TWICE VICTORIOUS (7 page)

"It's too soon," he said, leaning back and draping a casual arm across the back of
the sofa. "I rushed you."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I wasn't exactly struggling for my virtue," she
answered, feeling her lips part in a rueful smile. "I practically climbed all over you." Even
as she spoke, she became aware of something she'd never before experienced. If this had
happened with any of the men she'd dated--even with Ethan, the one man she'd marginally
considered marrying--she'd have been embarrassed talking about it. With Adam, it seemed
natural to admit she wanted him, even though it wasn't the practical thing, the sensible
thing, to do.

"No, it's not sensible," he agreed, when she'd spoken her thoughts. "I guess I've
seen too many people like you who don't have time for relationships. I want to stand in
first place with my woman, not be squeezed in between competitions."

Stell bit her lip. She wanted to take umbrage at his words, but she had to agree
with them. Playing second fiddle to anything, be it cycling or the drive to succeed, wasn't
any fun. Nor was it something she'd want to do if the situation were reversed.

Still, she didn't appreciate being called "people like you" as if she were a type or
something. Was she only a cycling competitor and an available female to Adam? Didn't he
see all the other facets of her personality, her life?

How could he? They'd met exactly three times, and all they'd done was react to
each other sexually each time.

At least she had. At their first meeting she had practically drooled all over him,
and she hadn't improved with closer acquaintance.

He had, though. Each time they were together, she saw more in him to like. And
she still couldn't think of much beyond getting her hands on his body.

Darn!

"Adam, I think you'd better go. This isn't getting us anywhere, and I'm exhausted.
I had P.T. again today, and..."

He stroked her cheek, his fingers tracing along the bone and then down to her
chin. His touch was warm and electrifying. "You look like you could sleep for a week. Are
you sure you're not overdoing things?"

Of course she was overdoing things! How else was she going to get back on her
bicycle in time? "No. No I'm fine. I got up pretty early this morning, is all." She followed
him along the hall, unable to help admiring the flex and bunch of his buttocks as he walked
ahead of her. What a marvelous body! If she could only get him interested in cycling.

Again his fingers drifted across her cheek. "Good night, Stell. Take care of
yourself, okay?" Dipping his head, he kissed her lightly, fleetingly, before he stepped
through the doorway. "And think about obsessions, will you?"

He was gone before she found words. Hadn't he heard her? She was not obsessed
with cycling. Riding in the Sawtooth Classic was a goal, like any other, and she would do
what it took to attain it. That's all.

* * * *

Damn the woman! Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? Adam reached for the
phone, wondering why someone who was all he disliked in women had such a hold on his
attention and his emotions. He dialed quickly, tapped his fingers against the desktop as he
counted the rings.

He was about to give up when a breathless voice said, "Hello?"

"Stell?"

A deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah...yes, it's Stell. Just a minute, please." He heard
the phone being laid down, listened to the rustling of cloth, more deep breaths, and a
muffled, "Blast!" After a few minutes, she returned, her voice more normal and not
breathless. "Hi. Is that you, Adam?"

"What would you have done if it wasn't?" What in hell was she up to?

"Gotten rid of you as quickly as possible. I'm soaked to the skin and it's cold in
here."

Adam shot a glance at his office window. May in Portland was one of two things,
usually. Drizzly, or pouring. Today was a real gully-washer. "Don't catch pneumonia, then.
Call me back when you're in dry clothes, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. What's your number?"

He knew she had it because he'd given her a business card the first time he'd called
on her, right after her accident. Maybe she'd cared so little for him that she'd thrown it out.
Patiently he recited his number, fighting and almost conquering the resentment that flared
at the thought that she cared so little that she hadn't put his number on the bulletin board
he'd seen on the wall by her phone.

"Got it. Thanks." And he was listening to a dead line.

A dozen times that day Adam wondered why he bothered. Each time his phone
rang and he spoke to someone other than Stell, the resentment resurfaced. She didn't care
enough to call him back. She wasn't even curious about why he'd called her.

