Hot-Wired / Coming on Strong: Hot-Wired. Tawny Weber

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her lips with the tip of her tongue. Every thump of her heart seemed to echo do it, do it, do it. “Do it?”

      “Yeah. When are you available?” His dark lashes formed a spiky frame for his eyes. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

      “Available for what?”

      Mocking amusement replaced sensual promise. “Try to keep up here, honey. When do you want to go out to Belle Terre with me to go over the remodel?”

      Embarrassment flooded her. She’d prefer a hot poker in her eye. Actually, she’d prefer a hot poker up his ass. “I don’t want to go out to Belle Terre with you. I don’t need to be there. I just need to know a date you’ll have it done.”

      “It’ll go much faster if I have you there to explain exactly what Caitlyn wants done. And you can take notes for me.”

      “I know you have a secretary, Mr. Stillwell. I’ve spoken to her so often she’s now on my Christmas-card list.”

      “Ah, but I need her in the office…to answer the phone.”

      Did he have any idea how busy she was? It was spring—high wedding season. Actually, the real question was did he care? And that answer was obviously no. “Fine. I’ll make myself available to accommodate your busy schedule.” Hopefully he wasn’t impervious to sarcasm.

      “How about Sunday, after the race?”

      “No problem. As it happens, I don’t have a wedding on schedule for Sunday. What time?”

      “Probably around four. Just show up here and we’ll go when I get through.”

      She managed not to gape at his total arrogance and disregard for her schedule. As if she had time to stand around cooling her heels at a racetrack while he indulged his testosterone-laden hobby. “I’ll give you my cell number and you can just call me and I’ll meet you out there.”

      “I’ll try not to forget.”

      “I’ll phone you to remind you.”

      “Sure. You’ve got my number.” He all but smirked. They both knew how successful she’d been with him and the phone.

      She gritted her teeth and mustered up a smile. If he was on some power trip and she had to kowtow to his schedule, then so be it. “I’ll just come here. That way you won’t forget.”

      “It’s a date, then.”

      She tried to steadfastly ignore the way his voice seemed to caress the word date, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating faster.

      “Yes. Four o’clock here on Sunday.” Good. She had what she’d come for. An image of him still shower-damp and clad only in a towel flashed through her mind. Okay, she’d gotten more than she came for.

      She jotted the time and notation in her day planner and stood. She hated to admit it, but it was much more comfortable with both the heels ripped off her poor shoes. “I’ll see you then.”

      He stood, as well, dwarfing her in the close confines of the motor home. “Where’d you park?”

      “The lot on the other side of the three-story building.”

      “Spectator parking. I’m heading up to the tower—” she assumed that was the three-story building “—to check on tomorrow’s ladder. You can ride with me. It’s a hike from here to spectator parking.”

      She wanted to turn him down but she was well aware of just how damn far it was. “Thank you. That’d be nice.”

      They both moved toward the door. “I’m a nice guy.”

      And she was Mary Poppins. “I’ll take your word for it.”

      He reached past her to open the door, his shoulder brushing hers, his clean scent enveloping her. Her legs weren’t quite steady as she walked down the two steps. Night had descended, but the racing continued. Cars were still being towed behind four-wheelers and golf carts. Across the pit “street,” a crew was frantically working on a car under the glare of big floodlights mounted on stands.

      He cupped his hand beneath her elbow and his touch sizzled right through her. “Okay, on you go. You might want to ride sidesaddle.”

      She looked from him to the four-wheeler he’d stopped beside and back to him. “You’re going to take me on this?”

      “Yeah. It’s the best way to get around the track. Do you have an issue with four-wheelers?”

      “No issue, I’ve just never been on one before.” There’d never been money in her family for anything like a four-wheeler. And she’d never dated a guy with a four-wheeler—they weren’t her type.

      She caught a flash of his teeth. No doubt a mocking smile. “Ah. Your first time. I’ll make sure you like it.”

      Did he have to make it sound like a seductive promise? Did her body, even knowing he was arrogant and manipulative and toying with her, have to respond with instant heat?

      Make that a yes on both counts.

      She stepped onto an open-grid platform and slid her butt to the back of the seat, keeping both her legs on one side and her knees pressed together. It wasn’t so bad.

      He climbed on in front of her, straddling the seat, presenting her with a solid wall of masculinity. He spoke over his shoulder, “You comfortable?”

      Comfortable? With his absolute maleness crowding her space? With his hip and leg pressed against hers? With her entire body humming at the proximity?

      “Absolutely. Never more comfortable.”

      He cranked it. Not only was the engine loud, but she felt its vibration through her seat, which was strange, inappropriately erotic under the circumstances.

      “You’ll want to hold on,” he said as he rolled to the edge of the pit road and looked both ways to see if the coast was clear. She lightly put one hand at his waist. The less body contact, the better.

      One minute they were sitting there idling, the next they were off like a bat out of hell. She instantly, automatically wrapped both arms around him, hanging on for dear life.

      “Woo!”

      She heard his yell above the din and the rush of blood in her ears. Once she realized they weren’t going to die, she had to admit she rather liked it—the rush of wind past them, the thrill of going fast. And, heaven help her, the feel of him.

      Her right cheek and breast pressed against his back. She felt the play of muscles beneath the cotton T-shirt as he drove. Likewise, there was no mistaking the six-pack ripple of his belly beneath her clasped hands. He felt even better than he’d looked wearing that towel—and that was saying something.

      She had the craziest, hormone-fueled desire to nuzzle the muscled expanse of his back, to slide her hands beneath the edge of his T-shirt and explore the hard ridges of his belly…and lower. Natalie’s bad-girl side had the urge to experience skin on skin with Beau the Bastard.

СКАЧАТЬ