where were they the day before the all-important twin-qualifying races?
The stalls on either side were empty, cars no doubt on the track with crews watching behind the retaining wall.
Liz’s annoyance was growing with each passing moment, because things had gotten off to a terrible start, and she was determined not to fail in her career…again.
She was not worried about failing in her personal life, because she did not intend to have one. After all, being deceived by not one man, but two, had sent her plunging to the bottom rung of her career ladder.
She had been on the very top and probably still would be if not for having been so naive…and, yes, stupid.
Liz had begun her career in her native California, where she had worked her way up from PR rep to account executive, making top wages. Then she made the mistake of falling in love with Craig Hatcher, who happened to be employed by a rival company.
They became engaged, and Liz believed him when he said they could keep their work separate even though their agencies were competitive. But, too late, she discovered he was only using her to further his career and had accessed her files. By the time she found out what a lying, two-timing worm he was, he had succeeded in taking her top three accounts away from her agency.
Not only had he broken her heart, but his deviousness made her lose her job, as well.
Forced to start over with a new company, Liz foolishly made the mistake of rebounding into another relationship with Mike Lowry, a co-worker. That didn’t last long. There was too much job conflict between them. When it ended, she decided not only to change jobs but to move to New York and make a whole new life.
Twice burned, twice shy, she promised herself that never again would a man best her, nor would she become involved with anyone she worked with.
Depressed by her bitter musings, Liz began to circle the race car slowly, trying to get her mind on something else, like familiarizing herself with the car.
She noted there were no windows, just net coverings, and only one seat for the driver.
The inside of the car was completely gutted, and she knew the tubed frames were called roll bars, to keep the car from being crushed if, God forbid, it turned over.
Fascinated by all she was seeing and learning, Liz did not notice the feet sticking out from the under the car. She tripped, screamed and was barely able to grab a window frame to keep from tumbling to the ground.
Beneath the car, Rick Castles jerked his head up to painfully bump it. “Ouch. Damn it, who’s the nitwit that can’t see where they’re going?”
Lying on a roller board, he angrily swung himself out from under the car, ready to lambaste the person responsible. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”
He found himself gazing up a skirt framing a very shapely pair of legs.
But only for an instant.
Embarrassed and red faced, the woman connected to the legs quickly stepped back.
“I…I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see your feet down there. I didn’t know anybody was under the car.”
He stood, taking in the rest of her as he did so and, despite his annoyance, liked what he saw. Her legs weren’t the only thing about her that was shapely. Long, thick lashes framed very apologetic green eyes that sparkled with little flecks of gold. Her turned-up nose gave her a saucy, playful look.
But there was nothing playful about her full, sensuous lips.
They begged to be kissed, and, with a warm rush, Rick was reminded how long it had been since he’d had a woman.
“If you can’t see feet as big as mine, lady, then you need glasses.”
Liz automatically looked at his feet and saw that, indeed, they were large. Then, unable to help it, she thought of a dirty joke she’d heard once about the size of a man’s feet being indicative of the size of his—
She blushed, all the way to the roots of her flame-red hair, and turned away lest he be able to tell what she was thinking. “I…I’m truly sorry,” she stammered. “I was just mesmerized by the car, I guess. I’ve never seen a race car up close.”
Rick bit his lip to keep from laughing. He knew the joke about women comparing the size of a man’s foot to the size of something else.
Her red hair was pulled up in a knot on the top of her head, and she looked quite dignified in her gray linen suit and matching heels. But he also did not miss how her breasts strained against the white silk blouse, nor how her skirt hugged, then cupped, her high, tight buttocks. She was a knockout, all right, but he was still irritated.
“I’ve got work to do,” he said grouchily. “Why don’t you move along? The garage is no place for women, especially wearing stupid shoes like that.” He pointed accusingly at her heels. “It still amazes me how they’ll give just about anybody a garage pass.”
Liz felt rancor quickly rise. She could have told him she had every right to be there by introducing herself, but she wasn’t about to. Whoever he was, she didn’t like his attitude. After all, she hadn’t stepped on his feet on purpose. Still, she couldn’t help noticing how his broad shoulders and chest filled out the tight, grease-stained T-shirt, or how his jeans molded his muscular thighs so deliciously. And despite his oil-streaked face, she found him ruggedly good-looking, his sleepy, mocha-colored eyes complemented by his thick, black hair.
She had feared there might be some leftover macho types who would resent a woman working in what was considered a man’s sport. This one was obviously a member of Rick’s pit crew, and she decided it best to try to make friends. After all, it was important she get along with all the guys. The fact his nearness sent her heart into overdrive had nothing to do with it.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m looking for Rick Castles. I take it you are a member of his crew.”
Rick wasn’t about to reveal himself, instead stringing her along in hopes of getting rid of her. Cute or not, he wasn’t about to take up time with another groupie. “Yeah, you might say that. What do you want with him?”
“I just want to meet him.”
“So you’re a fan,” he said, unimpressed as he noted her media badge. “What are you doing wearing that?”
“Somebody gave it to me,” she replied, which wasn’t a lie. “And, yes, I’m a big fan, but I haven’t been for long. Rick is my favorite driver, though,” she added with a confident grin, then pointed at the logo. “New sponsor?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Just think. We get free pizza for painting that all over the car.”
Liz stiffened. Even if this guy was just a part-timer, hanging around to get into the races free, he was going to have to learn how to act around people. What he should have said in response was that yes, Big Boy’s was the new sponsor, and Rick and all the guys were grateful. Not act as though it was no big deal because all they were getting out of it was free pizza, for heaven’s sake. Besides, for the kind of money the sponsor was shelling out to try to make the car competitive, even a part-timer should be appreciative.
Rick
