realizing he’d accomplished a great feat—he’d kept his hands off her for nearly twenty-four hours. The kiss went on as ifthey didn’t have to be on pit road in less than an hour. As if qualifying wasn’t about to take place, or there wasn’t the possibility of anybody in his family or on the team walking into his motor home any minute and finding them—
He turned his head. But he didn’t let go of her. He panted to get his breath back. “So it was a little awkward having you touch me.”
She took a step back; he pulled her close again.
“We have to stop doing this,” she said, breathless and looking appalled.
“I don’t see why.”
“I don’t kiss clients.”
“Gotta argue with you there, babe.”
“Babe?” She worked her way out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “Seriously, babe? I’m a professional. You don’t call me names like that.”
He made an effort to control his amusement. Because he suddenly felt really happy. “I apologize for my unprofessional comments.” He leaned back on his elbows. “You want to try that massage thing again?”
Her gaze raked him—from head to toe—then her face turned bright red. “I’m—We’re not—”
At least her frustration had calmed him. He was through pretending—to her or himself—he didn’t want her. Even though he’d been honest with her the night before, he’d wanted to reject those feelings. Today, he was ready to embrace them. Maybe they were both just lonely.
But they didn’t have to be.
Her working for him made things a bit awkward and unconventional, but it wouldn’t be the first time in the small community of racing that a relationship had sprung from professional ties.
Oh, so now you’re thinking about a relationship with her, are you?
He ignored his conscience and his gut telling him neither of them were ready for that. “Come on. I won’t touch you.” Raising his hands to promise innocence, he also forced his expression into seriousness. “I’ve got to go to qualifying. We need to get on with this.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “On with what?”
She was the one who’d grabbed him. But pointing that out at the moment didn’t seem wise. “The massage.” He smiled. “That’s it, I promise.”
“Put on your shirt.”
“But I’m a little tight right…” He slid his fingers across his shoulder. “Oh, about here.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no way.” She shook her head, then visibly drew a deep breath. She paced, glared at him, then stopped in front of him. “Let’s do the knee thing.”
He’d love to know the thoughts jumping around in her head, the reasons she was moving on with the therapy session, but he wasn’t stupid enough to question his bounty.
Obligingly, he grabbed his T-shirt and slipped it onbefore lying down. Was his bare chest that distracting? The working out had given him a bit more definition, but he was a long way from what he used to be. He barely had a two-pack in the abs department.
He anticipated his physique changing with Darcy’s military-like diet and exercise regimen, but that was a future goal so—
Her fingers probed his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.
Eyes closed, fighting to remember they had to work together to make anything else remotely possible, he let her rub down the muscles in his legs. At some point, his mind went blank and he relaxed. Though a sensual thread certainly lingered, he gave himself over to the clinical aspect of her touch, realizing, for possibly the first time, that Darcy and her program could enable him to walk without a limp, to move easily, to recover some of the man he used to be.
Low music filled the room, and he realized she’d snapped her MP3 player into his stereo system. He’d heard the rhythmic guitar and dancing flutes many times during their yoga sessions. The sounds were familiar and comforting.
How did she always think of details like that?
She knew the right note, the right key, to get to him. And
He turned his head. But he didn’t let go of her. He panted to get his breath back. “So it was a little awkward having you touch me.”
She took a step back; he pulled her close again.
“We have to stop doing this,” she said, breathless and looking appalled.
“I don’t see why.”
“I don’t kiss clients.”
“Gotta argue with you there, babe.”
“Babe?” She worked her way out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “Seriously, babe? I’m a professional. You don’t call me names like that.”
He made an effort to control his amusement. Because he suddenly felt really happy. “I apologize for my unprofessional comments.” He leaned back on his elbows. “You want to try that massage thing again?”
Her gaze raked him—from head to toe—then her face turned bright red. “I’m—We’re not—”
At least her frustration had calmed him. He was through pretending—to her or himself—he didn’t want her. Even though he’d been honest with her the night before, he’d wanted to reject those feelings. Today, he was ready to embrace them. Maybe they were both just lonely.
But they didn’t have to be.
Her working for him made things a bit awkward and unconventional, but it wouldn’t be the first time in the small community of racing that a relationship had sprung from professional ties.
Oh, so now you’re thinking about a relationship with her, are you?
He ignored his conscience and his gut telling him neither of them were ready for that. “Come on. I won’t touch you.” Raising his hands to promise innocence, he also forced his expression into seriousness. “I’ve got to go to qualifying. We need to get on with this.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “On with what?”
She was the one who’d grabbed him. But pointing that out at the moment didn’t seem wise. “The massage.” He smiled. “That’s it, I promise.”
“Put on your shirt.”
“But I’m a little tight right…” He slid his fingers across his shoulder. “Oh, about here.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no way.” She shook her head, then visibly drew a deep breath. She paced, glared at him, then stopped in front of him. “Let’s do the knee thing.”
He’d love to know the thoughts jumping around in her head, the reasons she was moving on with the therapy session, but he wasn’t stupid enough to question his bounty.
Obligingly, he grabbed his T-shirt and slipped it onbefore lying down. Was his bare chest that distracting? The working out had given him a bit more definition, but he was a long way from what he used to be. He barely had a two-pack in the abs department.
He anticipated his physique changing with Darcy’s military-like diet and exercise regimen, but that was a future goal so—
Her fingers probed his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.
Eyes closed, fighting to remember they had to work together to make anything else remotely possible, he let her rub down the muscles in his legs. At some point, his mind went blank and he relaxed. Though a sensual thread certainly lingered, he gave himself over to the clinical aspect of her touch, realizing, for possibly the first time, that Darcy and her program could enable him to walk without a limp, to move easily, to recover some of the man he used to be.
Low music filled the room, and he realized she’d snapped her MP3 player into his stereo system. He’d heard the rhythmic guitar and dancing flutes many times during their yoga sessions. The sounds were familiar and comforting.
How did she always think of details like that?
She knew the right note, the right key, to get to him. And
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