Full Throttle (9 page)

“We're shooting for six,” she said in response to Cheryl's question about loading, though she had no intention of leaving until much later. She only had an empty apartment to go home to, and she'd much rather work to keep her mind off Kane and his blond lunch companion or Richmond and its tire-shredding turns.

“Perfect,” Cheryl said. “I'll make nail appointments for six-thirty. Tamera is almost always booked, but she'll make time for us. Then we'll—”

“I'm not getting my nails done. I'm working.”

“After our nails are done, we'll move on to hair and makeup.” She pulled off Lexie's cap and dusted her fingers over her hair. “Definitely a better cut, and highlights are a must.”

Lexie crammed her hat back on her head. “I'm not—”

“
Then
we're going to dinner. Something light, I think. We don't want to be too full and feel logy. Then it's on to Neon.”

Lexie was so startled she forgot to argue about going at all. “Neon, as in the Charlotte nightclub, Neon?”

“That's the one.”

“I'm not driving into Charlotte tonight.”

“Of course not, silly. I hired a limo.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Cheryl ignored her and rolled on. “Clothes are going to be an issue, though. I guess we could swing by your house.”

Lexie opened her mouth to argue, but Cheryl kept going. “But then again, a new outfit would be better. What size are you?”

“An eight.”

Cheryl waved her hand. “Pish. You look more like a six to me—though who can tell in those baggy jeans. I'll call Alphonso at Nordstrom and have him pick something out.”

Lexie sank into her desk chair. “This isn't happening.”

“Yes, it is.” Cheryl leaned over the desk. “And don't act like you're about to be tortured. You're going to be
pampered
. Every normal woman
likes
to be pampered.”

“I'm not normal.”

“You're telling me. It's four-thirty now, so I'll come back to get you at six, and we can get started.”

“Cheryl, you're very sweet, really. But I don't have time for manicures and clubs. I have a race to prepare for.”

“I thought you said the car would be loaded by six.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you are the
car
chief, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I have other—”

Cheryl dusted her hands together and headed toward the door. “Sounds like your job's done for the day.” She waved as she walked out. “Six o'clock.”

She was gone a full thirty seconds before realization set in. She'd actually agreed to a girls' night out with Cheryl. She didn't have time to play dress-up. What would Cheryl do if she simply sneaked out?

She could always take her laptop home and run through the computer simulations there. One of her engineers could finish up in the garage, and her Mr. Big Ideas Father could supervise the loading.

By the time Cheryl figured out she was gone…

The door cracked open, and Cheryl stuck her head inside. “And don't even think about sneaking off.” She closed the door with a snap.

Well, hell.

T
HOUGH
L
EXIE PROTESTED
at every drop of polish, highlighter and lip gloss, she was ignored.

Used to giving commands, she was rendered speechless several times when her orders not only weren't followed, but people talked over and around her as if she wasn't even there. Nobody would tell her what they were doing to her at any particular moment. And, worst of all, she wasn't allowed a mirror.

She could have pink hair with purple highlights for all she knew.

Or maybe, she wondered with a giggle—they'd plied her with champagne, too—she could have red hair with flaming yellow streaks. Then she'd match the stock car.

So maybe the coddling and attention hadn't been all bad. The hand massage was pretty nice, as was the warm, sweet-smelling cream they'd put on her face. And if she had pink hair, she could just stuff it up in her team cap. It's not as if anyone would notice.

Would Kane really halt in his tracks the way the guys in the garage did for Cheryl?

Nope. Not a chance.

“All done,” her makeup consultant said, standing back to observe her.

Lexie's gaze flicked to the mirror, which was covered up with a big white sheet. She felt like one of the TV fashion victims just before their big “reveal.” “Do I get to see now?”

“After you get dressed,” Cheryl said, walking up with that stubborn look Lexie had gotten way too used to over the past few hours.

“How do I know my hair isn't pink?” she asked, rising reluctantly.

“Pull a strand over and look at it.”

Pampering definitely made the brain fuzzy. She did as Cheryl suggested, then frowned. “It looks the same.” Though maybe a bit lighter.

“It's not,” Cheryl said as she led her to the dressing room. “Poncho off, dress on. We need to get going.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“At
night?
”

Cheryl simply rolled her eyes and shut the door.

