Ever Fallen In Love (2 page)

Her phone buzzed in her hand.
Rick.
How the hell did the man always seem to get her personal number?

Want to fuck you. Forgive me?

The tension headache seared behind her eyes. Answer him? Ignore him? She erased the message and shoved the phone into her back pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. The roof of the hauler vibrated as someone stepped up behind her. God help her, if Rick showed up...

When Megan turned, she shrieked. “Oh my God."

"I come in peace.” Tucker Poston took a step back. In one hand, he held earphones. In the other, the radio. “Want me to talk to him? I've got my own headset. I understand race brain."

"Race brain?” She rolled her eyes. “You can talk, sure. I didn't expect you.”
And I'm not completely upset you're here.
She took in the way his T-shirt contoured to the dips and valleys of his chest. Muscles rippled under the soft cotton and showed so much more than the fire suit he normally wore. She licked her lips. Years ago, she'd spent countless hours touching and tasting his skin. A slow burn started deep in her heart. For a split second, she could almost admit she missed him.

"Eric got waylaid. Your rear tyre changer had his foot run over by the number four truck."

"If it's not one thing, it's another.” Megan tugged at the hem of her blouse, smoothing out unseen wrinkles. She sucked in her stomach. What would he think of her extra pounds? Guys of Tucker's calibre liked women in the size two range. Her size eight wasn't anywhere close.

She turned away and massaged her forehead. She wanted to smack herself. What would he think? What was
she
thinking! His opinion didn't matter, regardless of his obvious sex symbol status. She meant nothing to him.

"Eric suggested you and I settle our differences...at the track.” He wrapped the earphones around his neck and clipped the radio to his belt loops. “I want to help you. I'd guess there will be another couple laps under caution. What's the team frequency?"

"Forty-seven. I can't afford another trashed truck.” Her gaze travelled south for a moment or two, and Megan groaned. Her noticing the way his jeans hugged his body and accentuated the strong muscles in his legs wasn't going to make Mat a better driver. Nope, all it did was kick her libido, back from a long hibernation, into high gear. Truth be told, she didn't want to deal with Tucker. The wounds from his betrayal were way too fresh even after ten years. Damn. Coupled with his way of wrapping her around his finger, she didn't stand a chance of keeping him at bay.

Tucker hooked his index finger under her chin. “Hey, I've got a good rapport with him. He's scared he's not going to finish or keep his ride. It's paralysing. I know where he's at because I've been there too many times."

Her heart pounded and her hands shook. If she waited another minute, Mat could put the truck into the wall. Then again, Tucker could make another move and get closer. Megan shoved her second thoughts aside in favour of her team.

"See if you can get through to him, Professor Race Brain.” She found the frequency on his headset. “I've got faith in you."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I promise you my best."

Despite the roar of the engines and the thunder of the crowd, Megan made out a bit of Tucker's advice. “When you come to the green, do what you know how to do way down in your soul. Forget the pressure. Ignore the guys out to wreck trucks. Focus on what you're on track to do—race and find a dance partner. You tuck under the guy and push, you'll have a friend for the lap. Got me?"

Tucker tugged the earphones down around his neck and the half-smile built into a full grin. He bumped her shoulder and eased the earphones from her ears. “All better for now. Mat's got a good head on his shoulders. He should come out of this race in one piece, albeit a bit dented.” He smoothed his hair back and fixed his hat. “You might consider getting him another crew chief, though. Valletta's a bastard."

"Personal issues?” Megan took a step back and gripped the railing. “King's not the easiest person to be around."

"King and I have a well-founded mutual hatred, but I meant because he's tearing Mat down at every turn. He's toxic. Mat can run and knows what to do if he's got the right guy on the box."

"I don't want to stoke your ego, but you're right.” She looked away and considered her words. With her team on the line, Tucker had come through. She glanced at Mat's truck. He'd made it through turn four in a perfect arc. She chuckled. “He's not perfect, but Mat managed that lap without wall contact. Thank you."

"No thanks needed.” Tucker redirected her gaze by tipping her chin with the pad of his finger. Heat burned in the depths of his hazel eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped. He dipped his head until their noses were mere millimetres apart. “I'm glad I did something right today—I made you smile."

