One in a Million (4 page)

J
EN DIDN'T MISS THE WAY
Eli's smile turned devilish. All her danger sensors went on red alert. “No way do you get to kiss me.”

“Look around,” he invited, “and you'll see that going over the wall with a NASCAR driver is like making out at the movies.”

She didn't believe that for one second. Until a glance to either side confirmed that women were puckering up all along pit road. The driver of the red-and-white car next to Eli's was locked in a passionate embrace with his wife.

“It's a NASCAR tradition,” Eli said. “I can't race without the kiss.”

“It's not part of our deal,” she argued.

“The deal was, you would pose as my girlfriend. Girlfriends kiss their boyfriends.” He eyed her mouth. “I'll keep it brief, Scout's honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” she said with complete certainty.

He grinned. “Only because I moved around too much.”

“You were expelled, more like it,” she muttered. “For conning the Girl Scouts into kissing you.”

Now he was laughing again. “Are we good for this, chickadee?”

Any more protest and she risked revealing just how much Eli disturbed her. He probably knew that already, but she didn't have to lose all dignity.

“Fine,” she said stoically. “Go ahead.”

Which made him laugh harder.

Then his hands went to her waist, anchoring her. “Ready, chickadee?”

No.
Her breath came in short bursts. “Would you stop calling me that ridiculous—”

His lips met hers.

The kiss was as circumspect as she could want. But beneath the firmness of Eli's lips was a softness that teased. Taunted. Tantalized.

Jen's lips molded to his. Around them, the air hummed, a force-field of attraction. Eli's thumbs caressed the sides of her waist, and she made a little noise against his mouth. He captured the sound, echoed it, adjusted the angle of their bodies so that somehow they were closer together.

When he pulled away, Jen had to pour every ounce of effort into not letting her knees sag.

Eli ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still on her mouth. “Thanks, Jen.”

He sounded dazed, as if that kiss had floored him.

If she let herself believe that, next thing she'd be putting out milk and cookies for Santa. The truth, she told herself ruthlessly, was that Eli had kissed dozens, hundreds of women. This couldn't have been special.

Whereas for her…

Somewhere deep inside her, there'd been a seismic shift.

Exactly what she'd feared,
known,
would happen with a man like him. He would forget the kiss by the time he started his engine. She would be haunted by it.

Eli touched her cheek. “Enjoy the race, chickadee.” His tone was light as he turned to accept his helmet from one of the team, confirming that whatever she'd imagined about the kiss having an impact on him, she'd been wrong.

This whole day has been wrong.

“I quit,” she blurted.

He paused, helmet in hand. “What?”

She made sure the team couldn't overhear before she continued. “I can't be your girlfriend anymore.” The urge to make that clear was overpowering. She just wasn't sure if it was he who needed to know, or if she was warning herself. “I should get back to work where I belong.”

His whole body went taut. “You agreed to watch the race here in the pits. Gil told me he's looking forward to introducing you to your first NASCAR race.”

Gil had said that? Jen dismissed the small shock of pleasure. “You can't back out now,” Eli continued. “Bob wants you to help me. That means seeing this thing through to the checkered flag.”

Oh, yeah, play the Bob card. She shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. “Fine, I'll watch the race,” she said. “But that's all. No more girlfriend stuff. You can't…afterward…don't touch me again.”

 

M
ORE THAN FOUR HUNDRED
laps into the race, Eli was still riled by Jen's bizarre reaction to that kiss. Okay, so there'd been a sizzle that wasn't appropriate to a pretend relationship…big deal! He hadn't intended it, nor had she. It was just one of those man-woman chemistry things that sprang up fast and was as easily forgotten.

At least, he would have forgotten it by now if Jen hadn't acted so weird. Quitting on him!

“Trouble ahead, stay low,” his spotter said into his earpiece.

Eli saw the tangle of cars up against the wall. He dived, just managing to dodge Ben Edmonds, running a lap behind. Edmonds was embroiled in a nightmare season; he hadn't had a win in years. He'd been married to his wife
forever—Eli wondered if Gil had noticed that Edmonds wasn't exactly proof that a stable relationship was good for a guy's racing. Eli couldn't imagine being with the same woman day after day after day. No wonder rumor had it that the Edmonds' rock-solid marriage was crumbling under the pressure.