“I need to go to bed, not go out,” Lexie shouted. “I have to qualify in less than two days, you know.”

“Kane and the car have to qualify. You just have to squawk on the radio.”

“I don't squawk!”

“Get dressed already.”

Fine. One drink. She was having
one drink
at this club, then she was going home. They'd already done nails, hair, makeup and champagne. They'd even already had dinner, since Alphonso from Nordstrom had brought along Caesar salads when he delivered the dress—all part of the service, apparently, when you were a power shopper like Cheryl.

Lexie didn't even want to think about what all this was costing her. Cheryl had demanded her credit card early on, and she'd signed the receipts without even looking at the totals.

Hey, she could just bill her father for the whole thing. This was all his idea, after all.

With that cheerful thought spurring her, she slipped into the stylish little black dress—LBD according to Cheryl—and couldn't help but sigh as the silk lining caressed her body.

Okay, so the hand massage, the face stuff
and
the dress were all pretty cool.

Her thoughts flew back to the sponsor party at Bristol. The night she'd worn the ill-fitting green dress. Maybe she hadn't stopped Kane in his tracks, but the other men had certainly noticed her, even without the professional help Cheryl so obviously thought she needed.

She'd spent so much of her life focusing on using her brain power, she didn't put much stock in the fleeting thrill of appearances. But she couldn't deny how much she'd enjoyed throwing her team off balance and the flirty light in Victor Sono's eyes. There were men out there who'd appreciate her.

Why did she have to want the wrong one?

When she walked out of the dressing room, four pairs of eyes widened and four mouths fell open.

She lifted her hand self-consciously to her hair. “What?”

Her glam squad exchanged grins, then Cheryl grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the salon, where she faced a full-length mirror.

The woman staring back did not have pink hair. In fact, the color was largely unchanged except for a few subtle highlights. But the strands had been cut into a stylish, layered look that flattered her face much better than the walk-in cut she usually got at the shop next to her dry cleaner's.

The eye makeup and lipstick was also subtle and flattering, not the flashy, sparkling shades of pink Cheryl sported—which worked for her, but would make Lexie feel ridiculous.

The dress, however, had some va-va-voom, showing off her slight curves and toned legs. She resisted the urge to tug at the hem, but decided there was definitely something to leaving the dressing up to the professionals, instead of relying on her own, inept efforts.

“Much better than jeans and a T-shirt?”

“Or,” Alphonso added, “one of those awful mechanic's jumpsuits. You don't really wear those, do you?”

Not often.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes. Her job was to take care of the driver, the crew and the car, not take care of herself. She was touched that someone recognized her stress level had been too high. “You guys were really great. I know I was kind of a pain, but…thanks.”

Cheryl hugged her. “You're welcome.”

“Everybody needs a little pampering, doll,” Alphonso said.

Relationships outside racing were rare for Lexie, and she promised herself she'd cultivate these new ones she'd made.

In the spirit of new friendships, she and Cheryl invited the stylists along to the club, where they were shown to a reserved, black-draped room with purple lights emanating from the ceiling that reminded her of a sultan's tent. As they sank into leather armchairs in metallic silver, blue and purple, Lexie bought the first round of drinks.

Their semiprivate room did nothing to discourage most of the male population from coming by to flirt with Cheryl. A few of them even focused on Lexie. She managed to forget about the race, the car setup and even Kane.

Until he called.

“Where are you?” he shouted over the blaring music.

“Neon,” she shouted back.

“What the devil are you doing there?”

“Having fun.” She thought she heard him cuss, but she couldn't be sure over the laughter, loud conversations and pounding bass surrounding her. “Did you need something?”

“No, not real—”

Cheryl snatched the phone from her grasp. “She'll have to call you back. She's busy.” Then she flipped the phone closed. “You're off duty, remember?”

“But it was—”

“Even to Kane. In fact,
especially
to Kane.”

Remembering her earlier conversation with her father, Lexie nodded. She was supposed to be directing her efforts at finding an accountant.

“You're right,” she said to Cheryl.

“Sure I am.”

“I'm entitled to my private time.”

“Yes, you are.”

Still, she cast a longing look at the phone lying on the small table between them.

“Don't even think about it,” Cheryl said.

