from looking pleased at his small victory, he leaned toward her, and she could tell that she’d pushed him to the very edge of the short little pier he’d been standing on.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he snapped.
Oh, yeah? They would just have to see about that, Cece thought. Because there was one thing Mr. Blain Sanders didn’t know. After her first year of college, when she’d realized men were looking at her in a way they’d never looked at her before, she’d used that knowledge to her advantage. Cece Blackwell had put herself through college working for Bimbos, a restaurant that prided itself more on the perkiness of its servers’breasts than on the freshness of its cuisine.
And the only thing she enjoyed more than McDonald’s French fries was making men squirm, probably because most of her life men hadn’t given her the time of day. Then she’d turned nineteen and voilà, sex goddess. It’d been darn disconcerting when the cutest guy on campus had asked her out. Who’d have thunk? But she’d never forgotten what it felt like to be the campus dog. So when she’d turned into Sleeping Beauty, she’d been smart enough to have fun with some Prince Charmings. Blain Sanders was no prince, but it’d be fun playing with him.
She’d make sure of it.
“IF ANYONE IN THE GARAGE asks how we know each other, just tell them we’re old friends,” Blain said as Cece Blackwell sat down next to him in one of the compact seats that filled the jet’s interior. He looked over at her in time to see one side of her mouth tip up.
“What?” he asked.
“We were never friends,” she said, her arm brushing his.
“Yeah, but we can’t tell them the truth. NASCAR doesn’t want people to know an FBI agent is sniff ing around.”
“And why did you hate me so much?” she asked.
It took him a moment to follow her question, but not before he found himself asking, “Huh?”
“Why didn’t you like me in school?”
He took his own seat, staring at her for a second as he replayed what she’d said, and then tried to frame his answer. “I didn’t hate you,” was all he could think of to say.
“Oh, you were never flat-out mean to me, but you didn’t like me. That much was obvious.” She reached beneath her to search for her seat belt. The movement opened up the shirt beneath her black jacket, giving him a glimpse of a white, frilly lace bra. Frilly? Since when?
“Look, Cecilia, I hardly knew you. How could I hate you?”
“Good point. But if that’s true, why did you tell Jeff Mayer that he could do better than me when he and I started dating?”
What was she talking about…?
She lifted a brow as if trying to prod his memory. “We were at a convenience store and you saw me with him. I’d wandered off to another aisle and you must have thought I couldn’t hear you, but I could.” She tilted her head, a lock of blond hair slipping from behind her ear. “You told him the reason I lived in a double wide was because of the size of my ass.”
He’d said what?
She smirked.
And then he remembered.
She lifted both brows this time, her expression turning to one of wry amusement. “It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?”
It felt like a welding torch had been lit near his face.
“So I’m sure you can understand why I thought you didn’t like me.”
She settled back in her seat. There wasn’t much room between her and the seat in front of her, but she somehow managed to cross her legs, the look on her face a mix of smug and amused.
“Look,” he said. “If I said something like that it was probably because I was sick and tired of you blabbing all over the school that your Camaro was faster than my Nova.”
“It was.”
“And because you told Gina Sellers that you wanted to ask me to the prom.”
Her eyes widened.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know about the crush you had. And so I was pretty certain that you weren’t really interested in Jeff Mayer in any other way than getting closer to me.”
Those green eyes of hers flickered with something. Humiliation? “You didn’t know that for certain.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why’d you dump him when I told him I didn’t want him bringing you around?”
“I didn’t dump him, he dumped me…because of you.”
His body flicked back.
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
And there was too much anger in her eyes for it not to be true. “He told me the opposite.”
She leaned toward him, and the smell of her perfume hung between them for a second before a passing draft carried it away. It was a scent completely at odds with the image he’d carried around of her for years—acne medicine and car parts—not that he’d spent much time thinking about her. She smelled flowery. Almost feminine. Not like a tray of used motor oil.
“Look, Blain, I told you this was a really bad idea. You and I are like oil and water, always have been, always will. Why don’t we just give this up right now?”
He stared across at her, at this new Cecilia Blackwell. Calm. Controlled. Not the pimple-faced girl he remembered. And though he’d never have admitted it to her when they were younger, he’d always admired the way she’d tackled challenges. Whenever she’d put her mind to something—souping up her Camaro, getting the best grades, whatever—she’d always been good at it. Always.
“No,” he said, coming to an instant decision. “From what I hear, you’re good at what you do. I want someone I can trust. You’re it.”
He thought she might say something else. Saw the word clearly in her eyes: fool. But she didn’t say that. Instead she said, “Fine. Let’s get down to business then, shall we?”
She leaned over and pulled out a brown partition folder from an overnight bag-type thing she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. There was a yellow label on it that said Escrow File: 937 Orchard Road. Her old address from home, he recognized. How bizarre to remember that.
She straightened, the plane jerking back from the gate just as she did so. Her left breast brushed his right arm.
He felt scalded.
“Sorry,” she murmured, hardly noticing.
He narrowed his eyes. No blush. No embarrassment. The Cece Blackwell he remembered would have had a hard time meeting his eyes.
This Cece glanced up at him boldly as she said, “I’ve put together a list of things I need to accomplish this weekend—learning
