Dangerous Race (13 page)

Athletes from dozens of sports passed her table, which, not to her surprise was in the back of the room. Some stopped to chat; others smiled and kept moving. Tracey had never felt more out of her element. The solitude of her car beat this circus any day of the week.

“You’re the eighth award,” Mac told her, closing his program and checking out the room.

If I make it that long.
“Great,” Tracey said. “So, how long do you think this shindig will last?” Or more to the point,
how long will I have to stay next to you?

“Why? You got a date with your car again?” He didn’t wait for her to comment. “I can almost see it now…you stretched out on the garage floor…in that dress. Nice.” The genuine teasing smile on his face sent her blood pressure higher and she struggled to ignore it.

“You know damn well that Ed set up a video camera in the garage today. I don’t know if it’s to find the guy responsible or to keep me out,” she muttered. If Ed knew she’d spent even one night in the garage, he’d have had a conniption fit.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about last night,” Mac assured her. “I did think the camera was a smart idea though, so when Ed asked me about it, I agreed.” Mac looked around the room and Tracey squirmed in her seat.

“How long did you say tonight would last?” she asked.

“Probably a couple of hours. They’re handing out twelve awards and at the end of the night they have a special presentation to one of the winners.”

“Mmmm.” She didn’t plan on sticking around that long, couldn’t believe she was actually here to begin with.

“We’re kind of stuck here, especially if we want dinner. They aren’t serving until after the awards ceremony.”

“Burger King is open.”

Mac laughed. “You really don’t want to be here, do you?” His twinkling eyes sparkled and he set his warm hand over hers. “Have fun, Tracey. Relax and enjoy the night.”

Not possible. She removed her hand as the lights dimmed and the program started. An opening number with dancers, male and female, in various sports uniforms proved the night wouldn’t be a total loss.

And lord knew that sitting by Mac for any length of time would keep her anything but bored.

She’d been right.

After more than an hour of pretending Mac’s presence didn’t have every nerve as shaky as a black-checkered flag at the end of a race, the eighth award finally came up. The Best Comeback from a Possible Career-Ending Injury. Other nominees, all men, included a baseball pitcher, a football quarterback, a basketball center and a tennis player. The injuries included a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, broken ankle and a torn Achilles tendon. All of the men had gone on to win championships.

Tracey didn’t have a chance in hell. It wasn’t as though she’d won the Arrow 500. She’d only qualified. Being categorized with these guys only reiterated the point, at least to her, that she had no business being here.

As the presenter announced each player’s name, video of their injury ran on the big screen behind him. The crowd reacted with the expected empathy and horror, probably preferring not to see the footage, but at the same time unable to keep from looking at it. Clips from rehab followed as did the game that garnered the nomination.

“Mac, this is nuts. Let’s leave,” Tracey said, seconds before the footage of her accident started to run.

Mac shook his head and watched the screen, with barely a glance in her direction. “Don’t be such a nervous—”

“Trace Bradshaw,” the announcer said. “Trace returned to the sport of racing after this horrendous car accident four years ago.”

Amateur video of the accident she’d seen a hundred times rolled on the screen. She remembered the panic before hitting the wall as though it were yesterday, but still didn’t associate herself with the person in the car. Instead of the footage, she watched Mac. Color drained from his face. His brows pressed together and his eyes narrowed as if he were in physical pain himself. There were pictures of Tracey in rehab and a clip of her qualifying laps. The tape froze on a shot of her next to her car.

The announcer continued, “The Sporty goes to…”

Mac faced her and their gazes locked. She couldn’t name the expression on his face. Awe? Admiration? Or more likely he thought she was plain crazy. Who in their right mind would get back in a car after that accident?

She looked around the room, away from his piercing stare. “Can we leave now?” she asked.

“Trace Bradshaw.”

She turned to Mac. Why had he said her name like that? And why was it so loud? The glare of a spotlight blinded her momentarily and loud applause deafened. The grin on Mac’s face reminded her of a kid after his first win at the go-karts.

Oh God, Mac hadn’t said her name. The announcer had. Up on the stage she saw her picture on the video screen. Oh God. She wasn’t ready for this. Mac gently urged her up with a hand on her arm. He hugged her, his warm hand, low on her bare back, sent a current of heat straight to her middle and directly between her thighs.

He pulled away, but there was no mistaking the spark in his eyes. Before she had a chance to analyze it further, he was pushing her toward the stage.

A wide open stage where anyone could take a crack at her if they wanted to.

No, she couldn’t think that way. She was right about her stalker and this was too public. Still, with her heart pounding, Tracey made her way through the crowded tables and climbed the stairs to receive the award. She stood at the podium and looked out to the sea of people waiting for her to say something intelligent.

