Dangerous Race (14 page)

When the music ended, Tracey pulled away before Mac had another chance at seduction. She walked a very thin line while he held her so close. “It’s late, Mac. If you want to stay I’ll catch a taxi back to the hotel.”

“No, I’m ready. Let’s go to bed.”

He couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded. Ignoring his tone, she headed for the table, picked up her bag and awards and made a beeline for the door with Mac on her heels. This time she entered the limo and sat on the opposite side. Mac joined her. “It’s a big car. I thought we might spread out on the way home.” She set the awards next to her.

Mac grazed a finger along her bare shoulder, sending a shiver of unwanted anticipation down to her toes. “That doesn’t sound very fun,” he growled.

Tracey swallowed and tried to look bored. Unsuccessfully, she imagined, since her hands trembled visibly in her lap. But she wouldn’t run. She refused to run.

Mac’s fingers made a foray down her arm. “You’re soft too,” he rumbled.

“Cut it out, Mac.” She turned to him, deliberately trying to get her point across. “I told you that business is bu—”

His lips covered hers. His kiss seared her to the core. She detected the faint taste of whiskey under his strong peppermint breath. She wanted to pull back. Wanted to be strong. Stronger than the weak woman she was turning out to be, but his kiss was too good. Too hot. His tongue slid into her mouth and circled hers. Luckily, her bad leg was against his thigh. He ran his hand down her good right leg until he encountered the slit, then he ran it up…and up.

Tracey moaned, unable to stop the sound, incapable of pulling away. Drowning in the feeling of being wanted. Losing herself to the touch of his hands. His fingers on her skin, his tongue in her mouth. Heat spread from her center and radiated to her every edge.

Underwear hadn’t been an option tonight. The dress hadn’t allowed it. He was figuring that out as he grabbed a handful of her ass and squeezed. Tracey jumped and fairly flew across the car to the opposite side.

She wiped her mouth with the back of a shaky hand. “We can’t do this.”

Breathing hard, eyes intense, Mac stared at her from his seat. “Sure we can.” Like a panther on its prey, he pounced and his mouth connected with hers. His hand slid down her body.

Warning signs went off, bright red, loud and unstoppable.
Bad leg, bad leg, bad leg.
Tracey halted his progress at her hip, but couldn’t seem to pull her mouth away from his. God, he felt good. Better than he had a right to.

Since his hand couldn’t go down, he went up. He cupped a breast in his palm and sent the breath out of her body in one fell swoop. He molded and squeezed with his hand while he caressed and cajoled with his tongue. Electricity charged through the car. They were going to combust any second.

The limo stopped and the driver’s door opened and closed. Tracey pulled away a split second before the back door opened. Mac leaned back against the seat, clearly frustrated, and Tracey grabbed her awards and charged into the hotel.

Had she not had to wait for an elevator she might’ve gotten away from him, but as it was, he caught her easily. He stood behind her. Too close behind her. His hands circled her waist, and his fingers gently rubbed beneath her rib cage while his thumbs stroked her back.

She concentrated on breathing before she completely lost her mind, turned in his arms and crossed a line she couldn’t afford to cross. No matter how badly she wanted to. “Don’t, Mac.” She uttered the words with all the conviction she could muster. The elevators opened and she pulled away from him.

He followed, cornered her in the empty space. “Why?” His low question sizzled through her. His hands caressed her bare shoulders.

Tracey fought the urge to give in, knowing the consequences would devastate her. “Be…because…I already told you.” She held back the hysterical laughter that threatened and gripped the statues in her hands with white knuckles.

“Has anyone ever told you how breathtakingly beautiful you are?” He kissed her, rough and tender at the same time. A combination of hard and soft that sent Tracey’s brain short-circuiting. Any intelligent thoughts left her mind for the second time. Her arms circled around his neck of their own will. The awards in her hands made it impossible to touch him the way she wanted. Their mouths connected in a wet tangle of tongues, teeth and lips.

