What He Didn't Say (13 page)

Rafael glanced sideways when he heard Caitlin end her phone call. He could read her well enough now so that he knew the sharpness in her green eyes meant her reporter's radar had snapped back on.

Instantly, the tenseness resettled in his shoulders. Had something her editor said clued her in to the truth about his past?

With paranoia tickling at the edges of his rational mind, he handed Lily back to her babysitter, then laid the check and some bills on the counter.

“I'll walk you to your car,” he said as he swung the door open for Caitlin.

“That'd be good,” she said. “Because I suddenly have a couple more questions to ask you.”

 

“Y
OU MUST HAVE SPENT
time around small children to be so good with them.”

Caitlin made the observation as she and Rafael stepped out of Maudie's into the warm June night. Watching Lily giggle with delight while in Rafael's arms had given Caitlin insight into a totally unexpected—and immensely compelling—side of the man.

Which was her bad luck. The last thing she needed was one more reason to find O Tubarão so appealing.

“A natural gift,” Rafael commented.

Moonlight poured down, mingling with the reflection from the security lights guarding the parking lot on one side of Maudie's diner. “Does that mean you haven't spent a lot of time around small children?”

“I have no children of my own, so I suppose not.”

She stopped beside her rental car, turned to face him. The pale light seemed to add slivers of silver to his Viking-blue eyes.

“While Lily was bouncing in your arms, she held on for dear life to your shirt collar.”

“So?”

“So, I saw the scar on your chest. Rafael, it looks long and jagged and seems dangerously close to your heart. What happened to you?”

“An accident.”

“Really?” she asked, sarcasm slashing her voice. “I thought maybe you'd gotten your chest sliced open on purpose.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Wouldn't be a lot of sense in that.”

Feeling her frustration level kick up a notch, she unlocked the car's door, pulled it open and tossed her purse onto the seat. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back. “I intend to write the most thorough and comprehensive profile of you that I can. With or without your cooperation. You do understand that, don't you?”

“Of course.”

“Then why won't you talk to me?”

“I've been talking to you for days.”

“About NASCAR. Racing.” The wind picked up, whipping her hair against her cheek. She swept a hand beneath the long
mass and scooped it across one shoulder. “Not about yourself. Not about growing up in Brazil.”

He took a step forward, boxing her in between his body and the car door. The thrill that sprinted straight up her spine irritated her. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Getting ready to tell you something about my native country. Did you know that Brazil is considered to be the most romantic place on earth?”

“That factoid got right by me.”

“Too bad. You see, Brazilians have perfected the art of kissing.” Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he reached out, caught a lock of her hair and toyed with it gently.

With his hand so near her face, Caitlin's throat tightened. She was dry kindling and this gorgeous Latin-Irish hunk was a blowtorch. She wasn't sure what would happen if he touched her.

Just the prospect that he might sent heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Well, thanks for that info. I need to get back to my hotel room and work on my notes.”

Slowly, he twined her hair around his fingers. “Would you like a demonstration?”

His voice had lowered, its accented tone infuriatingly sexy. His hand was so close to her cheek now, she could feel the heat from his skin.

“No, thanks. Turns out, I've been kissed before.”

“I don't doubt it. Nor do I doubt that, if it's your wish, you'll be kissed again.” He skimmed his gaze down to her mouth. “Very soon.”

Inside she went still as his hands slid beneath her hair and slowly folded around the nape of her neck. His palms were warm and heavy against her skin. She could feel the strength in him but sensed the control. The combination was electrifying.

His thumbs moved gently just behind her ears. He eased her
head back slightly and lowered his mouth to within a whisper of hers.

“What is your wish, Caitlin?”

She knew she should step back. Tell him she wasn't interested. But, dammit, she didn't want to step back. Because she
was
interested.

Going with impulse, she raised on tiptoe to graze her lips across his. “This,” she murmured.

When he settled his mouth on hers, every muscle in her body went lax. His kiss wasn't demanding, it wasn't urgent. It was devastating.

With a moan of pleasure, she slid her fingers into his dark hair and fisted there. His mouth was so tempting, his taste so enticing.

He deepened the kiss, his lips slanting across hers. Excitement sparked along every nerve ending. Flames erupted beneath her flesh, fierce and intense.

A sense of urgency pulsed through her when his hands settled on her hips.

“I've been wondering what it would be like to kiss you,” he murmured against her throat. “How you would taste. I was going crazy waiting to find out.”

She'd been going crazy herself.

“Kissing isn't the only thing I've been thinking about doing with you.” One of his hands lifted, tunneled through her hair. The other moved over the curve of her hip.

She felt his fingers slide beneath the hem of her blouse as he gazed down at her, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I want to make love with you, Caitlin. Come home with me. Tonight.”

