One Sweet Ride

Page 14

“Maybe if she’s hot. And French, or something.”
Evelyn laughed. “La cuisine française est très bonne.”
He lifted his gaze to hers and laid his fork down. “Fuck. You speak French?”
She blushed. “Un peu.”
“That’s hot, Evelyn. Do it some more.”
Her lips curved. She could tell him how he smelled. So good. Like the crisp, clear mountains. “Tu sens bon. Comme les montagnes.”
He arched a brow, his lids dropping partway closed. “Tu es sexy. Je tiens à vous lécher partout.”
Oh, God. He understood. “You speak French, too.” He’d told her she was sexy and he wanted to lick her . . . everywhere. She shuddered at the mental images, the way his gaze bore into hers, melting her to the booth.
He broke the spell when he grabbed a piece of bacon and took a bite, then grinned at her. “Four years in college. It was an easy course because I’d had a French nanny for years. She taught me to speak it fluently.”
She laid her napkin on the table. “You suck.”
He laughed. “Sorry. It was an easy tease. But you sound so goddamn sexy when you speak French.”
So did he, which she wasn’t about to tell him. “I took it in college, too. Along with Spanish and German.”
“Aren’t you an overachiever?”
She shrugged. “I like languages.”
“I liked the easy grade for a language I already knew.”
“I’m sure you did. And what else did you study in college?”
“Girls, mainly.”
“Seriously, Gray.”
“I am being serious. School just wasn’t my thing. I was focused on baseball, and then racing. I was so burnt out on school by the time I got to college, and so damn glad to be out from under my father’s thumb that I played as much as I could, and didn’t focus on my studies. I coasted.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“But you graduated with a degree in prelaw.”
“Yeah, well, that was to make my dad think I might entertain the concept of going to Harvard someday, when really I had no intention.”
“Still, I’ve seen your transcripts. You graduated with the highest honors, so you hardly coasted.”
He got up and grabbed the dishes. “I didn’t give it my all, that’s for sure.”
She watched him as he loaded the dishwasher, wondering why he spent so much time trying to downplay his education while playing up the sports side.
She carried their juice glasses to the sink.
“Do you regret not following through on law school?”
He frowned, turned his head to look at her. “No. I’m doing exactly what I want to do with my life, what I love to do. I’ve got plenty of money to continue to do it for a long time.”
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “I sense a but in there somewhere.”
He finished loading the glasses and utensils, then shut the dishwasher and dried his hands. “No but in there at all. I was meant to race. Otherwise, I’d have played baseball.”
“And what about after?”
“After what?”
“After racing is over?”
He stared at her, then pushed off the counter. “Want something to drink? A beer? I feel like celebrating.”
And avoiding her question. “Sure. A beer sounds great. It was hot out there today.
How hot does it get in the car?”
“A lot hotter than outside.” He grabbed two beers, then motioned for her to join him in the living area. He pressed a button on the remote and a TV screen popped up.
He switched to the racing channel, where they were replaying the events of the day.
“That’s handy.”
“Yeah.” He handed her one of the beers. “So you enjoyed the race today?”
She took a sip of the beer and nodded. “If heart-in-your-throat, nonstop panic and anxiety could be considered enjoying the race.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Awww. You were worried about me.”
She had been. But she didn’t want him knowing how much. “Well, we can’t have you losing your fan base. If you end up in the back of the pack, your fans will think you suck and then you’ll start losing them. Then what good would you be to me?”
She could tell from the smirk on his face that he wasn’t buying it.
“Oh, right. All those registered voters. So important to my father and all.”
“Exactly. I need you to keep on winning for purely selfish reasons. My job is on the line.”
He turned to face her, setting his beer on top of the sill. “Tell me about your job.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t wanted to hear anything about her work with his father before. This was progress. “What would you like to know?”
“What do you do for the senator when you aren’t charged with getting me to help you secure votes for him?”
“I started out as an aide. Which basically meant a glorified flunky. I did anything and everything, including making phone calls, having copies made, running errands.
You name it, I did it.”
He looked at her and didn’t say anything. She knew the question that wasn’t being asked.
“He never hit on me. Not once. Nor did I ever see him behaving inappropriately with any female on his staff. He was always a gentleman. So busy with the duties of office.”
“An appropriately worded statement coming from one of his staffers.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re hardly the press. You’re his son. You know him better than anyone.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I think I don’t know him at all.”
“Maybe it’s time you get to know him.”
“Not all that interested. He had a lifetime to get to know me. He didn’t take the time.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry for that. I can tell it bothers you that he didn’t make time for you when you were younger. Obviously he let his job take precedence over raising you.”
Gray shrugged. “My mom was good at taking care of the things that needed taking care of.”
“But a boy needs his father.”
“I managed all right without him. But this isn’t about me. Tell me what you do for him.”
“Right now I’m working very closely with him on building his constituent base, specifically at the national level. When he was running his presidential campaign, my job was to increase his exposure in all states, blitzing media campaigns, working with his local campaigns in every state and checking with the polls daily to determine which states needed the most attention.”
“So why did he fail?”