The bell rang and the doors opened. Tracey pulled back, stunned at her actions, torn between wanting more and knowing the outcome if she got it. She ejected out of the elevator with the velocity of a missile.

Mac stayed with her like a shadow, step for hard, fast step, until she reached his room. Then he grabbed her arm and stopped her. “I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t think that’s what you really have in mind,” Tracey countered. His eyes gleamed, fire raging beneath their depths. “Good night, Mac.” She moved but he pulled her back for another ferocious lip-lock. Trapped by the web of his kisses, the feel of his hands against her back, she couldn’t find the strength to break away.

Noises down the hall warned of people coming. Mac slid his card key in the door and almost simultaneously shoved her inside. A quick hit of oxygen cleared her brain.

“What the hell are you doing, Mac? This is ridiculous.” She turned on him, suddenly afraid of what might happen.

“It doesn’t feel ridiculous,” he replied, moving closer. The desk lamp in the corner of the room shed enough light to show the determination in his eyes.

She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and get lost. Instead, she headed to the door that separated their rooms. Thank God Mac had insisted it stay unlocked in case he needed to get to her.

“Why did you say those things?”

The soft emotion in his voice stopped her and sent chills traveling down her spine. She forced the words out. “What things?”

“That speech at the end. Was that for my benefit?”

Tracey turned. The hard edge in Mac’s eyes had disappeared and in its place was…devastation. Utter desolation. His beautiful gray eyes seemed to be emotionally drained, as if she had somehow stolen the last part of him that made him whole. But the longer he looked at her, the more the anger returned. “Was that a pity speech on my account?” he snapped.

Squaring her shoulders, she fought back the sting of tears. “I don’t give pity speeches. I’ve always said exactly what I feel. I thought you knew that by now.” She opened the door.

“God damn it, Tracey, don’t turn your back on me.”

“I don’t know what the hell you thought might happen tonight, Mac, but whatever it is…well, it’s out of the question.”

“Why? Because Queen Tracey has spoken? Because if it doesn’t fit into your schedule then it can’t possibly happen?”

Anger burned hot and deep. Tracey turned, slammed her awards on a nearby dresser. “How dare you…”

“How dare I what, Tracey?” He advanced on her. Tall, angry, chiseled and every inch a man. “How dare I come in here and try to make friends with a woman who doesn’t know the meaning of the word? Or how dare I try to replace Joe? Or maybe it’s something else. How dare I
bust my ass
to see to it that you win this race on Sunday?” He stopped a foot away from her. The air seemed charged. Tension and anger flowed around them in palpable waves.

Tears blurred her vision. “Is it so hard for you to understand? Is it beyond your comprehension that I’ve been doing this a certain way for years and I’m just trying to live my life the way I’m used to?” Anger erupted, hot as lava. She couldn’t do this. She had to focus. “I want to win this race, damn it! And—”

“I
want
you to win this race!” His explosive words stopped her. Before she could blink, his lips were on hers again. She gave into the heat of his kiss, the warmth of his hands on her back. She relinquished control of the moment to him. Let the fire burn and desire swell until she thought she might burst into flames.

Before she figured out what was happening, her legs hit the bed and she was on her back. His mouth devoured hers. His tongue plundered and conquered. She took everything he offered and gave back with everything she had. There was nothing soft about it. It was a frantic joining of two bodies, two souls searching for comfort, searching for peace.

As long as he didn’t get near her leg.

The clasp holding her halter top snapped apart. Mac’s lips trailed to her neck and farther down, easing the material down too. Tracey arched as he pulled one hard nipple into his mouth.

She gasped, shocked at the sensation. She’d dreamed about this moment. Fantasized of being held and kissed, but nothing prepared her for this mindless ecstasy. The feeling of power combined with want. The overwhelming urge to give herself to someone else. She wanted to burst into tears because someone wanted her. Because
Mac
wanted her. It was this moment that had haunted her for the past week, this moment that she’d been dreaming about every night since their kiss in his room.

