Star Oil. Since the time you were with Mark Miller’s team when you won your first championship.”
Oh, great. A bona fide groupie. Just what they needed.
“I mean, this just makes my day.”
Great, Cece silently said. You go to Las Vegas with Blain. Have a terrific time.
Blain’s look clearly said stay put. That gave her pause. Had her expression been so transparent?
“Nice to meet you,” Blain said taking the fan’s hand.
The man grinned from ear to ear before looking her way, and Cece saw the moment he remembered that it was her prostitute comment that had drawn his attention in the first place.
She stiffened, about to set him straight, because it was obvious the guy thought her a working girl. Only a sudden thought came to mind, one of those thoughts she knew she should ignore, but she didn’t because, jeesh, where Blain Sanders was concerned, you needed to get your licks in where you could.
“Blain darling,” she drawled in a British accent. If she was going to be a prostitute, she was going to be a classy prostitute. “You said you’d get me a drink.” She sidled up to him, placing her hand in his arm so she could walk her fingers up his biceps. “I’m thirsty,” she pouted, looking up at him in what she hoped was a sultry fashion.
She saw his left eyelid twitch just before his light blue eyes narrowed.
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t exactly professional. And maybe she shouldn’t be such a cat, but she had a score or two to settle with the man, and some of that settling was going to happen right now.
“Don’t make me wait,” she added huskily.
“Oh, man. I’m sorry. You’re busy,” the man said. “Nice meeting you.”
“Oh, no, don’t go,” Cece piped up before he could leave. “Blain adores having a chat with fans. At least I believe he does, but I’m afraid it’s been a while since I last saw him. You know how it is.” She smiled. “He’s so busy he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.” She glanced up at Blain. His eyes promised a slow death. “That’s where I come in,” she added, just out of spite. She turned back to the fan, brightening. “I say, would you like my card? I’m on call for Blain this week, but I could check my schedule for the next.” She was proud of the way schedule came out. Shhedual. Very British.
The man apparently fell for it, at least judging by the way his mouth hung open. Blain made a noise, some sort of guttural growl. Very cavemanish.
Cece shifted her bag as if about to search through it.
“No, no,” the man said, suddenly looking about as comfortable as a furrier at an animal-rights convention.
She paused, eyes wide. “No? Oh, well. Too bad. We might have had a good time, you and I.” She smiled mischievously, turning to Blain again and batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ll just leave you two alone, then. Blain can, ah, catch up to me later.”
The fan choked. Cece hooked a hand around the back of Blain’s neck before he could move out of reach.
“Come here, darling, and give me a kiss.”
Blain tried to draw back, his expression clearly warning don’t you dare.
She smiled and silently answered, Oh, I dare, Blain. I dare.
Tell her boss about her felony, would he?
She tugged his head down, puckered her lips. He didn’t go willingly, but he couldn’t resist without causing a scene. She closed her eyes, realizing too late that she really didn’t want to kiss him, either.
“Mmm, yummy,” she purred just before their lips connected.
Wow.
She didn’t know where that word came from, but touching lips with Blain was like dropping a bottle of nitro on the ground.
Blam.
Blain must have felt it, too, because his lips suddenly turned as hard as wheel hubs.
Cece jerked away, having the presence of mind to cover her confusion with a “Ta-ta,” then turning on the heel of her black pump to saunter away, never mind that her nerves pinged an alarm at the way that kiss had made her feel…and the look of promised retribution in his eyes.
“Diet Coke,” she said the moment she took a seat at the chrome and black vinyl bar not far away, tugging a bowl of Chex Mix in front of her. She’d been working too hard. That’s why kissing him had felt so…well, odd. Working undercover made you for get things like what it’s like to lay one on a sexy man.
Blain, sexy?
Well, yeah…sort of. Maybe.
She lobbed her thoughts away as she set her purse down next to the single-legged bar stool. It was a struggle to sit down while looking ladylike, but she managed, her reflection peeking out at her from between the necks of liquor bottles. Tightly drawn back ash-blond hair, glowing green eyes. She almost smiled at herself—almost, because from behind her suddenly appeared her nemesis. Blain.
Here we go.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” he drawled, and boy-oh-boy, did he look mad.
She swiveled, her legs brushing his. He glanced down, jerking back as if she’d said, “Boo.”
“Don’t do what, Blainy-poo?” she asked, tempted to run her foot up his shin just for kicks.
“You’re not a prostitute, which is exactly what that man thought.”
She kinda liked his accent, she decided, her eyes catching on his lips. They glistened from their kiss. She felt her gaze sharpen, disconcerted by the sudden lurch her stomach gave.
“What do you care what that guy thought?”
“I’m a celebrity and I don’t like the possibility of some race fan getting on the Internet and telling people I’m into call girls.”
She let out a quick “Oh, pul-leez” as her left leg darted out involuntarily, almost as if it were determined to touch him of its own volition. His eyes followed the motion. She stopped. His eyes darted back up.
What was this? Was Blain Sanders looking at her legs? “A guy like that doesn’t even own a computer.” She swung her leg again. He glanced down.
He was looking at her legs.
“You might be surprised at how savvy race fans are. But that’s not the point. The point is you shouldn’t have kissed me,” he said. Cece noticed that his eyes turned a deep, almost violet blue when angry.
She straightened as a new and unexpected discovery rolled through her. Blain Sanders was checking her out. He didn’t want to check her out, she could tell, but he was definitely getting a fix on her.
She almost laughed because she would never, ever have thought
