barstool. Even after all these years, she’d sprayed his cologne on her sheets, claiming it helped her sleep at night. God, what an idiot. No wonder she wasn’t over him yet.
“Blake is infatuated with racing.” She stopped spinning her chair and opened her notebook to write today’s date. It was a start. “Off road, drag racing, stock cars. Even motorcycles. You can imagine his excitement when he found out I once dated Wesley Webb, the elusive race car driver.”
“How did he find out about us?”
She glanced up and his gaze slammed into hers, rocking her world. Reeling away, she latched onto the counter and swung her barstool to and fro as if she’d meant to lose her balance.
“I don’t know.”
“You never thought to ask?”
“Of course I asked. He didn’t say, only implied it was through my school. I’d talked about going to my high school reunion, and I guess he put two and two together. I don’t know.”
“Why did you agree to it?”
“I need my job.”
“I don’t see how he would fire you if you didn’t take an assignment.”
“I told you earlier, Wesley, he’d send somebody besides me who wouldn’t care how painful your past was. The reporters you hate so much because you claim they make up stories? That’s who he’d send.”
Wesley took a swig of beer. Caitlyn followed suit.
Where did this anxiety come from? She’d interviewed basketball players and movie stars and never felt this crazy flutter all the way down to her toes. Her skin tightened, reservation rebelling in her mind.
What was her problem?
She could list several reasons for her problem. One, she’d never slept with those other subjects, two, she’d never been in love with any of them, and three, she’d never been in their home, her body burning with the hope he’d take her in his arms and ravish her body.
“You want to know something interesting about me?” Wesley asked, pulling her out of her fantasy. “I drink one or two beers after my Sunday night race. Rarely any other time.”
She wrote the words slowly, ignoring the shivery little tendrils of want his voice triggered. Not just his voice but his scent, his body, his gorgeous green eyes. God, it was like she was a teenager in lust for the first time. She could get lost in his gaze forever.
She finished writing and tapped the pen against her lips. “Do you realize you’ve never talked about yourself unless it relates to racing?”
“Why should that matter?”
“Maybe Blake sees it as a challenge, I don’t know.”
“So you’re going to be the first to write about my past life, my past mistakes?”
“That’s not my intention.” She dropped the pen to the counter and wiped the condensation from the bottle, thankful for something to do with her hands besides clicking the pen or fumbling fingers. “He made a mistake when he sent me because I’m only going to report back to him about the race, your accomplishments, and whatever else you might want me to. I’m going to keep him happy by giving him good stories, but that’s it.”
“And why is that?” he pried.
Those gorgeous green eyes studied her, the intensity almost knocking her off her stool. She fumbled with the bottle before chugging the beer. At this rate, she’d be too drunk to finish their conversation. That might not be a bad thing.
He didn’t move except to take a drink. He didn’t fumble with words. He was calm. Intense, but calm. Her presence didn’t affect him. And why should it?
“The past hurts me, too,” Caitlyn admitted. “I would never print it without your permission. As much as you distrust me, I do care about you as a person.” God, why did she say that? The beer wasn’t at fault. She wasn’t even halfway done with it. She took another long pull, needing to give her mind a reason for delirium.
“I don’t distrust you, Caitlyn.” He fondled a strand of her hair. Heat splashed in her belly and smoldered in her groin. “I just don’t completely trust
“Blake is infatuated with racing.” She stopped spinning her chair and opened her notebook to write today’s date. It was a start. “Off road, drag racing, stock cars. Even motorcycles. You can imagine his excitement when he found out I once dated Wesley Webb, the elusive race car driver.”
“How did he find out about us?”
She glanced up and his gaze slammed into hers, rocking her world. Reeling away, she latched onto the counter and swung her barstool to and fro as if she’d meant to lose her balance.
“I don’t know.”
“You never thought to ask?”
“Of course I asked. He didn’t say, only implied it was through my school. I’d talked about going to my high school reunion, and I guess he put two and two together. I don’t know.”
“Why did you agree to it?”
“I need my job.”
“I don’t see how he would fire you if you didn’t take an assignment.”
“I told you earlier, Wesley, he’d send somebody besides me who wouldn’t care how painful your past was. The reporters you hate so much because you claim they make up stories? That’s who he’d send.”
Wesley took a swig of beer. Caitlyn followed suit.
Where did this anxiety come from? She’d interviewed basketball players and movie stars and never felt this crazy flutter all the way down to her toes. Her skin tightened, reservation rebelling in her mind.
What was her problem?
She could list several reasons for her problem. One, she’d never slept with those other subjects, two, she’d never been in love with any of them, and three, she’d never been in their home, her body burning with the hope he’d take her in his arms and ravish her body.
“You want to know something interesting about me?” Wesley asked, pulling her out of her fantasy. “I drink one or two beers after my Sunday night race. Rarely any other time.”
She wrote the words slowly, ignoring the shivery little tendrils of want his voice triggered. Not just his voice but his scent, his body, his gorgeous green eyes. God, it was like she was a teenager in lust for the first time. She could get lost in his gaze forever.
She finished writing and tapped the pen against her lips. “Do you realize you’ve never talked about yourself unless it relates to racing?”
“Why should that matter?”
“Maybe Blake sees it as a challenge, I don’t know.”
“So you’re going to be the first to write about my past life, my past mistakes?”
“That’s not my intention.” She dropped the pen to the counter and wiped the condensation from the bottle, thankful for something to do with her hands besides clicking the pen or fumbling fingers. “He made a mistake when he sent me because I’m only going to report back to him about the race, your accomplishments, and whatever else you might want me to. I’m going to keep him happy by giving him good stories, but that’s it.”
“And why is that?” he pried.
Those gorgeous green eyes studied her, the intensity almost knocking her off her stool. She fumbled with the bottle before chugging the beer. At this rate, she’d be too drunk to finish their conversation. That might not be a bad thing.
He didn’t move except to take a drink. He didn’t fumble with words. He was calm. Intense, but calm. Her presence didn’t affect him. And why should it?
“The past hurts me, too,” Caitlyn admitted. “I would never print it without your permission. As much as you distrust me, I do care about you as a person.” God, why did she say that? The beer wasn’t at fault. She wasn’t even halfway done with it. She took another long pull, needing to give her mind a reason for delirium.
“I don’t distrust you, Caitlyn.” He fondled a strand of her hair. Heat splashed in her belly and smoldered in her groin. “I just don’t completely trust
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