This fit her perfectly, a fast and furious race to the finish. The opportunity had never presented itself since the accident, she’d seen to that. But how quickly could she get his pants off? How quickly could she lose something she hadn’t dreamed of losing in four years?

She fumbled with his belt buckle, felt his hard erection against her hand. Breathing hard, he pulled back a fraction. The fire in his smoky eyes scared the hell out of her. Before he had a chance to turn the tempo slower, she reached up and kissed him. Hard.

Keep it fast and furious.
It was her only chance to make this work. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt before he grew impatient and ripped it open. The sound of buttons hitting furniture echoed as she grazed her teeth against his chest. Crisp dark curls tickled her tongue as she licked the small bud of his nipple.

He lifted her head and devoured her lips again as he tried to shove her dress down her waist.

No! No! No!
She stopped the motion and wriggled the dress up instead. The velvet bunched at her waist but enough material still covered her scar.

Mac didn’t argue, just went with the flow. Obviously his only goal was to get into her pants…or dress, as it were. He’d made that clear during the dance.
What do you think I’m doing?
he’d asked. This was seduction, plain and simple. He probably thought he was getting someone with a few miles on her chassis. She’d thought she kissed him as if she knew what she was doing. If Mac wanted someone experienced and adept, then by God, she’d give it to him. Hopefully.

Mac got his pants and underwear low enough to free himself. It wasn’t easily accomplished with her mouth all over him. She didn’t stop to look at him, afraid she’d chicken out. Feeling the size of him scared her to death. But it was going so perfectly. It had to be now…or never. And she wanted now, almost as desperately as she wanted to win the race.

He was hard and thick against her thigh. His fingers made a foray deep inside her and Tracey gasped again, nearly screamed at the sensation. He didn’t stay long. Just long enough to make sure she was ready.
If he only knew.

Tracey held his head, kept kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Kissing him to blank out the mistake she knew she was making. His velvety soft tip crowded her wet entrance. In the next second it was all over as he thrust inside, stretching sensitive tissue to the limit, sending a hot jolt of pain exploding in her center.

She bit back a cry. Lived with the pain. God, it hurt. Was it supposed to hurt this much? Maybe she deserved it for deceiving him as she had. Hell, that was stupid. At the moment, all
he
cared about was getting laid. Inside her he throbbed and she never dreamed she’d be this full or be so hyperaware of every inch of skin.

Mac had gone still.

Tracey’s heart pounded so hard she heard it between her ears. She hadn’t given herself away, had she? Had she done something wrong?

Pain radiated from the core of her body, intense, but ebbing slowly. The longer he stayed the more her body accepted him, ached for him.

He couldn’t know, could he? Maybe if she did something? She shifted under him.

“Stay still, Tracey. For God’s sake, stay still,” Mac rasped.

She froze. Oh God, maybe he did know.

She was a virgin. Correction, she wasn’t anymore.

Mac had just deflowered a twenty-three-year-old virgin. And he hadn’t even done it nicely. He struggled for air, assimilated his scattered thoughts. She’d been a virgin. She hadn’t been as experienced as she’d led him to believe with that kiss in his room…or the kisses in the limo…or the elevator. God…what had he done?

Why hadn’t she said something?

Shit. He was pond scum. If he’d known she’d never done this before, he’d have stayed miles away. The worst part was that he was still rock hard and buried inside her. Deep inside her hot, wet and oh-so-tight body. If he didn’t get control before she moved again, there was a damn good chance he’d make an even bigger fool of himself. Mac took a couple of deep breaths and looked down at her. She was doing her damnedest to pretend this was all routine.

Her blue eyes glittered in challenge. “What’s the matter, Mac? All choked up?” Her lips curved in a provocative smile.

Mac had no idea why, but if she wanted this from him, he’d give it to her. Only he planned on doing it right. No matter how much she pissed him off. Not being honest damn well pissed him off. It also gave him that control he hadn’t had a few seconds ago.

He pulled out slowly. Even with the dim light, he saw her eyes dilate and turn a sharper shade of blue. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. He moved in again. Slow, sure and so very carefully…and right where he knew she’d feel it most.

