Dangerous Curves

Or twice.

“Yeah. And we’ll need to hurry if I’m going to show you around before the next practice.”

She nodded, stepping up her pace alongside him. “Is your car all fixed?”

“Yeah. Thanks to you.” But he didn’t seem all that relieved.

“More troubles?”

He glanced at her in surprise. Cece glanced away, ostensibly to check out what was going on the garage, but more because she felt suddenly weird gazing at him. He looked so worried.

“Our lap times at this morning’s practice weren’t as good as they should be,” he admitted.

“Yeah, but you practice again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but qualifying is today. If the weather holds.”

Blain motioned toward the grandstands. Cece followed his gaze. She could see the leading edge of those giant, bubblelike clouds.

“We just can’t catch a break. Ever since…”

His driver had died. He didn’t need to complete the sentence. Cece could read the look in his eyes. Worried. Tense. Not like a suspect. Jeesh, she almost felt sorry for him.

Sympathy? For Blain Sanders? The man responsible for her one and only felony? Who’d given her such low self-esteem as a teenager that it’d taken a year of working at Bimbos before she’d started to think she might not be such an ugly duckling after all? Who’d blackmailed her into working this case? She must have bolts for brains.

They reached the rear of his car, but the moment they arrived, a white-coated racing official said, “Blain, I need to see you for a moment.”

Blain motioned for her to stay put, then followed the guy into the garage. Secret, confidential meeting. Must be important stuff. But that was okay because it gave her a moment to think.

Blain a suspect?

Not.

“You here with Blain?”

Cece jumped, turned.

And there he was. Lance Cooper. Blain’s newly hired driver. Tall, handsome, and with such a warm smile on his face, it completely contradicted Cece’s mental image of cocky race car drivers.

“Uh, yeah.”

His smile grew wider, his white teeth startling against his tan face. Must be professionally bleached, Cece thought, even as she found herself wanting to return that grin.

“The crew told me he was with a woman,” he said with a gleam in his light gray eyes. “One who fixed my car.”

“That was me,” she said, thinking that he seemed nice.’ Course, he was new to this particular level of racing so maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet that he was a “big star.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” she said, giving in to the temptation to smile. He reached out a hand to shake hers. Cece automatically took it, thinking his messy blond hair gave him an almost boyish look.

“How’d you figure out it was the coil wire?” he asked.

“Lucky guess,” she answered, realizing there was nothing boyish about the look that suddenly entered his eyes.

“Then lucky me.” And the way he said the words…mmm mmm mmm, he was flirting.

She felt her cheeks heat. And then he crossed his arms, a brow lifting as a piratelike grin spread across his face. Naughty, naughty man. Not that she was attracted to him—no, no, no, something about his looks didn’t quite appeal to her. Besides, he was Blain’s driver, and she had a feeling if Blain saw her flirting—

“Don’t you have an interview to do?” a disgruntled voice asked.

They both turned, and it was just as she’d thought. He looked peeved.

“Yeah, but they can wait,” Lance answered.

Blain didn’t say a word, just lifted a brow in a very analytical, Mr. Spock way, his meaning obvious.

“I’m going,” his driver said.

When Cece met Blain’s eyes it was to see him direct the same irritated gaze at her. “Follow me,” he said.

Yes, sir, she silently answered, resisting the urge to salute. What was up with him? She had half a mind to drop her little bomb that he was considered a suspect, but then decided against it. She’d probably give him a heart attack right on the spot, and then she’d have to give him mouth-to-mouth.

Mmm.

Stop it, Cece.

He led her toward a row of big rigs parked around the perimeter of the garage. Her interest was piqued. The race car haulers. Cool. She’d always wanted to see what they looked like inside.

She didn’t have time to examine them too closely, though, because his next words snapped at her like the sting of a rubber band.

“Lance Cooper is off-limits.”

That made her stop. And it was almost biblical the way the world suddenly darkened, a puffy storm cloud obstructing the sun.

“What do you mean, off-limits?” she asked.

He crossed his own arms, leaning toward her a bit. “No romantic entanglements.”

Unfortunately, that’s what she thought he’d meant, and it really torqued her, too, because the man had no business saying who she could and could not get involved with. No say at all. Not that she was getting involved with anybody. No way.

“Look,” she said. “I wasn’t flirting with him, if that’s what you think.”

“You were smiling.”

“So?”

“So, you’re not here to cozy up to my driver,” he said in a low voice, looking up for a second as a team member from a different crew came walking toward them. Without saying another word, Blain turned, heading toward his own hauler. With swift movements, he opened the dark-tinted glass door and stepped inside. Surprisingly warm air hit Cece in the face.