He was curious, too. Every practical, sensible bone in his body reminded him that
he was asking for misery and heartbreak to keep pursuing Stell McCray. The pragmatic
businessman, the realist who gave up a profitless will-o'-the-wisp to support his family,
wondered why all common sense had suddenly flown out the window and been replaced
by mindless lust for a skinny, muscle-bound, flat-chested, obsessive-compulsive woman
who'd rather peddle a bicycle than make love with him.

And then he'd remember the taste of her, the flavor of her kisses, the silkiness of
her skin. And he'd know.

The phone rang just as he was turning out the lights in his office, long after
everyone else had gone home. He almost didn't answer it. Only a forlorn hope prompted
him to reach across his desk and pick it up.

"Adam? Adam, I'm sorry. I got involved with a new client and I...I forgot." She
sounded truly remorseful. "Why did you call? Was there something you wanted?"

Just you,
he thought.
Just you.

"I wondered if you're going to the Small Business Seminar this weekend, out at
Jantzen Beach." He'd meant to ask her that night at her place, then they'd become
distracted.

"Oh, Adam, I can't. I promised I'd work at the velodrome. It's the first race of the
season."

Cycling again. Hell, what should he expect? "How about the banquet then? I've
got two tickets." He hadn't planned to attend the banquet, but if that was the only way he'd
be able to see Stell, he'd do it.

"Is it dressy?"

"Not particularly. Office clothes, I'd imagine."

"I suppose...wait a minute. What time does it start?"

Adam flipped through the papers in his folder, sure he'd put the banquet tickets in
there with the draft of the talk he was giving at the seminar. "Here it is. 'No-host cocktail
hour from 6:30 to 7:30. Dinner at 7:30.' I could pick you up about 6:15."

"No, that won't work. I won't be home by then." She was silent for a moment, until
he wondered if she'd gone to sleep. "Look, why don't I meet you there? I promise I can be
there before they serve dinner." Her voice was hesitant, as if she were futilely seeking an
excuse to turn him down.

He carefully reassembled the contents of the file folder, using the small activity to
hold on to his patience. "I'd like to pick you up, Stell. It's no trouble."

"Uh, that's not it, Adam. I may not be finished with the race until about six. They
often run later than that, but I could probably get away by then. I'll just take my clothes
with me and change in the restroom."

Heat suffused Adam's head and neck. "Look, if you don't want to go with me, just
say so. Don't give me all sorts of excuses." He knew five women who'd jump at the chance
to be his date Saturday night. Beautiful women. Charming women.

"I am not making excuses. I simply have other commitments."

"Well, then maybe you'd better satisfy them, and forget about the banquet."
Shoving the file folder back to the corner of his desk, he switched off the lamp and
prepared to hang up.

"Wait just a darn minute! I said I'd go with you and I'm going with you. If your
little ego demands you pick me up at my door, I'll be there. Six-fifteen, you said?"

"That's what I said," he snapped. Who was she to talk about egos? Anyone who
competed like she did had to believe she was the best.

"I'll be ready. Just don't be late." The click in his ear was so abrupt that he was
sure she'd slammed the receiver into its cradle.

Interesting. She didn't have time for him in her life, so she said. Then he'd pushed,
just a little, and she'd reacted.

Adam had always prided himself on being able to take advantage of his opponent's
vulnerability. Had he just identified Stell's? Maybe she was as fascinated by him, as
confused by her feelings about him, as unable to stay away from him.

The thought made him smile.

* * * *

Stell was so tired by the time she reached home that she thought about calling off
the evening. Would have, if she'd had any idea how to reach Adam. Instead she drank the
last Coke she had in the fridge, hoping it had enough caffeine in it to keep her awake this
evening.

She showered quickly. Her knee hurt, so she wrapped it in an elastic bandage, not
wanting to wear the brace over the pleated navy gabardine slacks she'd decided to wear.
With a loose silk shirt patterned richly in swirls of fuchsia, turquoise and persimmon, and a
heavy gold chain looped at her neck, she looked good enough for a business dinner. Even
better, with the slacks, she could wear her Birkenstocks and be comfortable.

