Full Throttle (Fast Track) (5 page)

She was going to get kicked out of Milt’s, a dive if ever there was one? The thought almost made her laugh. “No, there will not be a repeat. I was just making a point.”

“We’ll take another round,” Rhett told him. “We just decided to get married.”

The bartender looked more than a little skeptical as he handed a napkin to Rhett, who swiped it over his damp face. “Huh. Well, good luck with that. Methinks you’re going to need it.”

Rhett laughed. “Probably. But she’s worth it.”

He was almost convincing. Shawn was suddenly amused at the absurdity of the whole situation. If she had to do something so insane, she might as well enjoy what she could get out of it.

“I won’t have sex with him until we’re married,” Shawn said. “And then not for seven more days. Isn’t he devoted?” She shared a grin with Rhett, thinking that the truth was way more ridiculous than the story she was spinning.

And she was definitely going to have sex with him and reap the benefits of this odd arrangement. After seven days. There was no way she was losing this bet. But after that? All bets were off and all beds were on.

“Very devoted. To her physical and mental well-being.” Rhett leaned closer to her, violating her personal space in a way that was territorial. “Sometimes I know what she needs even before she does.”

He was talking about sex again, clearly, and her nipples knew it. Damn it, how did he manage to do that so easily? She moistened her lips and tried not to pant in anticipation. They needed to get married soon because the seven-day grace period was going to be hell on her. So the sooner they got to it, the sooner she could be feeling his touch everywhere.

Which was the most ass-backwards logic she’d ever used in her entire life, but there it was.

“If you don’t mind my saying, I think y’all are fucked up,” the bartender said. “Relationships don’t work when you’re playing games.” Then he promptly walked away, clearly wanting out of their conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhett told her, nudging her knee with his. “I’ve always enjoyed Follow the Leader. That usually works for me. If I’m the leader.”

“You’re a very dirty boy, Rhett Ford. But didn’t your mother teach you that you can’t always get what you want? I think I’m the leader in this case.” They were playing games, definitely. But what difference did it make? It wasn’t going to be a real marriage, and they might as well enjoy the sexual tension strung out between them.

She was going to save the track and get some action.

After seven days.

If they were really doing this. Were they really doing this?

Her cheeks felt hot at the very idea.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats or demands,” he told her. “You are, in essence, the damsel in distress, and I’m rescuing you. You can’t be nagging me about my dragon-slaying techniques.”

That doused her libido quite effectively. “You’re no hero. You’re a hired mercenary, remember? I’m not in your debt, emotional or otherwise, when I’m paying you a hundred grand.”

His hand fell off her leg, and he sat back so quickly the air around her actually cooled. Despite her annoyance, she found herself regretting his retreat. Which meant it really was a good thing he had distanced himself. She couldn’t afford to want anything other than to save the track from being sold, and she needed to remember that.

“Let’s get one thing straight, or I’m not doing this,” he said, words slow and determined. “When we’re in public, I play the role of your legitimate husband, and yes, then I’m your mercenary. Your hired hand. But when we’re alone in your place, what happens between us has nothing to do with money and nothing to do with any of the legalities or any contract I signed. It’s strictly about what you and I both want. If you can’t keep the money out of the bedroom, then there’s no deal.”

Shawn sat stunned by his vehemence. She hadn’t meant that she would be tossing the payoff in his face every time he hit on her. In fact, that was the opposite of what she wanted. It would be profoundly awkward to be thinking about how much money she was paying him while he was between her thighs.

“I don’t want that either,” she assured him. “I agree entirely that
if
anything happens between us, we keep it totally separate from our business arrangement.” If she stopped to think about it, she would have to admit that doing that would be damn near impossible, but she just refused to think about it. There was too much at stake to worry too much about the finer points.

He gave a slow smile that made her wish his hand were still between her thighs. “Then we have a deal. Get over here and seal it with a kiss.”

Shawn gave a nervous laugh. Because she was going to do this. And because she wanted to do this. It was a smart business decision. It was a monstrously stupid personal one. But that basically summed up her life over the last decade—she could run a business, but she had no clue how to handle men.

Maybe that’s why Rhett was so damn appealing. She didn’t have to handle him. He wanted to handle her, and he gave step-by-step instructions on how to do it.

So she shifted her butt on her stool, inching forward, maneuvering between his open legs, her right hand gripping the bar top. Her lips parted in anticipation and she watched him as she leaned, watched the way he watched her, his stare never wavering, his eye contact so complete, so intense, it was instinctive to look away. But she didn’t. She forced herself to continue, even when she wanted to drop her gaze to her lap in confusion, view him under the demure protection of her eyelashes and a tilted head.

When she was close enough for him to reach for her without stretching, he did, putting the palm of his hand firmly on the back of her head and drawing her to him, with a commanding, but not harsh, pressure.