She gasped in surprise, watching him intently. He kept a rhythm she soon followed. When she began to meet him in earnest, he clenched his jaw and focused harder. As he concentrated on her body, his own pulse hammered frantically. He took her higher and higher, felt her reaching for the orgasm he wanted so badly to give her. His own body screamed for release, but Mac fought it.

A guttural cry erupted from Tracey and she shook beneath him. The feeling of her clenching around him was so intense that Mac couldn’t have held back his own climax if someone had a gun to his head. Every muscle tensed as a tidal wave of sensation rumbled in his veins, a giant tsunami of pleasure, crashing through him hard and long. Breathing hard, he rested on top of her, somehow managing to keep his weight on his elbows.

Tracey unwrapped her arms from around his back and lay still beneath him. After a minute, Mac eased out of her, and she was quick to wriggle the dress back over her thighs and her breasts. Hell, he still had on his clothes too. Well, kind of. He lifted his pants back into place and collapsed next to her.

Fuck. Now what?

Now he had to wade through what would probably be the most uncomfortable conversation of his life. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

She froze. Seemed to stop breathing entirely. Then she blinked before her long dark lashes closed completely in what Mac interpreted as prayer. “Tell you what?” she asked.

Mac sighed. Why wouldn’t she be straight with him?

“Would it have mattered?” Her whispered words floated across the bed and landed like a bomb.

Sitting up, Mac stared at her. A combination of old and young, tough and soft. Frustration sizzled through him. “Yeah. It would’ve mattered
a lot. To me.
” He flopped down and wiped his hands down his face. “Why, Tracey? Why me?” The bed dipped as she got up and moved toward the connecting door.

“Timing is everything, Mac.” She turned the knob and never looked back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen. It wasn’t fair.”

Mac got to his feet, but she closed the door behind her before he could stop her. The lock snapped into place. He might’ve heard a muffled sob, but the sound of the shower drowned out sound. He leaned against the door and stared into his empty room. Tracey’s awards sat on his dresser, her bag hooked on the top of one. Her blood stained the edge of his shirt. The overwhelming urge to be sick bubbled up from his gut. His cunning revenge for her last speech couldn’t have backfired any better. All it took was one quick whiskey to plan a sweet seduction and get where he’d thought about being from the moment he’d kissed her.

Mac went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping to wash away the bastard he’d turned out to be.

Chelsea slipped out of the warm bed, naked as a stripper at the end of her show, and padded softly to the kitchenette for a quick glass of water. Making love to Matthew was not only fabulous, it was dehydrating her. Though her one-night stand had gone way beyond her original plan, she didn’t see a reason to stop things. Keeping Matthew’s company assured certain proximity to Tracey.

After chugging the remainder of some bottled water, she returned to the bedroom. The sight of Matthew stopped her in her tracks. Sitting up with a pillow propped behind him, the white sheet low beneath his hips and his muscled chest staring at her, he looked like a porn star ready for his next sex scene.

And, man, they’d had plenty of those scenes so far. But she had to remember to keep it to sex. Only sex. Wonderfully satisfying, totally stimulating, sinfully mouth-watering sex. Keyword: sinfully.

Her senses tingled as she met his gaze. He was staring at her body with the same lust in his eyes that must’ve been in hers. Moonlight through the sheer curtains showed his body coming to life under the sheet.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, sliding under the covers.

Matthew turned on his side and propped his head in his hand, looking down at her with a purely devilish grin. Yes, sinfully and devilish went together hand in hand.

“You didn’t. I was up.” He inched his hips closer and Chelsea felt exactly how
up
he really was…right against her thigh.

The sparkle in his brown eyes sent her anticipation soaring, and her grin turned into a laugh at his double entendre. “You are an amazing sexual dynamo.”

