Killer Curves Read online

  Sighing, Celeste opened her purse to turn off the phone. The readout said, Unknown caller. With 911 flashing after the words.

  Without thinking, she pressed the green button. “Hello?”

  “Celeste.” The voice was low, soft, and muffled. “Get away from here.”

  The blood drained from her face. Here? Instinctively, she looked around.

  “Who is this?” she demanded as Beau’s hand closed over her arm and he looked down at her. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Celeste. Leave. Get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “Who is this?” she insisted again, but the connection broke and she stared at Beau.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  She looked around again. Get away from here. People milled about, in groups and alone. From where they stood, she could see dozens of people. “I…I don’t know.”

  Suddenly a young man with long hair and a tank top appeared from behind another motor coach and broke into a run, coming directly toward them with purpose and speed. Celeste gasped, throwing herself against Beau.

  The man stuck a piece of paper under Beau’s face. “Can I get your autograph?”

  Beau’s grip tightened around her. “Not now; we’re busy.” He moved away from the man, almost dragging her toward the restricted garages.

  “You pompous ass, Lansing!” the guy hollered. “You’re gonna pay, asshole! You’re gonna pay!”

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Celeste seemed at ease once they were in the garage. She talked to the crew, asking questions and sharing pizza with them. She tried to act like that weird phone call was nothing, but Beau knew it had to have upset her.

  He should send her away, but he couldn’t. Not until he at least had a blood test to see if she was a match for Travis. Not without a commitment to save Travis’s life. Until then, he’d have to stay very close to her.

  A situation he didn’t exactly hate.

  From behind the hood, he pretended to study the spring rate that Tony had just worked out, but instead he watched Celeste stare at Travis when she thought no one was looking. What exactly did she want to find out about that man before she made her decision?

  She needed closure, maybe. Women always did.

  “Do you think that’d work for you, Beau?”

  He gave the mechanic a totally blank look.

  Tony laughed and waved a hand in front of Beau’s face. “Earth to Lansing.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey, why don’t you just go back to the coach and play strip poker or something? You’re useless to me, buddy.”

  Beau forced himself to concentrate on the springs. “You were talking about turning that jack bolt up?”

  Tony just shook his head and let it go.

  After another hour or so passed, Beau noticed that the entire garage area had become very quiet and most of the crew had left for the night. Tony had slipped out when he finished the last test of the shocks, and Travis had sent the pit crew off after they’d completed the inventory and practice stops.

  The car was ready for Happy Hour, and Beau felt certain they’d have one of the fastest on the track. He wiped a speck of grease on his thumb against his jeans and glanced at Celeste, curled on a folding chair, reading the NASCAR reg book. His gaze traveled over the curve of her bottom in white denim shorts and down her bare legs. One sandal dangled from a toe. She spun a lock of hair with two fingers and then closed her eyes in exhaustion. So she hadn’t slept after that kiss, either. Desire pinched at him, his body aching to make contact with hers.

  He didn’t warn her when he saw Travis walk up to her and grab the book out of her hand. She jerked a little and stared up at him, opening her mouth in surprise.

  “There’s a test on oil temperature tomorrow,” Travis said, and Beau knew from the confused look in her eyes that she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or rattle off more racing facts. He almost stepped forward to tell her that the old man was kidding, but he couldn’t keep playing referee if these two were ever going to work out their differences.

  “Oil temperature.” She raised an eyebrow at Travis. “My favorite subject. Right after fuel mileage.”

  Travis didn’t completely hide his smile. “You look too tired to study, missy. Go home and get rested. We don’t race till Sunday, and your real test is tomorrow night.”

  Slowly, she stood, just about matching him in height. “We’re all ready on that front, Mr. Chastaine.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Mr. Chastaine’s my dead father. You can call me Travis.”

  Beau grinned. There you go, Travis. That wasn’t so hard.

  Celeste searched Travis’s face, probably comparing bone structure or something. Maybe this was all it would take. “Travis?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. “What about ‘Chassis’?”

  Shit. There went that Kodak moment.

  A scowl darkened Travis’s expression. “Nobody calls me that. Not unless you want to find out what a junkyard dog looks like right before he bites you in the ass.”

  A fraction of a smile lifted her lips. “I’ll skip that lesson.” Then she reached for the book. “Can I have it back? I’m still studying.”

  Travis handed her the book. “Good night.”