Smile? Check. Unearth long-buried lusty thoughts? Check. Megan splayed her hand on his chest. “You saved the collective butts of Blitz Racing. We're appreciative."

"Keep up the mushy talk and I'll start thinking you care.” Tucker's breath warmed her skin. His eye lids drooped, almost as if he wanted to kiss her. “Do you still care?"

"I never stopped, but you lost interest.” There. She'd made her point. Blunt, but she felt a little better. Sort of.

"Touche.” Tucker paused. He cupped her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the line of her jaw. “I need to get back to MPR, but I'd like to follow Eric's advice and talk with you some more. This was kinda fun."

"I suppose you think we owe you, as well.” Her skin tingled from his touch. Not good and yet better than the best.

"You do, but not up here.” Tucker descended the ladder into the meeting room of the hauler. He held his hand out when Megan reached the bottom rung. “Too many prying eyes up there."

Not wanting to encourage him, Megan strode out of the truck and stood in the shadow of the hauler. She shielded her eyes. “This is a little better.” She inched close to Tucker and kept her voice low. “And you want me to make it up to you in a very personal way?"

Crimson infused his cheeks. Had she got under his skin? He didn't blush easily. Tucker rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please do make it up to me. I can think of at least three ways right now and one involves the hood of my Impala."

Megan nodded and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile. “Stop back when the race concludes. It should be worth your while."

"I'll be here.” His lips parted and his eyes widened. “I want to tell you, I—I wish I could take back what happened.” He toyed with the knobs on the radio. “I've made mistakes, lots of them, but losing you is right at the top."

He regretted his actions? A shred of the anger she'd held on to for the past ten years dissipated. “We all have things we're not proud of."

"I want to start over and show you I can love you the way you deserve."

The earnestness in his voice chipped away at the fortifications around her heart. “Let's not get mixed up. You love racing and race cars, not women."

"There's one woman in particular who is very near and dear to my heart. Tell me what you want me to do to make things up to you,” he murmured. “I'll do whatever it takes. I've still got a set of handcuffs with your name on them."

She'd bet he did. Handcuffs dangling from his headboard as a reminder of a conquest. Not a lost love. No way.

Megan glanced over Tucker's shoulder. Her assistant Janine remained a few feet away but had crooked her brow and crossed her arms. Thank God for friends with attitudes. Another moment and she'd have caved in to Tucker's sweet apologies. “How about you just show up?"

"I see you haven't taken the teardrop off."

"It went with my outfit."

"Uh-huh. I'll be here...later.” Tucker tipped his hat and sauntered away.

Drawing a long breath and letting it out, Megan leaned against the hauler wall. She couldn't take back the invitation. She followed the slight sway of his ass as he blurred into the crowd. Why did the cute ones have to leave the deepest emotional wounds?

"At least he's got a nice butt.” Janine dug her bony elbow into Megan's side. “Just right for whacking with a paddle until it's pretty and pink."

Megan stared at Janine. Go figure Janine got into kink. Then again, Janine and kink didn't shock Megan. The statuesque blonde was one model-thin conundrum—prim on the outside, loose as a goose on the inside. More or less like Megan. Probably why they were friends.

Megan chuckled. Hell, part of her wanted to stick around and rekindle the lost romance with Tucker. The rest of her wanted to paddle him and push him far, far away.

Nah...the only paddling in the picture would mean him in control and her squealing on his lap. Her skin heated. Anything having to do with his lap sounded damn fine. But he'd walked away. Why wear the last reminder of him?

Stupid mistakes bore repeating? Because he'd once loved her? She wasn't sure anymore.

Janine's voice broke through Megan's thoughts. “What exactly are you going to do? He's the man who broke your heart."

"Good question.” Megan dropped her hands and sighed. “Mathew needs a mentor, and Tucker needs payment. In some ways, I'm in a bind. In others, I'm not."

"You're devious when you've been hurt. Something's percolating.” Janine drummed her acrylic-tipped fingernails on the side of the truck. “What are you thinking?"