When Adam rang her doorbell, she found herself looking forward to the
evening.

"How was your day?" he said as he steered the car down the winding street from
her house.

"I've never sat out a whole day of races before. By four o'clock, I was so
frustrated, wanting to be out there riding, that I almost went home."

"Why didn't you?" He sounded more curious than anything.

"I'd never do that. My team was depending on me to be there."

"Umm," was all he said.

Tired as she was, Stell was content to sit quietly, her forehead against the window.
She hadn't been out much since her accident. Now, seeing how advanced spring was, she
realized she'd missed most of the spectacular floral show Portland put on each year. When
she was out riding every day, she was aware of each new flowering, starting with the
hazels in February and progressing through all the different native and cultivated plants
that made this such a beautiful place to live. This year she'd caught the daffodils, and
nothing much thereafter.

Nothing except the soggy view through the rain-washed windows of her
house.

"I really should get to more of these meetings," she told Adam as they waited in
line to enter the banquet room. The day's workshops had been jointly sponsored by the
Small Business Administration and a local organization of small business owners. She'd
received their announcement several weeks ago and had actually given a few seconds
thought to attending. Then she'd remembered that the date was that of the season's first
velodrome race and she'd tossed the material in the trash.

Well, she hadn't raced, as she'd intended to, but at least she'd been there to cheer
her friends and teammates on. Warren had taken a second.

She would have had a first, if she'd raced. There hadn't been anyone there today
who could compete at her level.

The doors opened then, and they went in. After that, she had no opportunity for
private conversation with Adam. People she hadn't seen for years, since she left the
corporate rat race, came by the table to visit. When she wasn't renewing old ties, Adam
was.

Isn't that what these events are all about? They're not social, they're
business.

When they were finally alone, in the darkness of Adam's car, Stell realized how
tired she was. "Chester North could record bedtime stories and make a mint," she said,
yawning.

"He's not the most exciting speaker in the work," Adam agreed, "but he had some
good information to dispense."

"If you could stay awake long enough to hear it. I dropped off at least twice."

His chuckle held sympathy. "I saw. Your head kept nodding to the side, and once I
was afraid you'd fall out of your chair."

"It wasn't that bad!" Yes, it was. She could remember practically nothing of what
North had said. "I've never met an accountant who was an interesting speaker," she said.
"There's something about the profession--"

"So why are you one?"

Stell thought a moment. "I honestly don't know. I guess it was interesting once,
but it didn't take me many audits to discover that I'd far rather keep track of everyday
finances than do the things a CPA gets stuck with."

Adam pulled to a stop at a red light. Turning toward her, he said, " Why do you go
to the races, Stell? You said it bothered you to watch your team racing when you couldn't
participate." Adam's voice had a note of tension, as if her answer really mattered to
him.

"Yes, a little." She chewed her lip. "No, it bothers me a lot. But I know I'll be back
out with them in a month or so, and I can deal with it."

"A month or so! You shouldn't even be walking without a brace yet and you're
thinking of racing in a month?"

"Sure. Any reason why not?" She knew of at least three. Her knee, her hip and her
ankle. But those were reasons she could deal with, obstacles she could overcome.

"Any reason? My God, woman, you damn near killed yourself a few weeks ago,
and you sound like you're determined to finish the job as soon as you can."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, furious at his assumption that she would do
something dangerous. She wouldn't ride again until she was sure it wouldn't hurt her. Frank
Pauvel was being conservative, like all doctors. And Carl hadn't said she couldn't be back
on her bike by the middle of June.

She was pushed against the door as Adam swerved around a corner. Stell looked
into the rainswept night and saw that they were in the parking lot at Mount Tabor Park.
Another sharp swerve and they were at the upper end, away from the few other vehicles
scattered around the margins of the large lot. As soon as the engine died, Adam was facing
her. "What have you got for brains, woman? Oatmeal?" His voice shook. "Damn it. You
make me want to...to shake some sense into that hard head of yours."