Danger Zone (11 page)

He tipped his head to the side. “A ’68 Mustang. Baby blue. Who else could it belong to?”

“It’s actually called Brittany blue.”

“I stand corrected.”

Still tight against him, she felt every beat of her heart as she stared up at him. She could stay here all day. Or the rest of her life. “Are you going to put me down?”

A smile played on his lips. “I could. But I kind of like how you feel.” There it was again. Another eternity that passed between them, a moment of forevers when Ellie wanted more than anything for dreams to come true and Cinderella stories to be real.

She liked how this felt too. But still…enough torture. This feeling of safety was strictly an illusion. If anyone knew about illusion, it was she. She worked at it for a living and lived it more than half her life. “Thanks for the lift, but you can—”

“I know.” He set her down gently before she finished the sentence. The grin on his face was nothing short of stunning. Bending over, he looked in the window of her car. The view of his ass was too gorgeous to ignore.

Holy sculpted body, Batman.

“Looks like you’ve done some work to the interior,” he said.

She removed her gaze from his
posterior
. “A little. I got new seats. The old ones didn’t have the headrests.” He moved over and she unlocked the car, opened the door and hefted her bag to the passenger seat. “Thanks again for the lift. You really didn’t have to.” She tipped her chin toward the track and smiled reproachfully. “Rumors are going to fly now, you know.”

He grinned, a wide beautiful smile that stole her breath. “Yeah?” Obviously the idea didn’t bother him. He leaned close. “Maybe I can listen in and see what the buzz is.”

She smacked his arm playfully. His muscles were rock hard. “Don’t sound so happy about it.”

“Why? Doesn’t bother me at all. I’m wondering what else we can do to fan the flames on those rumors?” He slipped his sunglasses down his nose and his light gray eyes burned hot. “Any suggestions?”

Lots and lots, but sanity prevailed. “I think we’ve done plenty.” Ellie took a step toward the door and instant pain shot up her leg. Her foot threatened to explode on the spot. She’d forgotten all about her injury for a few blissful minutes. A few dreamy minutes in Quinn Reynolds’s arms.

Oh, God. When had she become such a weenie when it came to this guy? She needed to snap out of this delusional funk, fast.

“Okay,” she said a little too brightly. “Thanks and I’ll be seeing you.”

He took her arm and stopped her. “I know you’re hurting, Elle. Let me take you home, okay?” He stepped close enough for her to see the dark flecks in his eyes. “You can keep your foot up and iced in the back of the limo.”

“You’re sweet, but I’m fine.” She eased out of his grasp and into the driver’s seat, proving her independence without a doubt. She may need help with a lot of things, but she didn’t need help getting home. Not from the Billion Dollar Man. “See you tomorrow.” Ellie waved, started the car and backed out of the space, leaving Quinn standing in the hot sun with his arms crossed over his chest and the most frustrated expression she’d ever seen on a man’s face.

After Ellie drove away, Quinn headed back to the set. He’d liked holding her and had wanted to keep her in his arms as long as possible. Just like last night when he’d picked her up from that wave, she felt solid. Strong. Toned muscle and soft skin… Shit, he didn’t have time to think about that now.

He double-timed it back to the track in the blazing heat on a mission. Seeing Gerhardt had made him as sick to his stomach as watching Ellie catch fire. Did that asshole really think talking to Mac alone would get him the company? Did he seriously think planting a mole at FRD years ago and stealing their rearview mirror design was going to make either Reynolds brother want to sell to him?

Obviously that last question was stupid since Mac really wanted to stick it to Gerhardt by shooting for an outrageous price. Two billion dollars was pretty fucking outrageous, but no amount would make Quinn happy if it meant Gerhardt got the company.

When he reached the craft service tent, there was no sign of anyone. Not Mac, Gerhardt or Hank. Shit. He just couldn’t win. Not today. He headed to Mac’s trailer and pounded on the door. At his brother’s summons he climbed up the steps. Cool air hit him in a refreshing blast as he opened the door.

