Pure Pleasure (8 page)

“No?” One hand moved from behind his back and he placed a shopping bag on my desk. It was delicate and sophisticated, with
Fran’s
embossed across the front.

I buried my face in my hands as emotion washed over me. I groaned and said, “You went to Seattle to buy me chocolates?”

He
so
didn’t get me! I was shocked, really. Deep down, I’d thought he’d understood, on some level, what I’d said about my past.

Staring up at him, I told him, “You missed the whole point of my story.”

His grin was slow and easy. “No, I didn’t. I had them FedEx me the gift bag. Look inside.”

Skeptical, I stepped closer to the desk and peered inside the bag. A back issue of
Scottsdale Live
rested against one interior wall.

I frowned, perplexed.

Ky said, “Look at all the things you’ve achieved. You came from nothing and made something of yourself, without compromising your principles and beliefs. You dress impeccably—”

“It’s all secondhand, I told you that.”

“So what? You enjoy your clothes and you look great in them. Who cares if someone owned them before you? You make the style your own. And for a girl who dropped out of high school to now be getting her master’s degree… Jesus, isn’t
that
something?”

“I made a promise to Melodie.”

“And you’re doing it for yourself. To better yourself. That’s amazing, Giselle. Hell, you’re more successful than I am.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, yeah. I can totally see that.”

He smirked at me. “Think about it. I was given a company to run. I was born into money and that’s how I can afford a race team and a bunch of toys. I didn’t have to get my master’s degree. A bachelor’s is good enough when you’re the sole heir to an empire. My mother wanted nothing to do with the business or anything associated with racing. She took a lump sum of cash and off she went, leaving me with everything else.”

I resisted the urge to grind my teeth. “You’re on the cover of a magazine.”

He yanked
Scottsdale Live
from the chocolate bag and thrust it at me. “You’re
in
a magazine. Every month!”

I opened my mouth, thinking I had some sort of contestable retort, but he gave me a challenging look and I suddenly grasped what he was saying to me. What he was trying to make me see.

But I needed him to see something in return.

“I liked who we were at the race,” I told him. “We were comfortable with each other, without any airs or pretense. I haven’t had that since I moved here. I’ve dated…
all
the wrong men. Ones who expect me to look and act a certain way. To always say the right thing and know which fork to use. I always felt put on the spot, you know? And then I met you, and I wanted to tell you all the things I’d kept inside. I wanted to feel all the wonderful things I’ve waited my entire adult life to feel.”

“Tired of being someone you’re not?” he asked in a low voice.

I nodded. “Yes. The clothes and shoes are nice, but I’d forgotten how much I missed tennis shoes,” I said as I lifted a foot to show him mine.

“Well, darlin’,” he said with a smile, “this is about as dressed up as I prefer to get. I’ll wear a suit or a tux for you, if you ask me to, but I like my jeans.”

“I like you in your jeans too,” I admitted. “And out of them.”

He chuckled. Then he came around the corner of my desk and sat on the edge of it. In a serious tone, he said, “There are a few concessions I
can’t
make for you.”

I eyed him curiously, wondering what the deal breakers were, and hoping with all my heart they were insignificant. Because he’d been right the other day. I had fallen a bit in love with him that night we made love. More so since he’d arrived at my office.

“Such as?” I ventured with bated breath.

“Well, for one,” he said in his sexy Southern drawl. “I’m not givin’ up the boat.”

I laughed, my heart lightening instantly. “How can I argue with that? It has sentimental value to me.”

“Good. I’m partial to the helicopter and the truck too.”

“Part of your racing team. I can certainly live with those things.”

“And this?” he asked as he flipped open the issue of
Scottsdale Live
he’d taken from the gift bag.

He handed over an envelope tucked between two pages and I couldn’t even begin to fathom what was inside. I folded back the flap and found an airline boarding pass inside.

My gaze flashed to his as his grin widened. “This is a ticket to Seattle,” I said on a sharp breath.

“Yes. First class. Sorry, but my legs are too long for coach.”

I shook my head. He was just too much. Which prompted me to ask, “What else?” Because I could tell from that now familiar wicked glint in his sky-blue eyes that he had more up his sleeve.

“Well, don’t get angry, but I did book us a suite at the Four Seasons. Booked one for your mom too.”

Tears sprang to my eyes again. “That’s just…way over the top.”

“Yeah, well,” he said as he took my hand and pulled me to him, so I stood between his parted legs. “That’s just something you’re going to have to get used to about me. If you love me, you have to love all the crazy things I do.”

This time, I nodded as the drops crested the rims of my eyes. “I can accept that.”

“And you can believe that your past doesn’t bother me? That it makes me respect you even more for forging your own path and moving away from everything you knew and loved in order to make a better life for you and your mom?”

Again, I nodded. “You wouldn’t be here if that weren’t true.”

“No, I wouldn’t, darlin’.”

He pulled me closer to him and kissed me in that tender yet exciting way that made my heart melt at the same time it sent my pulse racing.

When he finally broke the kiss, he whispered, “We’ve got a few hours to kill before our flight.”

I grinned as he brushed the rest of the tears from my cheeks. “My article is done and with the copy editor. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

He hopped off my desk and took my hand after I put my boarding pass in my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.

We said goodbye to the girls and left the building. In typical Ky fashion, however, what awaited us at the curb wasn’t a taxi. It was a stretch Hummer limo.

With a laugh, I said, “You can’t do anything normal, can you?”

“But you love me anyway, right?”