Lexie scooted her chair back a bit. It was sort of like detox, she supposed. She toasted Cheryl with her wineglass and firmly pushed Kane from her mind.

 

I
T WAS THE SECOND TIME
in as many weeks that Kane had found her surrounded by men. Not mechanics, drivers or engineers, but men interested in her legs, her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

Even as his tongue threatened to flop on the floor, the scene before him made him want to put his fist through the nearest wall.

He had no right to his jealousy, but that didn't stop him from selfishly wondering whether she'd even thought for a second about his “one-night” proposition. He at least deserved consideration, didn't he?

You had your chance, man. You blew it, remember?

And if he wanted another chance, it looked as though he'd have to wade through, then fight off, the grinning lechers surrounding her like sharks after a particularly luscious bit of bait.

She nearly dropped her wineglass when she saw him.
“Kane?”

He forced a smile. “Mind if I join you?”

The four guys around her—plus a couple of the ones around Cheryl—all eyed him suspiciously.

Until one of them recognized him.

“Kane Jackson, the race car driver?”

Ah, just what I was counting on.
“Yep.”

“Hey, man, great race last week.”

Kane rocked back on his heels and decided not to knock the guy's teeth out for staring at Lexie's cleavage. Just where she'd gotten that formfitting black dress, he had no idea, but he knew he wanted to rip it off her.

Slowly. And when they were very much alone.

He'd been offered a beer, met the astute style guy who'd decided to help Lexie show off her legs, signed several autographs and was halfway through a recitation of his win at Bristol when he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.

“Can I talk to you?” Lexie asked loudly.

He looked over his shoulder at her and—again—nearly swallowed his tongue. Why in the world was she determined to wear dresses all of a sudden? She was tempting enough in her baggy jeans and racing uniform.

And that was saying something, especially since he'd been presented with some equally impressive legs and cleavage earlier that day and hadn't been tempted in the least.

James wouldn't be happy to realize his ambush lunch date had done exactly the opposite of getting Lexie off his mind. Instead, he found himself comparing the other woman to his car chief.

Lexie won before the contest even got under way.

He couldn't see anybody but her. He didn't want anybody but her.

“Sure,” he managed to say finally. He patted the arm of the blue metallic chair where he was sitting. If he could get her close enough, maybe his heart would jump back into his chest.

She pursed her lips. “Privately.”

Though his pulse skipped a beat, he cast a quick, casual glance at the guys. He followed her out of the alcove and noted the hostile glare he got from Cheryl.

He realized he'd horned in on girls' night out, but he couldn't stay away after talking to Lexie on the phone. Neon was a notorious pickup spot—he should know; he'd picked up and been picked up there many times. Even beyond his own, selfish reasons for not wanting her at a bar like this, he didn't want her facing these guys alone. She was used to dealing with men professionally. She probably didn't even realize that most guys were not thinking about carburetors and aerodynamic packages when she was around. She was remarkably unaware of her feminine appeal.

And while he acknowledged he wanted her for himself, he could separate his needs as a man from his concern as a friend and team member. His gas-pedal-to-the-floor trip to the club stemmed from a need to protect her. Like a brother would.

Watching her cute butt sway ahead of him, he wiped sweat from his brow. Okay, maybe not like a brother. Like a friend. A close, concerned friend.

Liar.

Your blood isn't boiling over for
your friend
Lexie.

He wasn't walking close behind her, hoping to catch a waft of her perfume because he was worried about her as a friend.

It was Bristol all over again. Watching Victor Sono drool over her. Watching members of their crew stare at her with their mouths open.

And it wasn't as if his anger and jealousy at Bristol had been all bad. He'd channeled it into a win.

“Go home, Kane,” she said when they reached the sidewalk in front of the club.

“No.”

“This is
my
night out. You weren't invited.”

“I don't think everybody else feels that way.”

“You used those fans to get to me.”

For the first time he realized she was angry. Really angry. And disappointed. “I was worried,” he said, feeling his own temper rise. His intentions for coming to the club might not have been completely pure, but he also knew that she and Cheryl needed someone to look out for them.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, please.”

“You're with Cheryl.”

“So?”

“She's a man magnet.”

“Oh, I get it. If it was just me—plain ol' dependable Lexie out at a club, that would be no problem. But the hot-bod blonde attracts too much attention.”

“That's not what I—”