He thought again about Jen, about that chaste kiss that had packed so much punch.
Novelty value,
he told himself. If he did it again, it would bore him to tears.

So it didn't matter that she'd quit her girlfriend act early. Sure, she was pretty, but she wasn't the sort of woman who normally caught his attention. He would have no trouble refraining from kissing her after the race.

“Will Branch ahead,” the spotter said. Almost without thinking, Eli zipped past on the high-banked Turn Two.

“Nice,” Kevin, his crew chief, said over the headphones.

The word reminded Eli of Jen. She was a
nice
girl. Another good reason not to date her.
Nice girls are too much hard work.
Hadn't he spent most of the day entertaining her, aware that for her simply being in his presence didn't constitute a great time? He'd enjoyed himself, surprisingly so, but now, just thinking about how much hard work she'd been made him tired.

Or it would, once he got done with this race. This particular minute, adrenaline was pumping through him, leaving him supercharged.

Ahead of him, a white flag waved. Hell, he was on the last lap, and he had no idea what position he was. Eli hauled his focus into line and thumped the gas pedal to the floor for the last half-mile. In the closing seconds, he stole a pass on Rafael O'Bryan. His teammate wouldn't appreciate it, but Eli needed every point he could get.

“Sixth!” Kevin yelled as Eli swept past the checkered flag right behind Kent Grosso. “Great drive, man.”

Eli felt no resentment toward the five drivers who'd beaten him. Hell, no. After the past few weeks, sixth place was a miracle.

He loosened his grip on the steering wheel a fraction as he headed all the way around the track to his frontstretch pit stall. As he puttered down pit road, he saw the Rev Energy Drinks sign waving; he pulled in.

Eli dropped his safety net and climbed out through the window opening.

Kevin grabbed him for a man-hug. “Congratulations, you were on fire out there.”

“Thanks.” Eli accepted the handshakes and pats on the back of his over-the-wall team, and thanked them individually for their contribution to today's result. His legs, still shaky after the grueling drive, were rapidly regaining their steadiness. He climbed over the wall, heading for Quinn and Gil—big smiles on both their faces—and Jen.

With her face alight with excitement, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink, she looked prettier than he remembered. It seemed as natural as breathing to kiss her. Then Eli remembered. Out of bounds.
My
ex-
girlfriend.

He halted in his tracks, shocked at how cheated he felt.

“
That
was more like it,” Gil said with satisfaction as he pumped Eli's hand.

“You had true star quality out there,” Quinn added. Eli couldn't remember the guy ever saying anything so effusive. He tried to savor the moment, but a metallic taste in his mouth distracted him.

“Enjoy your first NASCAR race?” he asked Jen.

“Incredible.” The word was a breath, a whisper that riffed across his senses.

“Enjoy?” Quinn's hoot was teasing, but friendly. “She went nuts, yelled her head off.”

“Her enthusiasm made the race more fun for all of us,” Gil said indulgently.

“I admit, it was spectacular.” Jen's cheeks turned pinker and she said with reluctant honesty, “
You
were spectacular.”

Damn, Eli wondered if he could have got away with kissing her after all. Then she dropped her gaze and he reminded himself it didn't matter. Their arrangement had always been temporary. There would be other girls. Women he could kiss without it being a big damn deal.

He turned his back on her. “I owe Kevin and the guys a drink,” he told Gil. “They did a great job with that car.”

Gil chuckled. “I don't let you blame the team when something goes wrong, so you're allowed to take the credit when it all pans out.”

Eli wanted to ask,
Does this mean you won't fire me?

“There's one other person who deserves some kudos,” Gil said. “Seems young Jennifer played a big part in keeping you calm.”

“I was listening in on your frequency. I've never heard you so quiet during a race,” Quinn agreed.

Eli was a favorite of the fans who hired headsets to listen to the driver-crew chief communications because he talked more—a lot more—during the race than many other drivers. Kevin and Gil often suggested that if he shut up he might drive faster.

Had he been quieter today? Yeah. But not because Jen had magical calming properties. Because he'd been brooding about her unreasonable reaction to that kiss.

“I hope we'll see you in Atlanta,” Gil said to Jen.

“Um…” She cast a beseeching look at Eli.