Lord, have mercy.

She cleared her throat. “Uh…wow.” The crowd laughed. “I…I didn’t expect this.” She looked around the banquet room. “Thank you. Thank you to the All Sports Network for throwing this beautiful party and thank you for this wonderful honor.” She studied the gold triangle-shaped award in her hand. “I can honestly say that I share this with all of the men in my category. We all struggled to get back and do the thing we love most. I don’t think that I worked harder for this than they did and if I could split it into five parts I would. But since I can’t…you guys can come to my house and visit it any time.” The crowd laughed some more.

Tracey took a deep breath. “I came back because I love the sport of racing. I came back because I wanted to go out on my terms, not anyone else’s. I had to prove to myself that I could do it, and go all the way. I think it’s about loving the sport and having the drive, no pun intended, to succeed.” The crowd responded with applause.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I wouldn’t be up here if it wasn’t for Joe Harper. He got me through those…tough months in rehab, got me through the first days on the track when I didn’t think I could make it around another lap. He gave me the courage to dig deep and keep trying.” She held back the threat of tears and lifted the award high. “This is for you, Joe. I love you. I miss you. But I know you’re up there watching with a beer in one hand and pretzels in the other.” Soft, emotional laughter oscillated through the room. “Thank you again.” Tracey backed away from the podium then stopped. She should’ve thanked Mac. He was her new chief engineer and he certainly understood what it was like to hit the wall at crazy speed. That’s when it hit her.

Mac hadn’t returned to racing because of his accident. He hadn’t been injured physically, but the emotional trauma had done him in.

She stood frozen, wanted to take back her words and erase the last two minutes. Someone took her arm and escorted her through an array of press where she methodically answered countless questions. It was twenty minutes before she returned to her table and to Mac.

He hugged her again. Hugged her as if they’d known each other for years, as though they were best friends. The night had gotten stranger and stranger, and Tracey didn’t know how she’d face him.

“Congratulations,” he said, pulling away.

“Thanks.” She set the award on the table and didn’t give it a second glance.

“That was a nice speech.”

She looked around the room, couldn’t have faced him at that moment if she’d been paid a million dollars. “Really. I think it was overdone. Mostly BS, you know.”
That’s it. Lie about it.

Mac shook his head. “No. It was good. You really got to the crowd. They loved you.”

Tracey didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. No one loved her…not the way she’d always dreamed about. “I think most of them have no idea who I am.”

Mac turned her chin gently to face him. “They know now.”

His low voice and soft touch sent her blood tingling through her veins and Tracey couldn’t help staring deep into his dark eyes. For a minute she felt normal. For a split second she forgot who she was and hoped for the impossible. But then he flashed that perfect, straight white smile and her brain took over where her heart had led. No man, especially one as gorgeous as Mac, would ever be interested in her. Oh yeah, she conceded, he’d be interested until the clothes came off, then the truth would hit like a heavyweight boxer knocking his lights out.

Tracey pulled away from Mac’s fingers. “I guess we can go now.”

Mac studied her curiously as he pulled out her chair. “Only two more awards. It’s almost over. We’ve waited this long, we should at least get dinner out of it.”

Reluctantly, Tracey sat down. A few minutes later, the last award was announced and a man came to the table with a ballot. Apparently, she was supposed to vote for Athlete of the Year using the winners of the night as the nominees.

Staring down at the ballot, she felt Mac peering over her shoulder.

“Vote for number eight,” he whispered. His warm breath wafted over her neck and Tracey held back a shiver of anticipation.

She had to concentrate as she scanned the page. “That’s me,” she replied, forgetting that was her award and turning toward him. She froze. He was right there. So close. His warm breath brushed her lips. A tingle ran along her spine. “I ca…can’t vote for myself. That’s—”

“That’s the way of the world.” He adjusted a fraction, teased her in the process. His lips so near to hers, his gaze taking her in up close and personal. “Do you think when the President enters the booth he votes for his opponent? Vote for yourself, Tracey.”

At this distance she could see the black flecks in his eyes and the heat simmering in their depths. Her heart did a double back flip before she turned back to the ballot and took a steadying breath. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t deserve it.” She checked a gold medalist from the Olympics and handed the paper to the man waiting who then scurried toward the stage. “Can we go now?”

Mac put up one finger. “In a minute. One more.”

Tracey sighed and bit her lower lip. Patience. Patience.

The MC returned to the stage. “This year we’re trying something new,” he announced. “We’ve asked all our winners to pick an athlete of the year. We decided it would mean more coming from your peers instead of the network. You know the nominees.” Twelve pictures popped up on the video screen behind him.