The huskiness that had settled in his voice had her knees going weak. She didn't just want to go home with him, she wanted to shove him into her car and race, NASCAR-style, to get there.

And that was just crazy. Totally wrong. A small whisper of sanity told her she had no business forgetting her purpose here in this sudden crazy desire to be with this man.

“I… I can't.” She tried with little success to catch her breath. Every pulse point in her body felt like a jackhammer.

When he made no move to release her, she pulled back. And felt the slide of his fingers against her flesh as his hand eased from beneath her blouse.

Her heart and lungs were straining. She had no control over them. No control over the ache of wanting that was so huge it left little room for reason. That knowledge shot a dazed fear into her system. Years ago, a man whom she thought she could trust without question had the same stunning effect on her. Then he'd betrayed her. As a result, the career she loved had been put on the line and her heart broken.

She had vowed then she would never again take anyone at face value. Never again trust so freely. Yet, here she was, close to jumping into bed with a man she hardly knew. A man who had no intention of opening up to her and allowing her to see what was below the surface.

Never again.

“I…we shouldn't be doing this.” Her voice—her entire body—quaked.

“It's something we both want, is it not?”

Instead of answering, she curled her fingers into her palms until her nails bit into her flesh. “I'm on a job.
You're
the job. I'm supposed to be a professional. Dammit, I
am
a professional.”

“There's no question about that.”

“There would be, if I slept with you.” She dragged in a deep breath. “I encouraged you to kiss me, and I shouldn't have. I can't do this, Rafael. I just can't.”

He gazed down at her for a long moment. “Your choice, Caitlin. Believe it or not, seducing a woman in a parking lot
isn't my usual style.” He shifted his gaze, staring into the darkness. “You…change things,” he said when he looked back at her. “Not all change is good. Perhaps it's wise not to take this any further.”

“I…think so.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes.”

She slid into her car and watched him stride away in the silver moonlight while regret filled the air around her like invisible smoke.

R
AFAEL'S CREW CHIEF,
Denton Moss, had decided to try some new adjustments on the No. 499 car, in the hopes of avoiding the carburetor problems that had cost them laps at last weekend's race. So the following days had been spent running speed and engine tests. Tweaks were still being made after the car rolled off the big hauler on Thursday at the speedway in Michigan.

The intense consulting with his crew chief, his car chief, his engine specialist and various other members of his team had taken up the majority of Rafael's time. Through it all, he'd had little opportunity to think about Caitlin, much less see her. Which suited him just fine.

Now that the heat of need no longer fired his blood, he could admit that kissing her had been a mistake. A big one. Always before, it had been easy to view relationships with women as temporary encounters. No strings. No emotional involvement. No reason to reveal anything but surface information about himself. But where the redheaded reporter was concerned, he instinctively knew he could fall hard. So hard, it would be impossible not to want to open up and share parts of himself that he had never before even considered confiding in another woman. Including the truth about his past.

Which could turn into a deadly mistake.

So, in the days since he'd stood with her in that moonlight-drenched parking lot, he had forced himself to take an emo
tional step back. Resolved to concentrate all his thoughts and effort on his driving.

Inside his helmet, the radio receiver crackled to life. “Rafael, can you hear me? Talk to me, man.”

The voice belonged to Yancy, his spotter. Rafael tightened his gloved hands on the steering wheel. So much for keeping his mind on his job. Even though his thoughts about Caitlin had taken only seconds, it was not advisable to lose his focus while racing three-wide along the backstretch at 170 miles an hour. Not if he intended to win this race and deliver the checkered flag for Double S Racing.

Which he did.

“I hear you, Yancy. What's it look like?”

“The No. 475 and No. 515 are coming up on your rear. Gotta keep low or they'll get by you.”

“Trying.” Bart Branch was in the No. 475 car. One of Rafael's teammates, Ben Edmonds, drove the other.

Rafael maintained his speed, hugging the inside groove until he felt his own car about to lose traction. Reluctantly, he eased up on the gas, just enough to maintain control.

When he shot out of the next turn, a plume of smoke up ahead instantly caught his attention. He knew from experience that the smoke signaled a blown engine on one of the lead cars.

In the following seconds, everything changed.

The wind billowed dark smoke across a section of the track. Cars began skidding haphazardly as oil spewed from the damaged vehicle.

“Rafael, stay low,” Yancy shouted. “Stay low. Keep going.”

On blind faith, Rafael did as instructed, having no choice but to drive into the acrid cloud of smoke. Then his luck ran out. A car to his right fishtailed, hit the outside wall, then
careened off of it. The car T-boned Rafael's directly in the passenger side.