Her lips lifted. “I don’t know that he failed in his bid for the presidential nomination. I think the American people—and our party—feel that John Cameron has more to offer as a presidential candidate at this time. Plus Cameron has the backing of our current president.”
“Hard to beat that.”
“Indeed. Which isn’t to say that your father wouldn’t be a viable candidate in eight years, once Cameron is elected and serves his two terms.”
He laughed. “Thinking positively, aren’t you?”
“It’s my job to think that way. If I thought the other candidate would win, or that Senator Preston wouldn’t end up getting the vice presidential nomination, I shouldn’t be in this position.”
“Good point. So, you have a very important job.”
“Thank you. I’d like to think so.”
“Why did my father pull you off your current job to come babysit me?”
She laughed. “I’m hardly babysitting you. But in answer to your question, because we feel you’re a critical component to his potential to become the vice presidential nominee. You can assist him, and Governor Cameron, in garnering critical votes. I’m right where I need to be.”
He played with her hair, causing goose bumps to pop out on her skin. “Do you know when you talk about politics your eyes flash with excitement?”
“Do they?”
“Yeah.”
She ran a fingertip down his arm. “Do you know when you talk about racing your eyes do the same thing?”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised. I love it.”
“I should hope so, since you’re circling around that track at death-defying speeds.”
“It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”
“Oh. No thanks. I’m content to just watch.”
“It’s exhilarating.”
“Again, no thanks.”
“Surely you dated some boy when you were young who wanted to impress you by drag racing down a deserted street at a hundred miles an hour.”
“Uh . . . no.”
He grinned. “Wait ’til we get to Florida for the next race. I’m taking you on the track for a drive.”
She sat straighter. “What? I can’t get on the track.”
“Sure you can. You can even drive one of the cars yourself.”
He was out of his mind. Just the thought of getting behind the wheel of one of those demonic, potentially-out-of-control speeding death traps was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I do think so. You seem so fearless, Evelyn. Surely the thought of driving a race car excites you.”
“Not in the least.”
“Scared, huh?”
“Not really. Just not something I’d ever thought about doing.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just take you in one of the cars on a slower ride around the track.
Wouldn’t you want a tour of the track in Daytona?”
She calmed somewhat. The thought of getting a view of what he saw from the track would be educational. “Okay. Sure. That might be fun.”
She didn’t trust the gleam in his eyes, though.
They settled in and watched the racing channel on television for a while so Gray could get caught up on the news of his win.
“So you never had a hot boyfriend who treated you to a thrilling high-speed ride in a fast car, huh?”
She tore her gaze away from the TV. “No. Why? Is that some teen girl right of passage I missed out on?”
“Yes. You were deprived.”
She rolled her eyes. “And to think I made it to adulthood without breaking land/speed records in some guy’s Camaro.”
He patted her leg. “Don’t worry. I’m going to fix that for you.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
He’d left his hand on her leg, and while they watched television, she became conscious of him squeezing her thigh, running his hand up and down her leg to her knee. It was disconcerting. It felt good, made her feminine parts squeal with joy and beg for more.
She wasn’t going to get more. She’d resolved that one time was the only time. They —no, she—had to keep the professional line drawn between them.
It was time to put a stop to the places her thoughts were going, the way her body yearned for him—before she got herself in all kinds of trouble.
She stood and grabbed her purse and keys.
THIRTEEN
GRAY LOOKED UP AT HER. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
“It’s getting late. I should go.”
“Really? It’s still early.”
“I have . . . things to do.”
“What kinds of things?”
He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he? “Paperwork. I need to file my report with the senator.”
He arched a brow. “A report? What type of report?”
Evelyn had given him a bullshit answer, and now she had to lie. “I do have to justify my job, Gray. I’m not following you around the country like some track groupie, you know.”
“You aren’t? Now I’m disappointed.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to live with it.”
He stood and followed her as she made her way to the door.
She wished she didn’t like him so much. But things between them had been great.
She had thought this job assignment was going to be difficult, that he’d be angry and defensive because of his father. They’d gotten off to a rough start, but after that he’d made it easy for her—much easier than she’d anticipated. Plus, he was smoking-hot sexy, the sport intrigued her, and she learned about new facets of Gray every day.
And the way he touched her brought out responses in her body she didn’t know she could have.
She inhaled, let it out, more reluctant to leave with every step she took toward the door. She paused at the steps and turned to him.
She could tell from the way he looked at her that he read her hesitation. In Washington, your face and body language could give away all your secrets. She’d always kept herself guarded. With Gray it was impossible, because he relaxed her and those walls came crashing down.
Which made him dangerous. “Thank you for letting me stay for dinner.”
He cracked an easy smile. “I should be the one thanking you. You cooked for me and saved me from having to go out to eat.”
“Anytime. I enjoyed it.”
She started to turn away, but he slid his hand into hers. “Are you sure you want to leave?”
No. She didn’t want to go. Just the touch of his hand in hers sent her body spiraling off-kilter. Someone should bottle the kind of sparks his touch set off. It could power an entire city.
“I don’t know how to answer that question.”