This Time, Forever (2 page)

“By the way,” he said, his head popping back into the doorway. “We can share a hotel room, too, if you want.”

It felt as if Marley had been deposited on the surface of the sun, that's how hot her face suddenly flamed.

“Well, I—” She took a deep breath. “I mean—”

He burst out laughing.

Marley wanted to sink beneath her desk.

“I'm just kidding, Martian Girl.”

She blanched at the use of the nickname he'd given her as a kid.

“See you tomorrow.”

Only when he didn't return did Marley put her head in her hands and groan.

Martian Girl.

That's exactly how she felt. Like an alien being inhabited her body because there was no other way to
explain how it was that after all these years Marley was attracted to Linc Shepherd.

Still.

“Arrrgggh,” she groaned, clutching her head.

T
HE DAY DAWNED
bright and sunny. Of course it did, Marley thought, the realization irritating the heck out of her. It shouldn't be clear and beautiful outside when inside she was a thunderstorm of chaos.

“You look like a kitten caught in the rain.”

Marley looked up from the document she'd been studying—well, not really. Her ability to focus seemed to be nonexistent this morning.

“You ready to go?” she asked, hardly sparing him a glance as she opened her desk drawer, pulled out her purse and stood. “We should head out as soon as possible.”

“I'm ready when you are,” he said.

She'd been hoping he'd be late. Then she'd be able to leave without him. But a glance at the clock revealed that, like her, he'd been early. It was only 7:50.

“Terrific,” she said, sliding past him without looking him in the eye. He had a duffel bag over one shoulder—a vivid reminder that they'd be spending the night in Atlanta—and it reminded her that she had one, too. She paused for a moment. Her briefcase sat in one of the side chairs opposite her desk, a tiny suitcase sitting on the floor.

“Let's go,” she said, clutching the briefcase handle in one hand, and the plastic bar of her carry-on luggage in
the other. She didn't even wait to see if he would follow, and it was the strangest thing, because as he came up behind her, she felt an inexplicable urge to turn around and see if he was staring at her butt. Stupid. He'd never showed any interest in her before, and so she had no idea why the thought popped into her head that he might
now
. She wore her standard-issue black skirt—knee-length—and a straight cut jacket that matched. Not exactly her most flattering attire, but when they reached the top of the steps that led down to the ground floor of Double S Racing, she couldn't seem to stop herself from glancing back.

He jerked his eyes upward.

She felt her spine snap to attention. “You might want to watch where you're going while we navigate the stairs,” she snapped, the unspoken “Not at my rear end” left hanging in the air.

But all the man did was hike up an eyebrow. “Good point,” he said softly.

She turned away.

Then right next to her ear, she heard him softly utter, “But I was enjoying the view.” She stumbled.

He kept her from falling down the steps. “Easy there,” he said. “Wouldn't want you breaking your pretty little neck.”

She jerked out of his arms, wondering how the heck she'd managed to do it again. How had she made a fool of herself?

Just like in the old days.

“Thank you,” she said, turning away before he could see her face turn as red as a brake light.

It would be a long trip to Atlanta. Too bad she couldn't make him ride in the trunk.

 

L
INC KNEW
he should go easy on her. He really did. But as he followed her out of Double S Racing, he had to fight an urge to step in front of her again, to force her to look into his eyes, to try and understand just where the hell the gawky teenage girl he remembered had gone.

He'd spent all night thinking about her.

Actually, he'd been thinking about how to convince her to let
him
drive. But when he hadn't been thinking about that, he'd found himself recalling their conversation in her office. Frankly, when Gil had told him that Marley was in charge of sponsor relations, it'd almost killed the deal. The last thing he needed was for someone with stalker-like tendencies to be following him around. But Gil had reassured him she wasn't like that anymore, and he'd been right. Honestly, he hadn't recognized the woman who'd greeted him yesterday. Poised, cool, confident, and with slicked-back brown hair that emphasized a stunningly flawless face. She'd pulled it into some kind of fancy bun—very corporate-looking—but he suspected it had the opposite effect of what she intended.