The hard impact rattled his teeth. Air blasted from his lungs. Another car plowed into him from behind. Instinct took over as he fought to keep his skidding car from flipping.

Too late,
he thought as his car went airborne, then barrel rolled onto the infield.

 

C
AITLIN AND
E
MMA
-L
EE
D
ALTON
had just made their way into the garage when the earthshaking roar of forty-three V-8s racing around the speedway's track fell silent. The sudden cessation of noise had Caitlin halting midstep. “What just happened?”

“Bad news. When it gets suddenly quiet during a race, that means there's a wreck.”

Caitlin saw the team members drop what they were doing and crowd around the TV screens they used to keep up to date on the race. She and Emma-Lee squeezed into the group watching the nearest screen.

“…caused by oil on the track,” the track announcer was saying as the camera panned across wrecked and smoking race cars. “Eight cars are involved.” He proceeded to give the car numbers and each driver's name, ending with “…the No. 499 National Steel Buildings car driven by Rafael O'Bryan. It looks like it sustained the most damage. O'Bryan's the only driver who has yet to climb out onto the track.”

Staring at the mangled vehicle, Caitlin felt her chest tighten until she could barely breathe.

“We hope O'Bryan's not hurt,” the announcer continued. “His car's done for the day, that's for sure.”

Caitlin clenched her fists as she watched smoke roll from under the hood of Rafael's car. “Is…” Her throat had gone so dry that her voice sounded like a rusty rasp. “Is there a way to find out…if Rafael's hurt?”

Emma-Lee glanced at Caitlin, did a double take and clamped a hand on her arm. “Hey, you're as pale as a sheet. You'd better sit down.”

“I'm okay.” Caitlin kept her eyes on the monitor. The drivers who had already emerged from their own cars were heading toward the black No. 499 car. Thousands of fans in the stands fell silent while emergency workers and a couple of members of Rafael's pit crew arrived at the wreck simultaneously.

They converged en masse on the driver's side of the car. For Caitlin, time seemed to expand while the men huddled together.
Let Rafael be okay,
she prayed.
Please, let him be okay.

In what looked like a synchronized move, the men all stepped back and the window net went down. Rafael's gloved hand gave a thumbs-up sign to the silent crowd. Moments later, he eased himself out of the window, then tugged off his helmet.

“Folks, it looks like O'Bryan's okay.” The announcer's voice was barely audible over the cheers that erupted from the crowd.

Only when Emma-Lee's cell phone pinged did she release her grip on Caitlin's arm. “Gil's up in the suite with Acer Carpenter,” Emma-Lee read off the phone's display. She flipped down its cover, then remet Caitlin's gaze. “I need to head up there to coordinate some stuff for Gil. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course.” Caitlin shoved her heavy braid off her shoulder. Only then did she realize her hands her trembling, just like her legs. “I just…” She wasn't sure what emotions were churning inside her, and she needed time to sort them out. “This is the first wreck I've seen during a race. I didn't realize…”

Emma-Lee nodded slowly. “Yeah, they're scary.” As if she possessed a window on Caitlin's emotions, Emma-Lee reached out, squeezed her hand. “No matter if Rafael's hurt
or not, he has to take an ambulance ride to the Infield Care Center to get checked out. When he's released from the ICC, he'll get swarmed by the media. Everyone will want to hear about the race from his perspective.”

The heavy thrum of engines suddenly resumed as cars that had not been as seriously damaged began to make their way back to the garages for repairs in hopes of finishing the race.

Emma-Lee leaned in to be heard. “After that, I expect Rafael will head to his motor home to change clothes, then find the nearest helicopter so he can get to the airport and fly home.”

“Won't he need to meet with his team? Maybe with Gil?”

“Sure, but that'll happen back at headquarters, especially since the wreck wasn't caused by a part failure or driver error on this team.” Emma-Lee lifted a brow. “I can set it up if you want to hitch a ride back to Charlotte with Rafael.”

“No.” Caitlin dragged in a deep breath. “I have an interview scheduled in a half hour with a former crew chief who was on the first racing team Rafael joined when he arrived in the States. I don't know how long that will take. I'll just fly home later with the team, as planned.”

“Sounds good. The race will probably get red flagged for a bit while the track is cleaned of oil and debris. I'll hook up with you later.”

Emma-Lee walked off just as a tow truck pulled up with what was left of the No. 499 car.

Caitlin caught sight of mangled metal an instant before the team members swarmed around the vehicle. With the garage nearly empty, she was thankful to have some space to herself for a few moments. Time to get her system settled.

And maybe sort out what the heck had just happened inside her.

A man she'd known barely two weeks had been involved in a crash. Considering he could have been seriously hurt, the sharp concern she'd felt for his well-being was understandable.