“Before you get in my face,” Mac said, holding up a defensive palm as he rose from the sofa and headed toward the small kitchen, “you should know that I didn’t say yes or no to Gerhardt. He came this far and I think it’s only fair to make him sweat it out.”

Quinn closed the door, and the heat, behind him. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve ruled out selling to him,” he said.

Spreading his arms, Mac was incredulous. “Two billion dollars is a lot of money, Quinn. And it’ll put Gerhardt in a serious financial stretch. Wouldn’t it make you happy to know he might lose everything if the smallest thing goes wrong? Don’t you see any sweet justice if he pays us all that money only to lose everything in the end?”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about the company like this.” When the hell had they both changed so much? “The sweet justice is not giving him what he wants in the first place. We owe our employees more than selling to Gerhardt. It’s selling out on everyone at FRD. I can’t do it, Mac. I won’t do it. Where’d the asshole go anyway?”

“He had another appointment. And Hank went back to the hotel so he could check up on production. He told me you’ve only checked in once since you’ve been here. You need to stay more on top of it, Quinn.”

“What’s wrong with letting our employees do their jobs? Just because you don’t trust me doesn’t mean I don’t trust them. If there were a problem, I would’ve heard about it.” Quinn rubbed his neck, frustration eating at him. “You won’t give it a rest.”

“It’s about being in charge.” Something big brother couldn’t seem to let go of. “You want a sandwich or anything?” Mac opened the fridge door. “Look, we don’t have to sell to Gerhardt. Besides, I thought we agreed to keep the business longer. Until the stock goes up some more.” He grabbed a soda and popped the top.

Running a hand through his hair, Quinn snorted. “No, you said you wanted to hold on to it, I said it’s time to cut loose.” Quinn faced his brother. “This is the best time to get out. Who knows how long it will be before another company invents a design that will take the industry another mile faster per hour. We have to strike now. The new engine is going to change the industry and we’ve got the patent. Our buyer will know this. We can get big money for the company now, Mac. It’s stupid to wait.”

“Not if this is going to ‘change the industry,’” Mac said as if Quinn was some freakin’ idiot with a second-grade mentality. “We’ll make a killing holding onto the patent.”

“Fine then.” Quinn took another tactic he’d tried before. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leveled Mac with a hard stare. “Are you going to come back and run things?”

Mac tipped his head to the side. “I hadn’t really planned—”

“You hadn’t planned on it, right. Okay fine. I don’t plan on staying to run it, Mac, so you tell me what you want to do.” The seconds ticked by and silence stretched out. The hesitation in Mac’s eyes could’ve meant a couple of different things. Quinn didn’t dare take a guess.

“Just stick it out for a couple more years and—”

“Years!” Quinn stretched his arms wide. “Years! I’m wasting my life in a place I don’t want to live, with a job I hate, and you want me to give it another couple of years?” Quinn headed to the door, too furious to keep talking to his brother without punching him. “I’m done Mac. If you don’t agree to sell then you can ship your ass back to London and run the place.”

Mac stopped him with a hand around his arm. “Quinn, it can’t be that bad. You’ve done a great job. We both know it. You made the company what it is today in two years. I couldn’t do it in the eight years I was there.”

Turning, Quinn snatched his arm free. “You know it was Kurt Densmore.” Kurt Densmore, who had disappeared off the face of the earth. But he’d left behind a gold mine for Formula Racing Design and all the notes and technology that went along with it.

“But you hired him, Quinn. You saw the guy’s credentials and gave him the job and he did it under your watch. It’s your victory. Don’t you want to hang around to enjoy it? Watch how it shapes the industry, the sport?”

“I don’t know how to get it in your head. I don’t care about racing, or cars. Racing might have been Dad’s thing and your thing, but no one ever seemed to care that it isn’t
my
thing. I know this is hard for you to understand, Mac, and you just don’t get it. I’m not doing it anymore. I did my job. I went to school, I paid my dues, I ran your company, I—”

“Our company, Quinn. Dad left it to both of us.”