Hell, why hadn't he foreseen this complication? It should
have occurred to him his fake girlfriend and his boss would get along like a house on fire—he'd even accused her of being related to Gil!

“Jen won't—can't make Atlanta.” He stumbled over the words.

Gil frowned. “Richmond, then. I suggest you hold on to this one, Eli. She's a keeper.”

His tone was light, but the message wasn't. Gil liked Jennifer. Despite today's result, making the Chase for the NASCAR Sprint Cup was still a long shot. Would having Jen as his girlfriend help Eli keep his ride, even if he didn't make the Chase?

She quit, remember?

Jen fiddled with the lanyard that held her track pass. “Eli, I need to leave.”

One more minute and she would walk away.

He had to make her stay.

A reporter approached, wanting to talk about the race.

“Don't go,” Eli told Jen. “We need to talk.”

He was certain he could convince her. She'd enjoyed his company as much as he'd enjoyed hers—yeah, okay, he might as well admit it.

As he answered the journalist's questions, he was aware of her shaking hands with Quinn, accepting Gil's kiss on the cheek. He willed her to wait.

At last the interview ended.

Eli turned back to Jen.

She was gone.

F
REE RANGE CHICKENS
might be happier and ultimately tastier than their cage-reared cousins, but raising them involved stepping in a lot of poop.

Jen sighed as she scraped the sole of one rubber boot against the bottom rung of the gate, dislodging the muck. This morning, everything was getting on her nerves.

After yesterday's race, life felt flat.

The farm, usually a haven of tranquility, seemed silent as a convent. And about as exciting.

Was it possible to miss the roar of forty-three engines? The smell of oil and rubber and gasoline? Or was it just a certain green-eyed driver with a lazy drawl whose absence she felt so keenly?

Jen realized she was touching her lips, and whipped her hand away.

I'm tired, is all.
It wasn't yet seven-thirty and she'd stumbled out into the crisp morning air without benefit of coffee.

“Shoo, go on.” She flapped her arms at a couple of hens taking their time about heading into the grassy area where they would spend most of the day. One of the birds flapped back, then skittered sideways in the right direction.

When they were all pecking excitedly at the grass as if they hadn't just pecked at the very same blades yesterday, she closed the gate.

And felt an alarming sense of kinship with those chickens.

Sure, they were certified free range. They could run around outside to their hearts' content. So long as they didn't want to go beyond the fence.

Tonight, they would be ushered back into the coop, and shut up until morning. And when they reached a respectable weight…

Jen didn't like to think about their fate.

Besides, any comparison with her own life stopped far short of the dinner table. So what if she occasionally felt trapped within the confines of her existence?

“I didn't feel like that before yesterday,” she said out loud. The chickens ignored her. “And I don't feel like that now,” she added, sounding defiant to her own ears.

No response from the birds. They obviously didn't know a lie when they heard it.

Truth was, Jen had been feeling out of sorts for a while. As if something was missing from her life.
I need to get back into my college studies.

“I have plans,” she told the chickens grandly. “I won't always be mucking out your coop.”

One of the hens made a sound suspiciously like a cackle.

“You won't be laughing in a few weeks' time,” she warned. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I'm sorry, that was just plain mean.”

“Nice to see you're as blunt with those birds as you are with me,” said a voice behind her.

Eli!

Jen spun around. And absorbed the full impact of the NASCAR-driver-at-play package. A plaid shirt open over a faded navy blue T-shirt, worn jeans that hugged his hips.
Work boots that had somehow avoided any trace of poultry droppings.

She put a hand to her thudding heart. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me?”

He snickered. “If you hadn't been chatting with the chickens, you might have heard me coming.”

“I wasn't chatting…” She gave up the argument in the face of overwhelming evidence. “Weren't you flying back to Charlotte last night?”

“I told the guys to go without me. I'll take a commercial flight this morning.” He held the gate open for her with a flourish, as if he was ushering her into an opera house. Or some other place she'd likely never go.

Jen was horribly conscious of her unbrushed hair, and skin that hadn't seen moisturizer yet. Not to mention her ratty sweatshirt and frayed cutoffs….

“How did you get here?” she asked, hoping to distract Eli from the visual inspection he was now making.

“Rental car.” His gaze reached her pink rubber boots; one eyebrow quirked. “I parked out front. Didn't see any sign of life, so thought I'd take a walk before I started waking people up.”