Then they were kissing. It wasn’t a kiss. It was kissing. It wasn’t tentative, or curious. The minute their mouths met, it was like they’d been there before many times, and both wanted more. Shawn had thought kissing was pleasant before, that it was a nice gesture of affection, or a precursor to the passion of sex. But never had she known that it could be this—a hot, wet explosion, an all-consuming tangle of tongues and desires, her breath ragged and desperate, his hand digging into the remains of her bun, yanking her hair harder with each passing second.

Just when she was reaching for him, wanting to slip her arms around his neck, wanting to snuggle in closer to brush her body against his, he seemed to sense her need and let her go so quickly she almost fell off her stool. Rhett stared at her, panting, his eyes hooded, expression unreadable. She stared back, unsure what to say, wanting to regain the upper hand, but feeling too confused, too aroused, to form a coherent sentence. She knew if she tried to speak, she wouldn’t be able to achieve the casual nonchalance she wanted to project. He would hear her nervousness.

Because he had made her nervous. Afraid that she might lose the bet. Afraid that she might lose even more than that before the six months of living with him was out.

What she really wanted to do was say something funny that would break the intimate spell between them, but she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, which further confused her.

She settled on, “What date are you free to get married?” It was businesslike, efficient, and her voice only wobbled a little on the last word. The
M
word. Her stomach flipped like a pancake. She had not been a girl who had fantasized much about her wedding, but she had assumed that she would at least
want
to get married, not be terrified.

But hearing herself ask him the question like she was an employer asking when a new employee could start work, she felt significantly better. She could handle this.

“We’ll get married this Friday, which gives your lawyer time to draw up the papers. Then we’ll have a party to celebrate on Valentine’s Day,” he told her. “It will make it seem like a romantic elopement, totally legit. And you can wear sexy red lingerie on our wedding night. I prefer garters and corsets.”

He never ceased to amaze her with his arrogance. Or the fact that he was right about the dates. Both made total sense. But if she agreed, she was feeding his ego. “Oh, really? I agree with the elopement nonsense. But you can forget the corset. I’m not trussing myself up like a Victoria’s Secret model for you, because I won’t be having sex with you.”

Rhett reached out and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. Shawn wanted to jerk away, but she didn’t want to look petulant. Besides, it was causing her to shiver in places she hadn’t even known she could shiver.

“We already placed that bet—you don’t need to reiterate it.” He shrugged. “I’ll buy you the lingerie and we’ll see who wins.”

Shawn calculated four days until the wedding and seven after it to be the victor. Holy hell. It was going to be the longest eleven days of her life.

She was screwed. Quite literally.

“ARE
you sure you want to do this?” Shawn’s lawyer asked him point blank in his stuffy office loaded down with mahogany furniture. Rhett didn’t like rooms like this—it was dark and oppressive and formal. It made him long for the acreage of his parents’ property, or the freedom of being behind the wheel on the track.

Clinton seemed like a nice enough sort of guy, and he was clearly concerned about Shawn’s well-being. It was obvious he wasn’t buying their sudden desire for marriage, when four days earlier Shawn had told him she wasn’t dating anyone.

“I’m sure,” Rhett told him confidently, just wanting to sign the paperwork and get the hell out of there.

He’d thought of virtually nothing else for the last seventy-two hours, and he hadn’t changed his mind. He needed the money, otherwise he was going to have to give up driving a car after this season. He knew that. He also knew that he and Shawn collectively could generate attention and media and create a buzz for the track this year, guaranteeing greater success for her and him both. At the end of the year they would both walk away with their dreams secured. It was win-win. Plus, he would have potentially months to explore a sexual relationship with Shawn. After that kiss the other night, there was no way he was going to deny himself that pleasure.

Clinton sighed. “Alright. I guess I can’t gainsay Shawn at this point. She’s technically doing exactly what her grandfather wanted her to do. I swear if he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself for doing this to her.”

It was nice to see that Shawn inspired such protectiveness. Rhett understood the feeling, and he’d spent very little time with her so far. They had only spoken briefly since her unexpected proposal the other night, and it had only been about managerial details, like when they would tell their families and when he would move in to her apartment. And where she actually lived so he knew where to move to.

“I think Shawn is going to be just fine. You don’t need to worry about a woman as savvy and strong as she is,” he told Clinton. He meant it. Any woman who was willing to go through with a fake marriage to keep her business was tenacious as hell.

“Just don’t run around on her and embarrass her,” Clinton said, giving Rhett the stink eye.

“I have no intention of running around on her.” He didn’t. If he was working up an appetite at home, he fully intended to eat there as well.

“Guess there’s nothing to do then but sign on the dotted line.” Clinton pointed to the bottom line of the contract Rhett had already skimmed and handed him a pen.

Rhett signed his name with a flourish. Rhett B. Ford. Done.