“Fine. Our company. Then you come back and run it because I’m through. You tell me when you’re ready to talk about selling, or be prepared to fly back to London in a week, because I’ve done my part. I’ve put up with your eight thousand phone calls a month checking on every little detail and I’m not doing it anymore. We’re going to decide this before I leave so you’d better find more than thirty seconds to fit me in your schedule.” Quinn shut the trailer door behind him. Probably a little harder than necessary, but he didn’t care. Maybe it would give Mac something to think about.

Quinn’s nerves were stretched to the limit. He was so uptight he wouldn’t have been surprised if his head came off his shoulders. The aggravation of Gerhardt showing his face pissed him off royally and he couldn’t seem to tamp down the anger bubbling to the surface.

His sister-in-law came around the corner of the trailer. Her unmistakable midnight-black hair gleamed in the sunlight. “Hey, Quinn, how’s Elle doing?” she asked. “I saw you walking her out…” Trace smiled. “Or should I say carrying her out?”

There was another subject that got his hackles up. Quinn exhaled a hard breath and kept control. He ignored Trace’s last comment. “She seems okay, but I’m not too convinced. I can’t believe these guys let her go without calling a doctor or EMT.”

“They seem to know what they’re doing,” Trace said. “We can call her later and see how she is.”

“Yeah. I plan to.” Before he did that, he had another stop to make. What the hell? He was pissed off enough. Why hold it all in? Quinn said goodbye to Trace and headed toward the track.

As the sun glinted off the lights set up for the next shot, he kept his eyes peeled for Ellie’s boss. How could he and the director let Ellie go without being checked out by a doctor? Did they care about her at all? He spotted the stunt coordinator, Mark, and headed in his direction. Tapped the guy’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Mark’s brows pulled together as he assessed Quinn. They stood eye to eye and Mark didn’t look any happier than Quinn felt. “Do I know you?” The edge in his voice dripped a warning.

But warnings had never scared him before. “Quinn Reynolds. I’m a friend of Elle’s. You got a sec?”

Mark huffed a breath and looked at the guys on his crew. “Be right back.” He walked next to Quinn and stopped not too far away from his buddies. “What’s up? I’ve got work to do.”

Quinn didn’t bother meeting his gaze. Instead he looked off into the empty grandstands. “Yeah, obviously. And apparently it’s more important than someone on your team.”

Standing taller, Mark took the words as the insult Quinn intended. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

This time, Quinn met his gaze. “I mean that Elle should’ve been checked out by a doctor. She plainly hurt her foot and you didn’t even look at it. You just—”

“Stop right there, pal.” Mark put a hand out, finger in the air. Quinn wanted to rip it off his hand. “How long have you known Elle?” he asked.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“How long have you known her? I’ve never seen you before this week, so how long have you known her?” Mark’s eyes spit fire.

“It shouldn’t matter how long I’ve known her because—”

“Bullshit,” Mark said. “I’ve known her eight years. I’ve seen her go through eight years of stunts and eight years of injuries. I’ve seen her work through the pain because she never knew when or where the next job was coming from and she needed the money. What she did today is no different than any of us—” he gestured to the guys behind him “—would’ve done. Elle is one of the toughest and smartest stuntwomen I’ve ever worked with. If she needed medical attention, she would’ve said so. I trust my crew to be honest with their assessment of their own bodies. We all deal with pain. We all deal with injuries. I don’t treat Elle any differently than I do the rest of my team and she knows that.” Mark’s lips curled up in a sneer. “Anything else?”

Fuck. Quinn wanted to deck him. Or someone. Frustration boiled from his gut, even more so because he couldn’t blame Mark. “No,” he said quietly, forcing down the rage. “Nothing else.” He stalked away. He had to respect the guy for treating Ellie like an equal and that pissed him off more. Or maybe he was angry because Mark knew Ellie better than he did. Goddammit, he’d just met her. Why did he feel like this? Maybe because he was just frickin’ jealous.