“Only because I’m handling explosive goods,” he growled. Matthew stroked a soft path down the middle of her bare chest and she shivered. She reached below the sheets to touch him but he stopped her. “Not yet,” he said, replacing her hand back on the pillow. “I want to talk. And I want to touch you while we talk. Is that okay?”

Chelsea tipped her head to the side. “Yeah, but you’re…you’re…”

“Hard as a rock,” Matthew said. “Yeah, I know. But I want to talk to you and touch you and I want to be wanting you at the same time. I want to know, and I want
you
to know, that when we’re done talking, I’m going to slide inside of you and make you scream.”

Liquid heat pooled between her legs. With a simple touch and a few precise words, he’d made her totally ready for him. Again.

“Are we going to talk for a long time?” Because she honestly didn’t know how long she’d last before jumping his bones. Matthew hadn’t been a priority this trip, but he was quickly topping her
to do
list. Repeatedly.

Matthew’s grin widened as if he’d heard her unspoken words and he shrugged a muscular shoulder. “I don’t know. I want to learn more about you. Tell me about Chelsea.”

“What do you want to know?” Not that she’d tell him.

His fingers traced a wide path around one nipple. “You grew up in Chicago, an only child. You graduated from Northwestern early then started work immediately in the ad world. What else?”

She’d made a fortune and lost a fortune, but there was no reason to relay that whole story. He grazed his knuckles over a hardened peak and sent a shiver down her spine. “Well I didn’t start immediately in the ad world,” she said.

Matthew stopped the swirling motion of his finger around her belly button and lifted his eyebrows. “If you’ve been working non-stop for four years, you’re only twenty-three and you graduated at nineteen, then that’s pretty immediate.”

“Oh, it was definitely fast…but exceptionally accidental.”

“Tell me what happened,” he said, and he continued to stroke her abdomen with his light touch.

Maybe she could share a little bit, especially if he continued to touch her so perfectly. Chelsea trembled and forced herself to concentrate. “I had been interning at Tucker and Grant, a huge ad firm, one of the biggest, and I was supposed to get a job at the bottom of the totem pole when I graduated. You know, mailroom stuff just to get me in the door. But someone messed up—” she gasped as his fingers grazed her bikini line, “—and my mailroom job went to somebody else. So, I’m screwed right? Uh, sorry, no pun intended. So I went to a temp agency and they found a place for me at T & G. The girl I was filling in for was a total gofer.”

“Gofer?”

“Go for coffee. Go for donuts, go for whatever anybody wanted whenever they wanted it.”

“Ah. Gofer. I get it.” His soft smile sent a surge of lust between her legs.

Where was she? “Now, Kim had snagged a job in a different firm—oh God—” he’d squeezed a nipple between his fingers and concentration was nearly impossible, “—in the same building and one day we were riding up in the elevator together. I have to preface this part and tell you that Kim used to give me five objects a week and I’d have to come up with a slogan for each item.”

Matthew’s fingers stilled. “Why’d you do that?”

“Keep me on my toes, stay creative, keep my juices flowing.” Yes, right now her juices were definitely flowing.

“Got it. Go ahead.” He continued, too, by tracing her ribs, which made it a little easier to think and talk. Not much…but a little.

“So, she tells me she heard that the president of Battle—the hottest new athletic shoe on the market—and a T & G client—has a meeting today and he’s looking for a new ad campaign. She says wouldn’t it be great if I could pitch my slogan to them, because she’d handed me a Battle cross-trainer the week before. I say, ‘Yeah, in my dreams.’ So the elevator’s mostly empty and some kid had pushed every button and we’re going up real slow and a guy in the back of the elevator says, ‘Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and I was wondering what your slogan was for Battle.’ I turn around and there’s an older man, nice face, sharp suit, and I say, ‘Oh, okay,’ because I’m young and stupid and don’t know any better. Then I say, ‘Picture a man or a woman—it’d be smart to have a different ad with both—and they’re cross-training. Doing every sport in the book and doing it well. Winning everything, you know. The slogan comes up over the picture. Break the rules in Battle.’