He shook Clinton’s hand and left the office, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself.

Then he called his brother Nolan. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You busy on Monday?” It was their day off from racing, usually their only one.

“Not particularly, though I was planning to sleep in. Why?”

“I need you to help me move.” Rhett crossed the parking lot and beeped his truck open, unable to prevent a grin. He enjoyed shocking his brother. There was just something really damn fun about it.

“What? Where the hell are you moving to? You just took that place over from me. God, are you moving back in with Mom and Dad? That’s lame.”

“No. I’m moving in with Shawn.” He was going to save the whole marriage thing until after the deed was done, but he did need to get the muscle lined up for moving day, or he was going to be trying to carry a couch by himself.

There was dead silence on the other end. Followed by, “What the fuck are you talking about? You just met Shawn like five minutes ago!”

“We met on Saturday, technically,” he said cheerfully.

“You’re kidding me right?”

“No. There’s just something about her. She blew me away.” She had. That wasn’t a lie.

“But you’re not impulsive. You don’t attach easily.”

“That’s just Mom’s opinion. I actually attach extremely easily.” Which might concern him if he stopped to think about it. He chose not to. “Just save your opinions and psychological analysis and show up on Monday, okay?”

“Does Mom know?”

“Not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her before Monday.”

“Jesus Christ, Rhett. She’s going to flip her fucking wig.”

“She can handle it. She handled nine kids. I’ll talk to you later. I have plans with Shawn in twenty minutes.” To get married.

Shawn was pacing in the courthouse hallway when he arrived, a gift bag in his hand, a ring box tucked in his coat pocket.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she blurted, then seemed to be annoyed with herself for admitting that. “Anyway, how did it go with Clinton? He e-mailed me last night that everything was in order with your background check.”

“Yep. We’re good to go.” He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. “For you.”

Her eyes widened. “You bought a ring? Holy crap, you didn’t have to do that! I figured we’d just get cheap bands from Walmart.”

“So I can look like a tightwad? Screw that.” If everyone thought it was legit, he didn’t want to look like an ass. Besides, when he had walked into that jewelry store, he had wanted to buy something delicate and beautiful for Shawn, something that went with the elegant grace of her long fingers and her fair skin.

There was something about Shawn’s features that intrigued him endlessly. She was strong and athletic clearly, yet parts of her, like her fingers, her lips, her tiny nose, were so profoundly feminine that he couldn’t look away when he was with her. It may be a fake marriage, but she should be wearing a beautiful ring to match her delicateness.

Yeah. This was him not attaching. Fuck.

But when she opened the box and let out a gasp, it was worth it.

“Oh, my God, this is stunning. It’s so pretty, Rhett.”

It was vintage-inspired, white gold, and narrow, the band crusted in diamonds, meant for the elegant hand of an elegant woman. The fact that Shawn was that and a former driver and current track owner and racing enthusiast, made her just about the perfect package.

Too bad none of it was real and he was essentially a warm body she’d hired.

“Let’s do this thing,” he told her, because he found himself doubting the intelligence of this move. He was starting to feel a brooding mood coming on, and that wasn’t going to look good in the wedding picture.

“I like your wedding jeans,” Shawn told him with a smile as her eyes swept over him, the ring box closed again in her hand.

“Thanks. I even washed them before I put them on.” He owned exactly one suit, and he felt like a gigantic ass wearing it, so he’d opted out. He had put on a button-up shirt, though truth be told, it was wrinkled. Hey. It was Friday and two in the afternoon. Who was there to give a shit?

“How thoughtful.”

“You look pretty,” he told her truthfully, though the minute he said it, he hated how lukewarm it sounded. So he added, “But I wouldn’t have objected to some cleavage.”

She was wearing a narrow skirt, tights, and boots, with a red sweater. It was kind of officelike, but it was February and a fake wedding, so he hadn’t expected her to pull out all the stops either. But it wasn’t exactly screaming “We’re in love, I’m so excited.”

Rolling her eyes, Shawn told him, “You should be looking at the doughnut, not the hole.”

Say what? Rhett got an erection instantly just thinking about her hole. “Do not say things like that in public. Seriously. I mean it.”

Her expression took on a mulish quality. “You can’t tell me what to say. It’s a free country.”

“It’s also illegal to have sex in a hallway, so unless you want me to shove you into the restroom and fuck you against the stall wall, I suggest you not talk about your hole or your creamy edges.” A man could only take so much. Surely she could understand that.

Her eyes widened. “Why do you have to be so gross about it?”

That made the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. Shawn was clearly deluding herself if she actually believed she thought it was crude. The truth was, she liked it when he was honest and straightforward about his lust. It was there in her body language, the way she leaned in toward him, the way her breath caught. The tightness of her nipples beneath her sweater.

