. It’s a little insane, but damn good fun.”

His smile and enthusiasm were infectious. “Man versus nature and machine at its finest?” I ventured.

He chuckled again. “Something like that.”

“Sounds exciting. I’m looking forward to seeing it tomorrow.” I polished off my beer and the waitress immediately delivered another for each of us, along with a second shot of tequila that I didn’t hesitate to throw back with Ky.

The fiery sensation in my throat didn’t even compare to the one deep within me as he gave me a look of appreciation and respect. Apparently, I’d proven I wasn’t all uptown girl.

Ah…if only he knew the truth. I’d never have the money to be an uptown girl. I was more a product of my environment. The publisher of the magazine I worked for had taken a huge chance on me several years ago, after I’d sold a few articles to other publications. Though I wrote for the socialite demographic, I was anything but. Rather, I was a quick learner who knew how to fit into the circumstances surrounding her.

Not surprisingly—after years of buying my designer outfits and shoes off-rack or from eBay, because I couldn’t afford to set foot in Neiman Marcus or Prada but had to live up to a certain image—I found this evening’s fun and low-key setting a comfortable and enjoyable one.

The company was titillating as well.

Ky asked, “What made your publisher want to run an off-road racing article?”

“We’ve been struggling with the economic change. We used to distribute specifically to affluent households, but today, that’s too small an audience. We ran a fitness article last month that had health and wellness gurus coming out of the woodwork. I’m not sure of the kind of impact we’ll see on readership from my feature, because our primary readers are female, but I think it’ll be educational and enlightening for them.” I took a sip of beer, then added, “It’s a trendy topic. This feature should provide good information for any woman wanting to ‘talk the talk’ with the man in her life, and I hope we’ll also increase our number of male readers. That would be extremely helpful.”

“You like the magazine enough to do whatever you can to keep it in circulation?”

“Yes, I do. More than that, I enjoy working with the people there.” I took another quick drink before admitting, “I really shouldn’t have been hired. I was nineteen when I moved to Phoenix, after getting the job. I didn’t even have a college degree. Couldn’t afford the classes. My dad had passed away when I was young and my mother had never worked, so it was a struggle for her to find something that paid enough to cover the rent on the one-bedroom apartment we moved into.”

“Where was this?” he asked as he sat forward in his chair, listening intently.

“Seattle. We lived in a terrible neighborhood, which is sad to say, because I’ve heard Seattle is a beautiful city. I never saw the highlights, for the most part anyway.”

“Why’d you take a job in Phoenix?”

“It was the only place I’d been offered a decent job. I quit school when I was sixteen so I could work at a grocery store with my mom, in order for us to make ends meet. I was a good writer from the time I was a kid, though, so I sent out a few pieces every now and then, and they were published.
Scottsdale Live
was hiring right around the time I’d sold my fourth article. The position required a bachelor’s degree. I didn’t even have my GED at the time. But I contacted the publisher, told her where I’d sold my work, sent her writing samples and promised I’d not only get a bachelor’s degree, but a master’s as well. After reading my stuff, she said she had a good feeling about me and trusted it enough to give me an opportunity I don’t think anyone else would have offered.”

“Sounds like a great boss.”

“She is. That’s why this feature is important to me. If I can help in any way… I want to do whatever I can to make the magazine a success again.” A wave of emotion washed over me as I said, “Not only do I owe Melodie for helping me to fulfill a dream—and providing me with a paycheck that allows me to take classes since I’m now onto my master’s, while also leaving enough left over to send to my mother so she doesn’t have to work so many hours—I’m thrilled to be working for her. The magazine has been sort of a home away from home for me.”