The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts

crashes, been yanked out of wrecks, had your bones broken, and been laid up in hospitals. Tell me,” she demanded, “what goes through your mind as you’re roasting in the cockpit, hurtling around a track at two hundred miles an hour? What do you think of when they’re strapping you into that machine?”
    â€œWinning,” Kirk answered without hesitation. The sharpness of her tone apparently bounced off the smooth nonchalance of his. His eyes roamed calmly over her face. The faint pink tint that temper gave her skin emphasized its flawlessness. He wondered how it would feel under his hand. The gold of her hair grew more vibrant as the sun washed over it. Pam watched the journey of his eyes and frowned. His eyes dropped to her lips.
    â€œIs winning really all that important?”
    Kirk’s gaze shifted from her mouth to her eyes. “Sure. It’s all there is.”
    It was clear from his tone that he was completely sincere. Helplessly Pam shook her head. “I’ve never known anyone like you.” It was unlike her to lose her temper on the job, and she took a long breath to steady it. “Even here among all these other drivers, I haven’t met anyone who thinks along the same straight, unswerving line you do. I suppose if you had the choice, you’d like to die on the track in a blaze of glory.”
    Kirk’s grin was quick. “That would suit me, but I’d like to put it off about fifty years, and I’d prefer it to be
after
I’d crossed the finish line.”
    Pam’s lips curved of their own accord. He was outrageous, she thought, but honest. “Are all race-car drivers as mad as you are?”
    â€œProbably.” Before she realized his intent, Kirk tangled his fingers in her hair. “I wondered if it was as soft as it looked. It is.” The back of his hand brushed her cheek. “Like your skin.” Pam’s usual aplomb deserted her, leaving her silent and staring. “Your voice is soft, too, and very appealing. I like the way you always look as though you’ve stepped out of a bandbox. It gives me the urge to muss you up a bit.” His voice was as insolent and amused as his grin.
    Pam felt her cheeks grow warm and was infuriated. She had thought she had left blushing behind years before. “Is this a pass?” she asked in a scathing voice.
    Kirk laughed, and she heard a trace of Foxy in the sound. “No, it’s just an observation. When I make a pass, you won’t have a chance to ask.” Still grinning, he pulled her close and planted a long, hard kiss on her mouth. He thought she tasted like some rich, dangerous dessert and lingered over her longer than he had intended. When he released her, he felt the small whisper of air escape her lips as if she had held it there in surprise. “That,” he said easily, “was a pass.”
    As he turned and sauntered away Pam lifted a finger to trace the place where his mustache had brushed her skin.
A crazy man,
she decided, unwilling to admit how deeply shaken she was.
A truly crazy man.
    ***
    Nearly two hours later, Foxy stood in almost the precise spot where her brother had been. Her mood was just short of grim. All too clearly, she remembered every detail from the evening before. The wine had not been kind enough to dull her memory.
    I told him to kiss me, she thought on a wave of self-disgust. I practically ordered him to. It wasn’t bad enough that I went out with him when I should’ve known better, but I made certain he knew I was enjoying myself every minute. Blasted champagne! Letting out her breath in a huff, she crammed the straw hat she wore further down on her head. Then I babble on about the silly crush I had on him when I was a teenager. Oh boy, when I go out to humiliate myself, I don’t do it by halves. All that business about being in love with him and fantasizing about him. Closing her eyes, Foxy made a strangled sound in her