Race To The Altar

“Here he comes,” Mack said. “Raise hell with him later if you want to, but let’s get these photos over with so he can get to the meeting.”

“By all means,” she said sweetly, turning in the direction of the drivers’ lounge.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Rick was probably the best-looking thing she’d seen since her last Mel Gibson movie. There was only one word to describe him—hunk.

The uniform was formfitting. And what a form he had, she mused, swallowing a sigh. He had not zipped the suit all the way, and dark hairs on his superb chest were provocatively revealed. His narrow waist emphasized great buns, and his relaxed stride was like that of a jungle animal, lazy after feeding yet ready to spring at any moment.

He reached Liz and Mack, his hair still damp from the shower. Liz clenched her fists against the ache to touch it, run her fingers through it. Her gaze dropped to his partially exposed chest, and she felt a stirring of desire to explore there, as well.

“Well, are we ready?”

He spoke curtly, impatiently, which dissipated the spellbound moment for Liz. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

She turned and walked toward Pete, wishing all the while the sponsor had chosen a married driver…or, at least, one who didn’t heat her blood every time she got near him.

Chapter Three

The restaurant was located right on the beach. Liz tipped the maître d’ to give them a window table for a sweeping view of the ocean.

“Wow, this sure beats that greasy spoon we’re used to,” Benny Dyson, a crew member said. “The food was good, but choice seats there looked out on the swamp and the alligators.”

Rick’s jaw knotted. “Buckeye Joe’s has the best steaks in Daytona, and you know it, Benny.” Liz was in the ladies’ room, and he seized the chance to grouse. “We’ll be lucky to get anything besides caviar and roast duck at a place like this.”

Mack was scanning the menu. “I don’t know about that. They’ve got a sixteen-ounce T-bone that sounds good if she doesn’t mind me ordering something that costs almost thirty bucks.”

“Caviar is good,” Benny said innocently. “I think you ought to lighten up on the babe, Rick. She seems nice, and footing the bill to feed us is even nicer.”

“Let me tell you something.” Rick picked up his fork and shook it at him. “She’s not the one paying. The sponsor is. And I’d rather see thirty bucks spent on the race car.”

“Rick, I agree with Benny,” Mack said. “Lighten up. Buying us dinner is part of the package. Enjoy it.” He turned to Benny. “And if I were you, I’d strike the word babe from my vocabulary. She’s got a name. She expects you to use it.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll watch it. Say, Rick, how come you don’t like her?”

Mack reached for a hot roll a waiter had set on the table, along with a pat of honey butter. “Ah, you know how he feels about women in racing. They get on his nerves.”

“They’re bad luck,” Rick said, not about to divulge his real feelings. “Big Boy’s could just as easily have sent a man to do the PR.”

“But they didn’t,” Mack pointed out. “They sent Liz. And like I’ve been telling you all evening, forget how you two rubbed each other the wrong way. We’ve got a qualifying race to run tomorrow, and you need to focus.”

Oh, he was focusing, all right, Rick thought furiously as he watched Liz approach.

But not on the race.

Mack had told him how humiliated she had been about the tires, and he figured on embarrassing her again. Hopefully she would then have second thoughts.

Maybe, he brooded, he wouldn’t be so opposed to having her around if she weren’t so good-looking. She had gone to her motel from the track, meeting them at the restaurant. She’d happily shared the news her lost luggage had been found and delivered. So she had changed from her business suit into a blue and white pants outfit. The top was scooped low enough to be sexy but still in good taste, and her tiny waist emphasized the rest of her.

She was not wearing her hair in the austere bun; instead it hung softly around her face.

He was glad she had put Mack between them. That made it easier to ignore her…or try to, anyway.

Mack leaped up to pull out her chair. “We were just saying what a nice place this is, Liz. Be sure to tell the VIPs at Big Boy’s we appreciate it.”

She gave everyone at the table a sweeping smile, even Rick. “You can tell them yourselves next Sunday. I had a message waiting at the motel saying Gary Staley, the CEO, is flying a crowd in for the race.”

“So we get to meet them in person,” Mack said. “We’ve only talked on the phone.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve got to make reservations somewhere special for dinner Saturday night, and—”

Benny laughingly interrupted to remark, “Well, how much nicer can it get than this?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink, then continued, “I’ll also arrange garage passes for them before the race, and—”

“Hold it.”

All eyes turned on Rick.

“The last thing we need right before a race is a bunch of people getting in the way and asking stupid questions.”

Mack cried, “Hey, wait a minute, Rick. We’re talking about the people footing the bill for you to try to win the rookie title.”

“Which won’t happen if I’ve got to worry with them,” Rick argued. “PR reps for other teams handle the VIPs themselves. They don’t bring them around the driver right before a race.”

“Well, I don’t intend to do that,” Liz defended. “I don’t want them to get in your way, either. So I’ll remedy the situation by keeping them a good distance away, and I will answer their questions.”

“You?” Rick scoffed.

“Sure.”

“You don’t know beans about racing, Liz.”

Mack groaned. “Here we go again. I thought you two called a truce.”

“We have,” Liz said sweetly. “We’re just talking, Mack. We aren’t arguing.”

“Well, you’ve got a week,” Rick said smugly. “Maybe you can learn enough to carry on an intelligent conversation, or fake it, at least.”

A waiter came and took their orders. Liz emphasized they should all have whatever they wanted, regardless of the cost.

After he left, she turned to Rick. “I won’t have to fake it. And I don’t have to take a crash course. I know enough about your car to explain it to them.”

“Yeah? Well, let’s hear it.” Rick leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything to humiliate her. He would let her do it herself.

Liz wriggled in her seat, as though eager to show off her knowledge. Then, propping her chin on coyly laced fingers, she began. “Well, I know that the toilet facilities in race cars are being studied by NASA, because they’re thinking about using the same system for the astronauts.”

Benny choked on a bite of roll.