It made her look more beautiful.

“My car's the one with chrome rims,” she said, holding her arm out so that the jacket she wore tugged across her chest. The vehicle chirped, drawing his eyes. It was bright outside, the sun's rays refracting off anything with a shiny edge. He had to squint to see the car in question.

She drove an orange Challenger.

“Whoa,” he said. “That looks like it could really
burn through fuel. You sure you don't want to take my car?”

“Positive,” she said with a smirk, her luggage coasting along behind her. “Looks a lot like the Sixties version, doesn't it?” she asked.

From a distance, it truly did, especially with its black racing stripe. He got hives just thinking about being a passenger in the thing. “I bet your brother had a heart attack when he saw it,” he said, more to cover his nervousness than anything else.

She paused. They were in the middle of the parking area, the blacktop beneath their feet already radiating heat. “Why on earth would you say that?”

He glanced at the car again. With its beefy-looking rims and its arrow-like profile, it looked like it belonged on the race track. “Just that you've always seemed to be his darling little sis. I can't imagine he likes you driving a car like that.”

“Are you implying it's too much for me to handle?” she asked, walking forward again. She wore heels. They tapped the ground militantly, the sound nearly camouflaged by the sound of her luggage's wheels.

“No,” he said. “I'm not inferring that at all.” Or was he? “But why don't you let me drive.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her briefcase slamming into the side of her leg she stopped so quickly.

The sun highlighted red strands of her hair as she turned back to face him. “Tell me you're not one of those sexist pigs that thinks women can't drive.”

“I'm not,” he said, lifting his hands. “No way. It's just a long drive. I thought you might like a break.”

She released something that sounded like a snort and turned away.

He stood there for a second, staring after her. He had no idea why he felt like a bumbling idiot around her when thirteen years ago all he'd wanted to do was escape her attention. He darted another glance at her.

Not now.

“I wasn't trying to infer you were a poor driver,” he said, catching up to her by the back of her car. She opened the trunk, hefted her luggage inside. “I just hate being a passenger.”

He'd never admitted that to anyone before, wondered why he did so now, especially to someone who was practically a stranger.

“Throw your duffel in here,” was all she told him, motioning toward the black interior and then jerking open the door of her car.

Linc felt his stomach tighten as he did as instructed, telling himself the whole time that he'd be fine. But he almost slammed her trunk closed with more force than necessary, and he jerked open the car door a little too quickly. The smell of new car greeted him, the leather seats offering little traction against his slacks as he slid inside.

“Here we go,” she said once he'd buckled up.

He'd rested his hands on his lap, but he felt far from relaxed. It was just a few hours, he told himself. No big deal.

“Listen,” she said. “I have some documents in my briefcase there.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “You should probably study them on the way down. Shelter Home Improvement is a big fish and it'd be nice if you made a good impression.”

She'd finished backing out, Linc unable to tear his gaze away from the front of the car as she put the vehicle
in gear. “I really wish you'd let me drive,” he heard himself say.

She slammed on the brake.

He thrust his arms out. “Hey,” he cried.

“What is it with you?” she asked. “Are you really so insecure that you feel the need to lord it over women?”

“What?” he asked.

“Why else would you be so insistent on driving? Obviously, you can't stand the fact that I'm in control and you're not.” She shook her head. “Typical man.”

Linc almost told her the truth. Almost told her what was
really
bothering him, but he couldn't do that. She had his future in his hands, and the last thing he needed was for her to think there was something
wrong
with him.

There wasn't.

He just had a few lingering issues as a result of his plane crash. It was no big deal.

“Actually, I just thought
you
might have some documents to review on the way down,” he improvised. “That's all. But by all means, drive if you want to.”

She eyed him for a moment before allowing the car to edge forward. “I don't know why I don't believe you, but I don't.”