“Granddad's awake, but his arthritis means he takes a while to get going,” she said. “I do the early chores, starting with turning the chickens out into the yard.”

Eli followed her toward the barn. “What happens now, chickadee?” He stopped, struck by a thought. “To think, I had no idea how appropriate that nickname is.”

She glowered at him. “What happens now is I escort you to your car and point you toward the airport.” She wasn't about to tell him it was time to muck out the shed. That would really set the seal on her glamorous existence.

Ignoring her hint, he set himself on course toward the house. As she finger-combed her hair, she tried to view
the place through his eyes—a small, single-story dwelling sitting squat in the middle of a flat lawn, with a sag in the back porch to match the fences.

“Stop!” she ordered.

To her surprise, he obeyed. “What's up?”

She could hardly admit that if he took his gorgeous self one step closer to her everyday life, the contrast might make her explode from dissatisfaction.

She knotted her fingers. “Why are you here?”

He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, managing to look relaxed and powerful in the same moment. “I want you back.”

Jen's brain scrambled, much like the eggs she planned to eat for breakfast. “You want…what?”

“You dumped me,” he said, “and now I want you back. I have to admit, chickadee—” one corner of his mouth kicked up “—this is unfamiliar territory for me.”

Jen reined in her unruly thoughts, already charging down the road of he-really-likes-me. “But our arrangement was just for the race at Bristol. Why would you want…what you said?” It sounded too absurd to repeat.

He ran a hand over his chin; he hadn't shaved this morning and he looked…rugged. Real. Nothing like an unreliable, sex-symbol, out-of-her-reach race car driver.

She hoisted herself up onto the wooden fence, needing to take the weight off her suddenly weakened legs.

“I don't want to show up at my next race and have to confess to Gil that we broke up,” he said. “You did such a great job yesterday, he'll be on my case for letting you go.”

She tugged her cutoffs down where they'd ridden high up her thighs.

Eli's glance flicked over her. “You have great legs.”

To her irritation, he sounded surprised.

“You think admiring my legs will make me fall into your arms?” she demanded.

He rubbed his chin again, and she imagined the sensuous roughness of stubble. “Chickadee, you seem somewhat preoccupied with my ability to make women fall at my feet, into my arms, wherever. The simple fact is, I didn't get to see your legs yesterday, and now I'm noticing they are very nice.” He spread his hands as if to say, is that a crime?

“Stay on topic,” she said. “Surely yesterday's race proved to Gil that you can focus on your driving.”

“You'd think.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Unfortunately it wasn't enough. If I don't make the Chase—you know what that is, right?”

She nodded. “Quinn told me.”

“Did he also tell you Rev Energy Drinks will pull its sponsor dollars and Gil's threatened to fire me?”

“I—no! That's awful.”

“I plan to make the Chase,” Eli assured her. “But it won't be easy and it's not all up to me.”

“Gil didn't seem unreasonable,” Jen said, uncertain.

“He's not. Mostly. But if he's seriously ticked off, he might fire me anyway, even if another driver takes me out, no fault of mine.” Eli put his hands either side of her on the fence rail. His mouth was almost level with hers.

She diverted her gaze over his shoulder.

“Gil's less likely to sack me if he thinks I'm doing things his way,” Eli said. “If you and I keep up our act through to at least Richmond…”

Jen snapped her eyes back to him. “That's weeks away!”

He nodded. His expression was neutral, but she discerned tension in his grip on the fence. One thing she'd learned yesterday was that NASCAR drivers faced intense pressure. A wave of sympathy washed over her.

“Surely Gil knows,” she suggested, “those lightning-
quick reactions you have on the track are the flipside of your distractibility.” She'd been amazed how Eli could seize an opportunity almost before his rivals knew it existed.

“I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning.

“And the way you kept changing strategy on the fly, all through the race. That's part of the same quality.”

“For someone who never watched a NASCAR race before, you picked up a lot,” he said.

“I guess I picked up enough to respect what you do,” she admitted.

His eyes widened in feigned shock. “You mean, you accept that driving a stock car is a real job?”

She waggled her hand to signify
maybe,
since he didn't need any more adulation in his life. “I'm not saying it's in the same league as plumber, or cop…”

“Or chicken farmer?” he suggested.