The sparkle in his eyes aside, I knew he was baiting me. It occurred to me that everything he’d done was the equivalent of putting his own pride on the line to chase after a girl who’d thought she wasn’t good enough for him. How ironic.

So after we climbed into the backseat and the driver shut the door, I said, “Yes, I do love you. And I really like the feeling.”

He nodded as he poured a glass of champagne for each of us. “Yeah, I’m enjoying it too.”

We touched the rims of our glasses and sipped. But another thought struck me and I said, “This is all very sweet, what you’re doing for me and for my mother. But what about yours?”

He eyed me quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Are you just going to let her put an ocean between the two of you? I mean, I understand how it feels to lose someone you love. Especially a romantic love—your spouse, even. My mother was devastated and as I said, she hasn’t dated and would never consider marrying again. I feel bad about that, but at least she and I have a relationship.”

Ky was quiet for a few minutes. Finally, he said, “My mom won’t date either. She was crushed when she lost my dad. Worse, I think she felt it in her bones that his truck would be the death of him. But it was what he loved, so she never put her foot down. I think she feels guilty about that. I think she wishes she’d insisted he not race.”

I had to consider this myself—its impact on me and our budding relationship—and posed a very important question. “You’re confident in your new roll cage?”

He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s been tested, sweetheart. I’m not going to get hurt in that truck. At least, not in a rollover.”

A cautionary tale. I got it. There were other dangers involved.

He followed this up by saying, “You know the adage—I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. At least if something happens to me in my truck… Well I know that’s how my dad would have wanted to go and I feel the same way.”

“Which is why you didn’t stop racing after he died tragically.”

“I told you I wished I’d had the cage done before that day. But the truth is, when racing is in your blood—and it has been for me for four generations—you’d rather die from accidentally taking a wrong turn off a cliff than of, say…pneumonia.”

I had to weigh that logic as we drove to my apartment. What I discovered as I ruminated over the possibility of losing someone I loved in a racing accident was enlightening to me, because it was based off something Ky had said about his mother.

“She didn’t put her foot down and say your dad couldn’t race. Would he have given it up for her?”

He stared at me a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. But she knew he wouldn’t be the same person. That exciting, run-on-the-ragged-edge type of man who attracted her in the first place.”

I could understand this. But I needed just a bit more. “I think you should invite her to your next race. I’d like to meet her and I think she should see you drive, Ky. My guess is, a part of your dad lives on because you race, and your mother just might embrace that, given your new roll cage. The safety precautions you’re taking should help to put her at ease.”

“It’d be nice for her to see, firsthand, what I’ve done. She’d feel much more comfortable about me racing.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “You should as well.”

“I trust you.” Besides, everything he’d said was true. He’d done his best to control and safeguard his racing environment. But no one really had absolute control over their destiny. The Hummer we were currently riding in could wreck. Our plane to Seattle could crash. That wasn’t a pessimistic viewpoint, it was a reality check. Ky could race for the next forty years and never injure himself. I could get cancer tomorrow, similar to
my
dad.

“Do what you love,” I told him as I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I can accept that about you.” Lord knew he had no qualms over my life. However, I did add, “But find some way to bridge the distance with your mom. You won’t forgive yourself if something happens to her before the two of you have a chance to reconnect. And vice versa.”

He nodded as he set aside our glasses. Then he gathered me close to him and said, “Do you know that you continue to amaze me?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I gazed up at him, thinking I was—hands down—the luckiest girl in the world. Not because I’d landed a rich guy. Because I’d fallen in love with the
right
guy. A man who had boyish fun on the racetrack, while taking the safety of himself and his competitors seriously. A man who ran a successful business. A man who didn’t want anyone, especially me, to think of him as a hotshot daredevil or playboy.

He was a million wonderful things all wrapped up in one gorgeous, sensuous package I very much wanted to undress.

So when the Hummer arrived in front of my modest apartment complex, I said, “Why don’t you send the driver away for a while? I think we’re going to need extra time to…
pack
…before we leave for the airport.”

Ky grinned as his head dipped. He kissed me again and I instantly went into sensory overload. I was still feeling emotionally charged from our reunion, and his very slow, sexy kiss charged me sexually. I was eternally grateful he’d not found anything unsavory about my past, and that he’d felt as strongly connected to me as I was to him. Enough so that he’d come to Scottsdale to prove how much he wanted me. Not just in his bed, but in his life.

When he pulled away, I was breathless.

“You really should learn how to kiss a girl,” I teased as I fanned myself with my hand.

“I’m not kissing a girl, darlin’.” He winked at me.

Then he helped me out of the limo when the driver opened the door. We walked hand in hand to the foot of the steps that led to my second-floor unit.

There, he stopped and asked, “Did you want me to consider moving here when we were together on my boat?”

I remembered asking him if he enjoyed Texas and prematurely wondering if he’d relocate for me. But that was the furthest thing from my mind now.

“No, I don’t want you to relocate. However, if you asked me to…” I shrugged a shoulder and bit back a grin.

“I do want you to,” he was quick to say. “Not just for me. Well, okay,
yes
for me. But for you as well. I think you’d like Austin.”

“I’m willing to give it a try. Scottsdale never grew on me.”

“In that case, I have to tell you that Dan Peters from
Off-Road Rally
thinks you’d be a great addition to his magazine, if you decide to follow me around to all my races.”

“A job offer?” I asked, shocked.

Ky nodded. “He’s the publisher. He checked out your articles online and thinks you’re pretty talented.”