Why should that word come up? Why would he be jealous of the stunt coordinator? He’d never used the word regarding a woman. He’d been jealous of people who lived their own lives, people who didn’t have to account to anyone but the person staring back at them in the mirror. But to be jealous of a man’s relationship with a woman…

Too much had happened today and it all had Quinn off balance. He couldn’t stick around any longer…especially since he’d done all the talking with Mac he could stomach. Not to mention no chance of seeing Ellie. He headed to the limousine where Fido had set up a chair and was reading a book. Seeing Quinn coming in fast, Fido folded up his chair, shoved it in the trunk and hightailed it to open the backseat door.

“Where to, Mr. Reynolds?”

Good question. He had no idea. He really wanted to find Ellie, but he couldn’t follow her around like a stray mutt. “Back to the hotel,” he said, sliding into the seat. “I’m not sitting here the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

He still couldn’t get used to being called Mr. Reynolds and sir. “Fido, you gotta call me Quinn. My dad was Mr. Reynolds.”

“Gotcha.” Fido smiled, closed the door and went around to the driver’s side.

Of course, Mac was also “Mr. Reynolds.” Mac, who thought he could railroad Quinn one more time into living the life Mac had picked for him. Not this time. He’d give his brother the rest of the day and night to think about what he’d said before talking to him tomorrow.

One overturned semi and four frickin’ hours later, Quinn got to his room, keyed up and still pissed. He changed and headed to the hotel gym to work off the steam. Mac, Ellie, Gerhardt and traffic…everything had his head spinning.

Then it hit him. What if Ellie had been stuck in the same traffic? What if she hadn’t gotten ice on her foot or had it elevated for four long hours? Worry crept up where anger had been. Maybe he should check on her? Mark had said she was smart and would’ve admitted if the injury was serious. But that wasn’t good enough for Quinn. Not today. As the worry ate at his gut, he did more reps on the weights, more sit-ups on the incline bench. He pushed himself to the limit.

Back in his room, showered and freshly shaved, he couldn’t stand the uncertainty anymore. He picked up the phone, punched in Ellie’s number, but got rolled over to voice mail. Shit. He disconnected and called his driver. “Hey, Fido. It’s Quinn. Can you bring the car around in ten?”

“Sure. Are we headed someplace special?”

Damn straight they were.

Shifting on the sofa, Ellie repositioned the ice on her foot. She’d had it elevated and iced all day, nipping the swelling in the bud before her foot ballooned to zeppelin size. Her stomach grumbled for the tenth time. “I know, I know,” she said to the empty room and her rumbling tummy. “Ashley will be here in twenty minutes with dinner and I’ll feed you.” Her stomach growled again in response and she checked her watch. “C’mon, Ash.” She hadn’t eaten anything substantial since breakfast. Ashley had said she was going to the market on her way home today because the only thing in the fridge was her coveted Dr Peppers. God forbid they should ever run out of Dr Pepper.

Ellie had set herself up on the sofa facing the glass slider doors to the small courtyard of their apartment building. After a good cry and release of all the frustration of the day, she’d felt better. The peaceful view of swaying trees in the distance and the wonderfully cool apartment had relaxed her until she’d drifted into the kind of nap she normally only dreamed about. Then she’d dreamed of Quinn. Of being in his arms, of touching more than just those outrageous biceps. Kissing more than just his delicious lips.

Voices grew louder outside the door. Sounded as if Ashley had finally made it home. Their neighbor, Mr. Folsom, must have sidetracked her. At eighty-five, the man sat next to his front door and stopped anyone and everyone who passed by.

She counted the seconds until she heard the key in the door. If Ashley were already here then she hadn’t stopped off at the market, which meant food would have to wait a little longer. The door squeaked open. “Hey, Ash,” she said with a quick glance over her shoulder. A blinding afternoon sun glared out the door and she looked away. “Please tell me you picked up something. I’m so hungry I was about to start eating the sofa.”