“Well, the guy’s face goes white and he gets this huge smile and asks for my name. He shakes my hand and I get off on my floor.”

Matthew grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. “I already love this story.”

“Wait, that’s only the beginning. So I forget about it. The next day I go to work and I’m thinking maybe this temp job will become permanent and I’ll get to stay at T & G full time. I’ll work my way up, blah, blah, blah.

“That afternoon I get
summoned—
” she fingered quotations around the word, “—to the top floor. The big boss floor, you know. I’m sent into this huge conference room. There’s gotta be, no exaggeration, twenty or twenty-five people sitting around a giant mahogany table. The big shots in dark suits. I’m thinking, wow, coffee for all these people is going to take me at least three trips—maybe four—unless they send me with a box or someone to help. So I pull out my pen and pad to take the order and the guy at the end of the table—Mr. Henderson Tucker himself—says, ‘You’re Chelsea Harding?’ I say, ‘Uh…yes, sir, I am,’ and I’m wondering how he knows my name. He says, ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’”

Matthew’s fingers stilled as he looked up at her, his smile fading.

“A tiny bit of panic sets in, my blood starts roaring between my ears and my palms get sweaty and I say, ‘Excuse me, sir,’ because I have no idea what’s going on. He says, ‘Just who the hell do you think you are? You don’t even work for this company. You’re a goddamn temp and you think you’ve got the right to pitch a slogan to our top client in the freakin’ elevator and get away with it?’

“At this point, I’m stunned. Totally lost. I’m thinking, when did I pitch to anybody? I didn’t. I say, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I think you have me mistaken with someone else. I never pitched—’ He cuts me off and says, ‘You’ve got a lot of balls to come in here and think you can get ahead by ambushing clients in the elevator, Ms. Harding. Even if you did work here, which you don’t—you work for Jefferson Staffing, a temporary agency—there are steps to be taken before you ever get to the point of pitching.’

“I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is happening and he says, ‘Get your things together and get out of my building. Don’t ever come back.’

“Boom. Just like that, I’m out. He actually ordered two security guards to escort me out of the building.”

Matthew’s warm brown eyes turned hard. “Bastard,” he hissed under his breath.

In that instant, Chelsea felt as though she’d found her champion. Someone to stand up for her, protect her. Catch her before she fell. And God knew she was about to fall hard real soon. Her defenses melted as she stroked his cheek. “You’re so sweet,” she whispered. She blinked back to the story. “The next day I’m at home—working on my second quart of mint chocolate ice cream and drowning in my sorrows—and the phone rings. I answer. A lady asks for Ms. Chelsea Harding, and I say, ‘This is Chelsea.’ She says. ‘Can you hold for Mr. Timothy Sandstrom?’ I have no idea who Timothy Sandstrom is, but I say, ‘Okay.’ A second later a man gets on the phone and says, ‘Ms. Harding, my name is Timothy Sandstrom and I’m the president and CEO of Battle Sportswear.’

“Well, now I’ve put down the ice cream and my brain is going a hundred miles an hour. How did the president of Battle Sportswear get my number and why is he calling me?”

“I’m beginning to love this story again.” Matthew grinned. His fingers began circling her tummy, slowly descending. A primitive pounding began in her center.

“He says, ‘I spoke with Hank Tucker and he told me some very disturbing news.’” Matthew’s fingers moved lower. Chelsea shifted restlessly, closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Now, I’m thinking, oh great, this guy is going to sue me for…well I had no idea for what, but I still thought I was in deep trouble. He continues with, ‘I told Hank yesterday that I wanted you on the ad team for Battle Sportswear and he said he isn’t in the habit of promoting people who don’t actually work for his company, much less temps who think they know everything. I told him if you weren’t hired, I’d pull the account from T & G and go elsewhere and I gave him the rest of the day to consider it. After speaking with him today, he told me that T & G had a great presentation and I should reconsider my request. I said, ‘Hank. I saw your presentation and quite frankly, it sucked. You had an opportunity to make this work and you just blew it. Goodbye, Hank.’