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully as she pretended to assess him. Her scrutiny swiftly deteriorated into outright ogling of the planes of his face, his broad shoulders, the muscled physique that made him the perfect poster boy for Rev Energy Drinks. Jen drew a pleasurable breath, aware that something—the morning sun?—was going dangerously to her head. “I'm not sure you'd make it as a chicken farmer.”

That piece of nonsense somehow warmed Eli's gaze. “Cruel,” he murmured. Then, before she could figure what he was up to, his hands went to her waist and he swung her off the fence in one smooth movement.

“Put me down!” she squawked.

He planted her in front of him, still holding her. “I like you, Jen,” he said. “You're good company. I get that you don't want to date a guy like me for real…”

Darn it, she couldn't stop staring at his lips. The only
consolation was he seemed to have a similar fixation with hers.

“But I'd sure appreciate it,” he said huskily, “if you'd come back to me.”

He liked her. Eli Ward had said he liked her! What if, although they'd started off pretending at romance, he really did think that kiss was special, after all? What if, beneath the NASCAR glitz, he was just an ordinary guy—no, he could never be ordinary. But what if he was a guy with a problem, just like everyone had problems? And she could help?

“What about my job, and Granddad?” she prevaricated, aware her motives weren't entirely altruistic. The tedium of this morning's routine had made one thing startlingly clear; she
wanted
to spend time with Eli.

“I'll pay someone to help your grandfather when you're not here. I can talk to Bob about your work.” He released her waist, and she missed his touch immediately. “Anyone else I need to convince?” he asked. “Your parents?”

She shook her head. “My parents are dead.”

“Jen, I'm sorry.” He touched a knuckle to her cheek, and she wanted to lean into his hand.

“It was a long time ago. I was only a year old, I don't even remember them.” Which was just one of the many things she hadn't forgiven her parents for.

“So your grandfather raised you?”

“He and Nan,” she agreed. “Since Nan died, it's been just me and Granddad.”

“And the chickens,” Eli reminded her.

She smiled. “And the chickens.”

He kicked at a fence post. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your folks?”

She appreciated his interest. “My dad was an ornithologist—rare birds. He was on a two-year expedition, me and
my mom in tow, to find a bird everyone else thought was extinct. We were caught up in flooding in Indonesia.”

“You were there when your parents died?” he asked, shocked.

“I was too young to know anything about it. But, yeah, I was one of those miracle survival stories. My parents left me with the wife of their native guide, along with all our passports and papers. My reunion with Nan and Granddad made headlines around the world.” More than enough fame for her. She bit her lip.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“Me, too.” She couldn't help the grimness in her voice. “If my parents hadn't been so caught up in the legend of that bird…”

Eli touched her hand. “Accidents happen.”

“When people do stupid things,” she finished automatically. Her grandparents had drummed that into her over the years.

He frowned. “I was going to say, accidents happen to anyone, anytime.” The sweep of his arm encompassed the barn and the yard. “You could slip over on some chicken sh-stuff and break your neck.”

“Unlikely,” she scoffed. “If my parents had stayed at home and taken regular jobs, they wouldn't have drowned.” Another point the passage of time hadn't blunted, as far as her grandfather was concerned.

“Some people,” Eli said carefully, “feel that kind of life would stifle them. Like they'd die of boredom if—” He winced. “Damn, I didn't mean…”

Too late.

Jen felt a rush of moisture behind her eyes. “It's not
boring
to face up to your responsibilities.” She stomped away from him, then wheeled around. “It's not
boring
to earn an honest living.” Her chest constricted as guilt and
anger warred. Because even as she rejected his irresponsible attitude, a part of her agreed with him. Then she found an ultimate truth to cling to: “It's not boring to be there for your kid, for someone you love.”

Eli raked a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry it didn't happen that way for you, Jen. But you can't go blaming your parents for living a life that made them happy. If they'd lived, you probably would have grown up with the same sense of adventure. You'd be wandering the world right now.”

His words were an assault on everything she valued: home, family, loyalty.

“There's more to life than traveling the world with a buck and a backpack, or driving a race car in the hope of finding fame and fortune,” she snapped. “But I wouldn't expect you to see that. Go find yourself another girlfriend, Eli. Someone less
boring
.”