“Your disgust isn’t even remotely convincing,” he told her. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be done with the ceremony and back at her place. He was convinced he could get her to let him inside her with just a little coaxing.

Her knuckles were white on the ring box. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

No. He really wasn’t.

Marrying Shawn might be akin to opening Pandora’s box. It might let out feelings, sexual and otherwise, that he wouldn’t be able to contain again.

“Are you getting cold feet?” he asked, because it bothered him more than he cared to admit that she might bail. “Runaway bride does make for an interesting end to our short-lived relationship. Met me to left me, all in one week.”

Her response was as predicted. Shawn bristled. “Of course I’m not bailing! The track means everything to me. Everything.”

“Then let’s go.” He took her hand firmly in his. “Repeat after me: I do. That’s all we need.”

Shawn looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. “I do. Don’t I?”

It almost made him laugh. He led her down the hallway and through the glass doors to the reception area to let the clerk know they were there. “Do you have the marriage license?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

Five minutes later they were married. It was easier than renewing his driver’s license. Easier even than getting a flu shot, and for the most part, less painful.

Rhett looked down at Shawn, gauging her mood as he leaned down to kiss her. She looked like she’d hit the wall at Talladega at one hundred and forty miles an hour. Stunned. But when he brushed his lips over hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him like a wet kitten.

It was a convincing embrace.

“You okay?” he murmured to her.

That snapped her out of her terrified fog. She said defiantly, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? This was my idea.”

“Excellent.” Rhett turned to the clerk. “Can you take our picture with my phone?” He wasn’t sure why it seemed important. It just seemed like someone would ask at some point if they had proof of the ceremony. Or maybe he just wanted a picture of them. He handed her his phone from his pocket and showed her the button to push.

“Sure. Say ‘wedding night!’”

Shawn dutifully repeated it as they smiled at the camera. But Rhett just held her hand, his finger brushing over the ring he’d slipped on her, and tried to smile. It wasn’t his strong suit. Repeating a cheesy phrase was definitely beyond him.

It was possibly the worst wedding picture ever. He was grimacing and Shawn looked like she was being held prisoner by a madman and forced to pretend otherwise.

Shawn gave a nervous laugh as she peered down at the screen on his phone. “Wow. I don’t think that will be our Christmas card next year.”

“Probably not.”

Shawn suddenly seemed to realize how far away Christmas was and that they would in fact be married nine months from now if she wanted to keep her business. Her entire face leached of color. For a horrifying second, he thought she might hit the floor. But she rallied. She thanked the clerk and tugged him by the hand, hard, into the hallway.

“So, you’re moving in on Monday?” she asked as they headed for the parking lot. “I’ll make sure I clear some space for you.” She dropped his hand like he was a disease carrier. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Even though he had known she was going to try to ditch him, he hadn’t expected her to look quite so eager to get rid of him. But while he understood her desire for space, it wasn’t going to prevent him from angling for her time, and body. They were both feeling unnerved by what they had just done—hell, they’d gotten married—but what better way was there to ease that tension than by spending the rest of the afternoon in bed together?

“I want to see you tonight. Say ‘wedding night,’” he said as they came to a stop next to her car, giving her a genuine smile.

“I was planning on meeting Eve and my other girlfriends for a drink, to tell them our wonderful news.”

Sarcasm wasn’t a good look for her. It suited Eve more so than Shawn.

“Oh, yeah? Where at?”

“That Mexican place on 150.” Then she got suspicious. “Why?”

“Just being polite, and trying not to be jealous of your friends,” he told her, striving for casual. She didn’t need to know that he was just as tenacious as she was. She didn’t know that he had no intention of letting her walk away that easily. He dropped the gift bag in her lap. “For you.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “My ring looks good on your finger,” he told her, then opened her car door for her. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Shawn frowned. Her mouth worked, like she was going to say something, but then stopped herself. “Okay. Have a good night.”

“I intend to.”

 • • • 

SHAWN
let Rhett slam her door shut as she turned the ignition to her car. Then he waved and walked away. Her husband. He walked away. Which was what she had wanted him to do, but now that he did, she suddenly felt discontent.

They had gone through with it. They’d gotten married, and she had a whole year to save the track from financial decay. A whole year to be married to Rhett Ford and have his green eyes boring into her on a daily basis.

She had to be totally and completely insane.

The ring on her finger felt foreign and monumental, a total Frodo moment, like it might change her forever. It wasn’t an epic
Lord of the Rings
journey, but it felt damn close enough to her. It was marriage and she had just defiled the institution by marrying for all the wrong reasons. The right reasons to her, but the wrong reasons in general.

She peeled back the tissue paper stuffed in the gift bag and promptly jammed it back in once she saw what was under it. Red lace. It was underwear of some kind, though she was choosing not to look too closely at the moment.

Her head hurt and she wanted a drink as big as her kitchen sink.