He blanched. Was she able read him so easily? Come to think of it, she
had
known him for an awful long time. Probably longer than any other woman of his acquaintance. Years ago, she'd made a habit of studying him. That might present a problem now.

“Just drive,” he said.

She made twin slits out of her eyes before turning her
attention forward. “Documents,” she said. “Briefcase. Study them.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. But he couldn't get comfortable in his seat. Even after he'd pulled the papers in question out of her briefcase—a FAQ sheet on Shelter Home Improvement Stores, among other things—he couldn't really focus.

“Does it bother you a lot?”

It took him a moment to process her words. To be honest, he'd been staring at the same FAQ sheet for the better part of fifteen minutes. They'd made it to the freeway already. “What?” he asked.

“The leg,” she said, glancing downward before shifting her gaze back to the road.

“Sometimes,” he said.

She nodded. “You've been rubbing it ever since you got in the car.”

“I have?”

“You have,” she reiterated.

Nervous habit, he reasoned. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it.

“In fact, you look a little white around the mouth.”

“It's nothing,” he said brusquely. “So,” he drawled, trying to change the subject. “Tell me about the meeting we're about to have.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked, speeding up as she changed lanes.

It took every ounce of Linc's self-control to appear unfazed by her sudden burst of speed.

“Who are we meeting with? How long will we be there? That kind of thing.”

“I expect we'll be there most of the day. We have back-to-back meetings planned with various department
heads. Plus, they emailed me this morning to ask if you'd mind stopping by one of their stores. I told them no problem.”

“And you think they're serious about sponsoring me?” he asked, trying to focus on the landscape that passed by.

“As serious as anyone I've talked to so far.”

“Which means this deal could turn on a dime at a moment's notice.”

They crossed beneath an overpass, its reflection beamed back to him via the hood of the car. It was bright outside, but he'd forgotten his sunglasses.

“Which means you'll have to work hard to sell yourself.”

He nodded, his right hand finding the edge of the car seat. He clung to it despite his best efforts.

“Linc, what's wrong?”

His gaze shot to her. “Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”

“You're as jumpy as a toy poodle.”

“I am not.”

She kept sneaking glances at him, and he could tell by the look on her face that she didn't believe him. And then she shifted lanes. She did so quickly and suddenly it caused Linc to cry out in surprise.

“You are on edge,” she accused, guiding the car off the freeway.

“What are you doing?”

“Pulling over.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because there's something wrong and I want to know what. My brother's worked
way
too hard to get
Double S Racing off the ground to have a washed-up driver bring it down.”

“I'm not washed up.”

She pulled over at the bottom of an off ramp, a group of commercial buildings across the intersection to his right. Other cars drove by, their drivers staring at them curiously. Marley flicked on her hazard lights.

“Are you on drugs?”

“Drugs?” he cried, abashed to realize that he felt better now that she'd stopped. “Don't be ridiculous.”

She leaned toward him. “Don't lie to me, Linc. Something has you wound up tighter than a rubber band and I want to know what.”

He glanced outside the car. The sound of vehicles zooming by was a rhythmic swish-swish-swish of noise. “I don't like being in the passenger seat.”

“That does it,” she said. “If you can't be honest with me maybe we should turn around and head back to the shop. I can tell Shelter Home Improvement there's been a snafu.”

“No,” he said quickly, sharply. “Don't do that.”

Her eyes were hard as she asked, “Then what is it?”

He looked away for a second, wondered how much to tell her, then decided he owed her the truth. “Ever since the accident, I've had issues.”

He saw her draw back, the seat belt she wore going slack for a moment. “What kind of issues?”

“I wasn't kidding when I said I don't like being in the passenger seat. I get…anxious.”

“How anxious?”

He debated for a moment, felt the urge to pull on the
door handle and flee the car. He controlled that urge by sheer force of will. “I've been diagnosed with anxiety disorder.”