What wasn't so easy to explain was the way her heart had clenched. Was
still
clenched. And that she'd had to control an almost frenzied need to dash out onto the track and check on Rafael herself.

Those emotions should not be experienced by a professional, impartial journalist. Which, she conceded, she no longer was when it came to Rafael O'Bryan. After all, the man had kissed her brainless, prompting her to seriously consider—at least for a few seconds—sleeping with him. Hard to remain impartial after all that.

She'd been nothing but relieved in the days since then that Rafael had made no mention of the kiss that set her off like a California brush fire. He'd gone about his business while she continued to conduct research and interviews for the profile. And worked very hard not to let herself think about that kiss. Or the fact he had admitted she had changed things.

Which had been an effort in futility. Because she had thought about all that. A lot.

Now, it was suddenly crystal clear that what she felt was more than just physical. Somehow, someway, she'd become involved with Rafael on an emotional level, as well. On more than one level, it seemed.

This man, who was such an enigma to her, mattered.
He mattered.

“Wonderful,” she muttered. How the hell was she going to handle this? As a professional journalist? As a woman?

Caitlin stood by herself in the noisy garage for several long minutes, waiting for answers.

They never came.

 

“W
ELCOME TO THE
Tuesday Tarts,” Rue Larrabee said as Caitlin stepped into a back room of Maudie's diner.

“Glad to be here.”

The diner wouldn't close until ten and the scent of delicious homemade meals lingered in the room that was sectioned off into two distinct areas. One had metal shelves loaded with canned goods and sacks of flour and other staples. Additional shelves held massive stainless-steel bowls, stacks of hand towels and freshly laundered aprons.

The second area looked more like a sitting room with a scattering of love seats mixed with upholstered chairs. A table covered with a crisp white cloth held a coffeemaker, mugs and trays filled with a variety of scrumptious-looking desserts.

By Caitlin's guesstimate, ten women had already made themselves comfortable on the love seats and chairs. One of them was Emma-Lee, who grinned from her spot beside Mellie, the young, dark-haired waitress who was off work already. Mellie's two-year-old daughter had fallen asleep on Emma-Lee's lap.

Caitlin looked back at Rue. “Emma-Lee assured me the group is used to having drop-ins.”

“Oh, honey, we are.” Rue Larrabee was a tall, attractive woman with flaming-red hair. “It's a rare Tuesday night when we don't have a guest. In fact, I've invited a client from my beauty shop to drop by tonight. She should be here soon.”

Rue put a light hand on Caitlin's arm. “Let's get you some refreshments.”

“I'll just have coffee for now,” Caitlin said as they moved to the table. “No dessert.”

Rue's gaze swept up and down Caitlin. “You have more willpower than me, which is why you have such a gorgeous figure.” Rue snagged a mug off the table while saying, “Emma-Lee told me you're a reporter for
Sports Scene
magazine, writ
ing an article on one of Double S Racing's Sprint Cup Series drivers. She didn't mention which driver.”

“Rafael O'Bryan,” Caitlin said as she accepted the mug filled with piping-hot coffee.

Instant concern settled in Rue's eyes. “I watched Sunday's race on TV. My heart just about stopped beating when I saw the wreck. I was so relieved when Rafael finally climbed out of his car and walked under his own steam to the ambulance. Is he really okay?”

“He appears to be.” Only to herself would Caitlin admit that watching him over the past days move slowly, stiffly, without his usual effortless grace, had driven the point home of how much more serious his injuries could have been. Each time her thoughts wandered that way, she'd relived those terrifying moments she'd spent in the garage, staring at the monitor while praying he hadn't been seriously hurt.

Now, though, wasn't the time to allow her thoughts to drift there. She sipped her coffee before adding, “I haven't had a chance to talk to Rafael much since the race.”

Emma-Lee had been right when she'd said Rafael, members of his team and other key individuals would be huddled in meetings after they returned to Charlotte. Caitlin had spent the past two days learning about the city that Rafael had adopted as his new home for inclusion in the profile.

Speaking of the profile, she thought, she'd accepted Emma-Lee's invitation to the Tuesday Tarts meeting in the hopes of learning information about Rafael that didn't have anything to do with racing. It was time she got started.

“So, Rue, do you know Rafael well?”

“Don't I wish? If I were ten years younger, I'd be tempted to go after that fine specimen of a man.” Rue's forehead wrinkled. “I hate to admit it, but I haven't even had luck making him a business client.”

“Of your beauty shop?”

“Yes, but I don't expect Rafael—or any man—to settle down with the ladies. Not too long ago I remodeled a room and had it set up just for men. I have a lot of male clients now. So far, Rafael isn't one of them.”

Rue glanced toward the doorway. “There's my client now.”