Tracey couldn’t stand it anymore and stood to go. “C’mon, Mac.”

He shook his head and gestured for her to sit.

“The Sporty for Athlete of the Year goes to…”

Tracey started walking. “I’ll see you in the lobby,” she said quietly over her shoulder. Mac grabbed her hand.

“Trace Bradshaw.”

Tracey turned just as the spotlight found her. Oh God. She couldn’t…Mac’s silhouette cut the blinding light in her eyes.

“Congratulations,” he said. He bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. Not long, not hard. Not nearly enough.

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You already did it once tonight. Just say thank you.” He took her bag and first award out of her hand and urged her forward.

For the second time that night, Tracey found her way toward stage through a maze of flashing lights and smiling faces. The closer she got, the more she realized she had a chance to atone for her first speech. She took the award and faced the audience.

“Uh…wow.” The crowd laughed harder than they did the first time. “I’m truly stunned by this and I’m not sure what to say. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem nearly enough.” Tracey searched for the right words. “Earlier, I spoke about the drive to return. The will to succeed. Now, I’d like to talk about the courage it takes to walk away. As athletes, we all know a time will come when our reflexes aren’t what they used to be. When a split-second decision that has to be made is a second too late. To the athletes who know when they’ve reached that time…” She raised her award. “I salute you. To the athlete who has the courage to face the rest of his or her life…I salute you. To the athlete brave enough to know when to call it a career…I salute you.” Tracey looked out to the crowd. There was no way to see Mac. “Thank you.” She stepped back as enormous applause erupted. Someone ushered her off stage and through the same pressrooms as before.

By the time she returned, salads had been placed at the table and Mac was knee-deep in a glass of something very strong.
Uh oh.

He drained the last of his drink. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, rising from his seat. The hard edge to his dark eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

No hug. No congratulations. Did she really want to be alone with him in a limousine right now? “Uh…I thought we could stay for dinner after all. I’m too hungry to go out at this point. By the time the limo comes around and—” the ominous scowl on his face warned of a nasty future, “—we get out of here, it’ll take forever. Do you mind if we stay?”

Mac threw his hands in the air. “Whatever you want.” He sat and dug into his salad as if it were alive and he needed to kill it before he ate.

Tracey sat down. Cautiously. Had
she
done this? Had her speech sent him into this fury? He’d always been so calm, so laid back. At least when he wasn’t arguing with her. Still, even when they argued, she’d never seen this side of him. Food was the last thing on her mind, but she ate anyway, dragging out dinner as long as possible. Maybe his anger would dissipate with a full stomach and he’d forget about it. Or talk about it. But did she really want to know what set him off in the first place?

A band started playing on the far side of the room and Mac perked up. “How about a dance?” Instead of waiting for a response, he hauled her up and all but dragged her across the floor.

Tracey wasn’t sure what to do, but standing her ground and making a scene in the middle of an awards banquet wasn’t high on her list of options. Mac put his arms around her on the dance floor as a slow song began. His mood changed. His fingers rubbed a sensuous circle on the skin at the small of her back, right where the dress ended. Every so often, his fingers delved deeper under the material, enough to keep her on her toes. Enough to set her blood boiling.

She looked up at him, unsure, confused and more than a little nervous. “What are you doing?” She hated that her voice shook.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Look, Mac, I don’t think I told you the garage rules. There’s no messing around. Business is business.” No matter how much she wanted the opposite to be true. Hadn’t they both forgotten about that other kiss? She stepped away from him, but he pulled her back, making the move part of the dance.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel something, Trace.” As he said the words his fingers grazed her bare back. A wave of goose bumps blossomed under his touch.

“You haven’t called me that since the day we found out about Joe,” she said.

“Called you what? Trace?”

She nodded.

“It’s your name. It’s what everyone calls you.”

“I just thought…” What? What did she think? He was special because he didn’t use her nickname.
Don’t be nuts, Tracey.

Mac bent his head to her ear. “You smell so good,” he whispered. His arms tightened around her body. “You feel good too.” He pulled her closer.

She should’ve run. Should’ve pulled away and gotten the hell out of Dodge. Instead, she closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of being held, grabbed onto the moment with both hands and wallowed in it. She couldn’t do this. She really couldn’t do this. But his fingers played a song against her skin. His lips brushed over her ear, shooting off sparks in her system. Comprehensive thinking flew out the window.

For the duration of the song, she told herself. For the next minute or two, she’d enjoy Mac’s body pressed against hers. No harm in that. It was just a dance. Nothing wrong in liking the way his arms wrapped around her waist or the fact that he smelled so damn good.