Read Online Crossing the Line (Hard Driving) by Audra North - Free Book Online
Authors: Audra North
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ten minutes during Media Day with Cori. That hadn’t felt the same at all. That had felt like the most special thing that had ever happened to him. Hell. He’d almost
kissed
her before she left. If Frank hadn’t interrupted, he probably would have. He might have tumbled her backward, onto that ridiculously placed bed, rucked that sexy-professional skirt up around her waist, and dry humped her through her panties.
The idea of getting chafed through his trousers with a woman he barely knew shouldn’t have been an arousing thought. And yet . . .
fuck, yeah
.
But it wasn’t just that he wanted to rub up against her and send her on her way. He’d found himself in the Riggs Racing private jet last night on the flight back home to Charlotte, wishing that he’d taken a commercial flight just so that he might have a chance of running into her in the airport. And then this morning, he’d woken alone in the big bed in his townhouse, seen that piece of paper, and wished she was there with him. Not in a morning-after-a-one-night-stand kind of way. But just . . . there.
It had been too early to call her, so he’d done the next best thing: went to the
Gold Cup Sports
site, looking for her bio so that he could at least temporarily content himself with a photo. But he didn’t even get that far. Instead, he’d stopped on the home page, at the headline story with her byline beneath it, and read the entire thing with so much excitement that he was practically vibrating with it.
She’d called him captivating and sharp. She’d said he was a leader on and off the track. She’d said . . . well, all manner of really nice things. She’d mentioned the rumors, but it had been a single, throwaway sentence. Nothing, really, compared to the rest of the piece.
After he’d read it a second time, he’d flipped through a few of the major sports sites, looking for coverage of this past weekend’s opening race and Media Day. Every one of those goddamn articles had opened with some form of
Based on
Riggs’s reaction with a right hook,
Gilroy’s accusations might have root in the truth . . .
But not Alex’s article. She’d called him a
leader
, not a cheater. It made him ache. It had made him want to finish their conversation, to tell her all those things off the record about where he wanted to go next—that he wanted to bring his brand of leadership off the track as well as on it. He was ready to blaze new trails, just like she had gone off and done her own thing even though the road had been so neatly laid out before her.
It made him want to be the leader she’d called him. He couldn’t wait for this mess to blow over so he could get back to working on that dream. But in the meantime, fixating on that article had made him late for work, which didn’t help. This early in the season meant a grueling pace of nearly constant racing, thoughts about racing, discussions about racing . . . all racing, all the time. But this year, there was the added insanity of so many layers of deceit.
He shook his head at himself. Those kinds of thoughts would get him nowhere. He had work to do and was already running behind. He showered quickly, then stuck the article printout in the back pocket of his jeans, sliding it next to her phone number, and headed out to the garage with the hope that he’d get a few free minutes during the morning to call her.
But no such luck. The second he walked into the garage, Dad met him at the door with a somber look and pulled him into the main office.
“What’s going on?” Ty tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. The face Dad was showing to him behind the closed office door looked a lot like panic. It wasn’t good for Bobby’s health to be under so much stress, despite the improvements he’d made over the last year after recovering from the lymphoma diagnosis and treatment.
“The board of directors is talking about launching an investigation.” Dad kept his voice pitched low, but Ty could still
kissed
her before she left. If Frank hadn’t interrupted, he probably would have. He might have tumbled her backward, onto that ridiculously placed bed, rucked that sexy-professional skirt up around her waist, and dry humped her through her panties.
The idea of getting chafed through his trousers with a woman he barely knew shouldn’t have been an arousing thought. And yet . . .
fuck, yeah
.
But it wasn’t just that he wanted to rub up against her and send her on her way. He’d found himself in the Riggs Racing private jet last night on the flight back home to Charlotte, wishing that he’d taken a commercial flight just so that he might have a chance of running into her in the airport. And then this morning, he’d woken alone in the big bed in his townhouse, seen that piece of paper, and wished she was there with him. Not in a morning-after-a-one-night-stand kind of way. But just . . . there.
It had been too early to call her, so he’d done the next best thing: went to the
Gold Cup Sports
site, looking for her bio so that he could at least temporarily content himself with a photo. But he didn’t even get that far. Instead, he’d stopped on the home page, at the headline story with her byline beneath it, and read the entire thing with so much excitement that he was practically vibrating with it.
She’d called him captivating and sharp. She’d said he was a leader on and off the track. She’d said . . . well, all manner of really nice things. She’d mentioned the rumors, but it had been a single, throwaway sentence. Nothing, really, compared to the rest of the piece.
After he’d read it a second time, he’d flipped through a few of the major sports sites, looking for coverage of this past weekend’s opening race and Media Day. Every one of those goddamn articles had opened with some form of
Based on
Riggs’s reaction with a right hook,
Gilroy’s accusations might have root in the truth . . .
But not Alex’s article. She’d called him a
leader
, not a cheater. It made him ache. It had made him want to finish their conversation, to tell her all those things off the record about where he wanted to go next—that he wanted to bring his brand of leadership off the track as well as on it. He was ready to blaze new trails, just like she had gone off and done her own thing even though the road had been so neatly laid out before her.
It made him want to be the leader she’d called him. He couldn’t wait for this mess to blow over so he could get back to working on that dream. But in the meantime, fixating on that article had made him late for work, which didn’t help. This early in the season meant a grueling pace of nearly constant racing, thoughts about racing, discussions about racing . . . all racing, all the time. But this year, there was the added insanity of so many layers of deceit.
He shook his head at himself. Those kinds of thoughts would get him nowhere. He had work to do and was already running behind. He showered quickly, then stuck the article printout in the back pocket of his jeans, sliding it next to her phone number, and headed out to the garage with the hope that he’d get a few free minutes during the morning to call her.
But no such luck. The second he walked into the garage, Dad met him at the door with a somber look and pulled him into the main office.
“What’s going on?” Ty tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. The face Dad was showing to him behind the closed office door looked a lot like panic. It wasn’t good for Bobby’s health to be under so much stress, despite the improvements he’d made over the last year after recovering from the lymphoma diagnosis and treatment.
“The board of directors is talking about launching an investigation.” Dad kept his voice pitched low, but Ty could still
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