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Authors: Pamela Britton
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it’ll be a long night. I want to get this wrapped up by tomorrow.”
So she could leave. Head back to San Francisco.
He wished she didn’t have to go.
“Have you had anything to eat?” he asked.
“No. And I don’t really feel like going out to grab a bite, either.”
“There are other ways to get a bite than going out,” he said, pushing on her door so he could enter.
“What are you doing?” she asked after stepping aside.
“You need nourishment,” he said, sparing the room hardly a glance as he went to her nightstand and picked up the phone. “You’re no good to the investigation if you drop dead from starvation.”
He didn’t even hear her approach. Didn’t even feel her behind him until her arm brushed his own, the white T-shirt she wore transferring static to the hair on his arms.
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the phone from his hand. Green eyes that looked a hell of a lot different than they had in high school peered up at him without an ounce of hostility. Beautiful eyes, he admitted to himself. Unusual and striking with their gold and silver flecks, flecks that matched her loose hair.
“I’m fine. Really,” she said, hanging up the phone. “I’ll eat something later on. Right now I need to concentrate on my files, and this list of names.” She held up the papers he’d given her.
Disappointment flickered through him.
“Hey,” she said, her eyes brightening. “I heard they ran qualifying. Who won the pole?”
And he felt like a kid all of a sudden, boasting to the cute girl next door as he said, “We did.”
She smiled up at him. Not that fake, sexy smile she’d used on him at the airport. Not the false smile she’d given him any number of times since, but a genuine, happy-for-him smile.
She was happy for him.
Why did that surprise Blain so damn much?
“That’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You must be thrilled.”
He was thrilled. And you know what? It felt good to share the information with her. Yeah, they might have started out on the wrong foot, but in the past twenty-four hours he’d developed a whole new respect for Cecilia Blackwell. She hadn’t tossed his concerns aside. Hadn’t treated his worries like they were nothing. So far she’d acted with absolute professionalism—well, aside from that incident at the airport, but overall, yeah, she’d done a good job. He respected her for that.
“Yeah, well, I wish you’d stick around for at least the Busch race tomorrow night.” And he really did.
“Too much stuff to do this weekend.”
He scanned her face, noted yet again how pretty she looked without makeup, how much she’d changed, how if she were any other woman, he’d…
He’d what?
Want to date her, he realized. Beauty, brains and a NASCAR fan—a guy could do a lot worse.
“I should get back to work,” she said, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
Had she read in his eyes some of what he’d been thinking?
“What time do you leave tomorrow?”
“Late morning.”
He didn’t know what to say after that. “Then I guess this is goodbye, since I have to be at out the track early.”
“I guess so,” she said, looking anywhere but his eyes. “Good luck tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Thanks.” Damn it. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to spend more time with her. To find out what she’d been up to in recent years. Who her favorite driver was. What kind of ice cream she liked.
What?
He stepped back. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks,” she said again. “You, too.”
But as he turned away, he couldn’t help but feel regret. His hand even lingered on the door for a moment, then quickly, before he changed his mind, he left her room.
“Bye,” he heard as the door closed.
Yeah, bye.
Damn it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
C ECE MAY HAVE HOPED for a clean getaway, but apparently that wasn’t on the cards. A phone call from her boss had her speeding to the racetrack when she couldn’t get through to Blain.
So she could leave. Head back to San Francisco.
He wished she didn’t have to go.
“Have you had anything to eat?” he asked.
“No. And I don’t really feel like going out to grab a bite, either.”
“There are other ways to get a bite than going out,” he said, pushing on her door so he could enter.
“What are you doing?” she asked after stepping aside.
“You need nourishment,” he said, sparing the room hardly a glance as he went to her nightstand and picked up the phone. “You’re no good to the investigation if you drop dead from starvation.”
He didn’t even hear her approach. Didn’t even feel her behind him until her arm brushed his own, the white T-shirt she wore transferring static to the hair on his arms.
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the phone from his hand. Green eyes that looked a hell of a lot different than they had in high school peered up at him without an ounce of hostility. Beautiful eyes, he admitted to himself. Unusual and striking with their gold and silver flecks, flecks that matched her loose hair.
“I’m fine. Really,” she said, hanging up the phone. “I’ll eat something later on. Right now I need to concentrate on my files, and this list of names.” She held up the papers he’d given her.
Disappointment flickered through him.
“Hey,” she said, her eyes brightening. “I heard they ran qualifying. Who won the pole?”
And he felt like a kid all of a sudden, boasting to the cute girl next door as he said, “We did.”
She smiled up at him. Not that fake, sexy smile she’d used on him at the airport. Not the false smile she’d given him any number of times since, but a genuine, happy-for-him smile.
She was happy for him.
Why did that surprise Blain so damn much?
“That’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You must be thrilled.”
He was thrilled. And you know what? It felt good to share the information with her. Yeah, they might have started out on the wrong foot, but in the past twenty-four hours he’d developed a whole new respect for Cecilia Blackwell. She hadn’t tossed his concerns aside. Hadn’t treated his worries like they were nothing. So far she’d acted with absolute professionalism—well, aside from that incident at the airport, but overall, yeah, she’d done a good job. He respected her for that.
“Yeah, well, I wish you’d stick around for at least the Busch race tomorrow night.” And he really did.
“Too much stuff to do this weekend.”
He scanned her face, noted yet again how pretty she looked without makeup, how much she’d changed, how if she were any other woman, he’d…
He’d what?
Want to date her, he realized. Beauty, brains and a NASCAR fan—a guy could do a lot worse.
“I should get back to work,” she said, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
Had she read in his eyes some of what he’d been thinking?
“What time do you leave tomorrow?”
“Late morning.”
He didn’t know what to say after that. “Then I guess this is goodbye, since I have to be at out the track early.”
“I guess so,” she said, looking anywhere but his eyes. “Good luck tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Thanks.” Damn it. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to spend more time with her. To find out what she’d been up to in recent years. Who her favorite driver was. What kind of ice cream she liked.
What?
He stepped back. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks,” she said again. “You, too.”
But as he turned away, he couldn’t help but feel regret. His hand even lingered on the door for a moment, then quickly, before he changed his mind, he left her room.
“Bye,” he heard as the door closed.
Yeah, bye.
Damn it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
C ECE MAY HAVE HOPED for a clean getaway, but apparently that wasn’t on the cards. A phone call from her boss had her speeding to the racetrack when she couldn’t get through to Blain.
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