Megan stared at the trucks racing around the track. She'd invested too much of her time, energy and money in her team. More than enough of all three to let someone like Tucker Poston stand in her way—no matter how much he made her heart beat and her pussy quiver.

She turned away from the track and toyed with the ring on her right hand. “We do need the help.” She nodded as the plan formed in her mind. A little harmless fun never hurt anyone...and she'd be fine as long as she kept her heart safe behind its concrete walls. “He had cheap and easy and I'm not free."

"I love the way you think."

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Tucker checked his watch for the fifth time as he strode across the infield towards the Blitz hauler. Nervous energy zipped through his veins. Being with Megan earlier had jolted his heart back into working order. The pressure to perform for his team and the loneliness that had kept him company for so long had evaporated. She brought completion to his life. The scent of burnt rubber floated through the air in a pungent odour while the gravel crunched under his feet. In the distance, the hum of fans buzzed from the camper lots. Those were the days. Packing all his things into the extended cab and sleeping in sleeping bags with the race car because he couldn't afford to race otherwise. Megan had loved snuggling in those ratty sleeping bags.

He clicked his tongue. Give him a few moments to plead his case and maybe, just maybe she'd admit she never truly lost interest in him. She still wore his necklace. The teardrop. Somewhere in her heart she still had to care. With luck on his side, maybe she'd even concede she still found him more than a little irresistible.

The vision of Megan stretched out across a leather couch, swathed in crimson silk, came to mind. Her hair splayed about her face and a kiss-swollen pout on her lips.
"Come to me, lover. I need you."

"And I need you.

He clenched and unclenched his fist, yearning to touch her. To lay her over his knees and spank her sweet ass to a dusky rose colour. To plunder not only her tight pussy, but her ass as well, and mark her as his woman once again.

Blood pounded in his veins. He spied the Blitz truck and stopped short. The faint tang of fireworks and burnt wood wafted through the air. If she admitted anything, it wasn't going to be her unending love for him. The fireworks would probably be her kicking his ass out. She'd have a firing squad on the other side of the door just waiting to lay him flat on his back. He sighed. He'd never know unless he faced her again.

"Going somewhere?"

Tucker gritted his teeth. He didn't have to turn around to see the speaker. “Rick."

The gravel crunched behind him. Rick's snorted laughter blotted out the noise from the fan track walk. “I asked you a question, punk."

"Out for some air.” Glaring, Tucker bit out his words at his fellow driver.

"Your hauler is across the infield.” Rick stared down his thin nose at Tucker. Hatred and annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. The corner of his mouth jerked in a sneer.

"No shit."

Though Rick stood at least six inches shorter than Tucker, he lifted his chin to meet Tucker, eyeball to eyeball. “I don't like you sniffing around my Megan."

His
Megan? What the fuck? Tucker bit down hard on his tongue.
Silence. Breathe. Walk away.

"Did you hear me, punk?” Spittle flew from Rick's thin lips.

"Message received.” Tucker sidestepped Rick's position then strode forwards. He'd wasted enough time talking to the asshole.

"I've got my eye on you."

Fuck you, too.
Tucker focused on the Blitz truck. If he looked back, he'd smear Rick into the ground and land himself on probation—again. Not tonight. Not with his ride at stake. Instead of taking the direct route, Tucker doubled back and wandered through the maze of trucks and trailers. If Rick wanted to follow, he'd have to find Tucker first.

The red and black hauler came back into sight. At a near run, Tucker made his way to the hauler door. His chest ached. Excitement? Regret? He wasn't sure.

I have to see her

Tucker knocked on the door then took a step back.
Don't want to look too eager.
“Mrs Rodney?” The words tasted acrid on his tongue.
Mrs Rodney.
She never should've married the prick. He knocked again and held his breath. No sounds from behind the door. He puffed out an exhale and yanked the chrome handle. He'd never live with himself if something had happened to her while he stood waiting outside.

"Megan?” Tucker peeked around the cabin. Papers lay strewn on the desk. The computer screen sat dormant and protected under twin straps. The couch cushions appeared pristine. He turned, taking in the sight of the entire space. No Megan. “Well, fuck me."