Read Online Thunderstruck by Roxanne St. Claire - Free Book Online Page B

difference this year?” he asked.
    How could Mick possibly answer that?
    “You’ve got some of the best crew chiefs and mechanics in the business out there. And you’ve got a brand-new driver who wants to win and a seasoned driver who knows how. Not to mention the legacy of Thunder Jackson in the air.”
    Don’t squeak over that, Daddy. Shelby placed her chin on her knuckles, just for the pleasure of watching Mick hand out platitudes that she couldn’t have sold to Rocco DiLorenzi ten minutes ago. And Rocco sucked them up and wrote them down and evidently forgot he’d had a story angle when he’d walked in the place.
    Mick spared her a quick glance as Rocco wrote. Then, of course, he winked, and her throat went bone-dry. Surely it wasn’t one little eye twitch that could make her feel so…tight. It had to be his use of terms like elite and fearless and competitive and, her favorite, dominant in the field of play.
    Frankly it was amazing. Not one word about racing. Not a single NASCAR acronym. Not one hint that he knew a drop about fuel strategy, pit times or shock absorbers.
    “There are two teams out there, Rocco,” Mick said, lowering his voice and leaning closer as if he was about to deliver the secret recipe for a happy life, “who live to race and race to win. You watch. They’re going to do it.”
    She didn’t know whether to stand up and applaud or roll her eyes. But she did know that Rocco wrote down every word Mick said, and even he couldn’t mess up a quote that powerful. Kincaid Toys and Country Peanut Butter would like it. The employees would like it. NASCAR would like it. Hell, she liked it.
    Before long, Mick ushered him out and promised to spend more time with him at Daytona. He was gone before he remembered he wanted a picture of the new car. Even the PR people would be happy.
    When they closed the front door on Rocco, Mick turned to her and gave her a serious look. “Nice guy.”
    Shelby held up her knuckles for some skin. “Nice work.”
    He tapped her back. “Told you to give me a chance.”
    “You really fended off a mess with him.”
    A spark lit his green eyes. “You know, on my planet we have a very specific way of saying thank you.”
    She looked up, a smile threatening. “On ours we just say it. Thank you .”
    “Not good enough,” he said, tapping her chin lightly. “Why don’t you go home at a decent hour and change into shoes that don’t have a single metal rivet, and I’ll pick you up at seven for a proper dinner.”
    Dinner. Date. Bad idea. Unless Ernie was around to witness her undoing. “I really can’t—”
    “By the way, the dyno’s fixed.”
    She didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. Instead she touched the spot on her chin where his finger had left a trail of warmth. Plus, if Ernie even heard about it, it might make him less enthused about Mighty Mick. It didn’t mean she was giving in or accepting him or consenting to the deal. It was dinner, for crying out loud.
    “No need to pick me up,” she said. “I’ll meet you somewhere.”
    Rationalization. Her power tool of choice.
     
     
     
    S HELBY WALKED INTO the Pillar House at exactly seven o’clock. Mick knew she wouldn’t be late. Although he half expected jeans and a T-shirt, he was certain that Shelby Jackson ran her life on time.
    But she had taken the time to change and, he noticed when she spied him sitting at the bar nursing a Glenlivet on the rocks, she’d even put on some makeup. As he got up to meet her, his gaze slid over the jacket she wore and down a pair of elegant black trousers.
    She pulled up her pants at the ankles and revealed a very sexy pair of high-heeled leather boots. “No rivets,” she said.
    “I’m honored.” He helped her out of her jacket and practically moaned at a sweater the color of sweet cream butter cut low enough to reveal a delicious inch of cleavage and tight enough to conform to the curves of her breasts. “Brilliant,” he whispered, not hiding the