  Before they could see that he was watching them, Beau climbed into the driver’s seat and locked the steering wheel in place. As Travis walked by the car, he reached in and slapped Beau on the shoulder.

  “Security wants us out by two AM, boy. Get some sleep.” He glanced over his shoulder at Celeste. “If you can.”

  When Travis left, the comforting, familiar quiet that Beau often sought late at night descended over the whole garage. It reminded him of when he was twelve, and he and his dad would work on a hot rod by the light of a few bare bulbs way past midnight. It was exciting and fun to talk about every single aspect of a car or a race, just the two of them. Until his mom would pad out in her bathrobe and say “Gil, get that child to bed.” And then Dad would tell him to wash up and hit the sack. But he didn’t wash until morning. He liked the smells of the garage on his hands, liked the comfort of tweaking the engine with his dad. It put him to sleep those nights.

  And a lot of miserable nights years later.

  In the distance, he heard a tool hit metal. Someone else was tinkering late too.

  He reached up to the roof to pull himself out of the car. As he did, Celeste walked over to join him.

  “Can I sit in it?” She gave him an innocent smile that no man on earth could possibly resist. “Would that be okay?”

  It was a common request. “Sure.”

  She stared at the opening. “No door, huh?”

  “ ’Fraid not.” He glanced down at her shorts and imagined the maneuvering it would take for her to get in. “It’s always fun to watch a rookie.”

  In one move, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her off the ground. “Don’t get in it like a horse,” he warned. “Keep your legs together and slide.” She followed his instructions, putting her hands on the roof and going in feet first. Reluctantly, he let go of her narrow waist.

  She sat low in the seat and grinned. “How do I look?”

  Adorable. “Ridiculous. Like a chick in a race car.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, then looked through the windshield.

  He bent closer to the opening. “Imagine flying around a turn at a hundred and eighty miles an hour.” He lowered his voice for effect. “With four other cars six inches from each bumper.”

  She flashed him a look of sheer incredulity. “You’re nuts, you know that? Why would anyone do that?”

  He knelt down to get closer to her. “Because racing is the most mind-blowing high you can imagine. It is damn near impossible, and only a handful of human beings can do it. I like the speed and the challenge and the thrill of the chase. And winning. That’s pure ecstasy.”

  She stared at him, their faces inches apart and their bodies separated only by the door p
anel. He waited for the inevitable questions. His whole adult life, it was like a passport to sex. All women were fascinated by speed and danger.

  “Why does he hate to be called Chassis?”

  A short laugh escaped him. Maybe not all women. “I don’t know. I’d tell you to ask him, but it probably wouldn’t result in the communion of souls you’re waiting for.”

  “My mother called him that. At least, he signed a letter to her using the name.”

  “A letter? Travis wrote somebody a letter?”

  She widened her green eyes in mock amazement. “And not his usual annihilation of the English language, either. It was…poetic.”

  Beau scratched his head, imagining such a document. “And he signed it Chassis?”

  “Chas. It said, ‘I’ll always be your Chas.’ ” From the sound of her voice, she’d memorized every line. He wondered again what her struggle with her parentage had cost her.

  She closed her eyes and dropped her head back on the seat. “I really don’t expect a communion of souls. Just a glimpse into why my mother had an affair with that man.”

  “Well, you know what they say, babe. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe they had an instantly magnetic attraction that couldn’t be explained. Maybe the sight of her turned him into Jell-O and transformed him into some sensitive, thoughtful lover.”

  “We’re talking Travis here,” she reminded him.

  “Even the most unsuspecting fool who thinks he’s immune to a woman”—his gaze dropped to her mouth, to the perfect bow in her lip—“can fall.”

  For a moment, neither one spoke. Beau heard another toolbox clang in the distance and noticed that almost all the lights over the partitions were out. Even his garage was dim, since Travis had doused the fluorescent lights on his way out.

  He stood abruptly. “Come on, we better go. Security won’t rest until it’s all locked up in here.” A sensitive, thoughtful lover? What the hell was the matter with him?

  All he wanted was her lousy kidney.

  Celeste reached both hands up on the roof and gave him an imploring look. For a moment, she thought he was just going to walk away and leave her in the confining machine. “Can you help me out?”

  He reached in with one hand, avoiding eye contact with her.

  As she hoisted herself up, he slipped his other hand through the window and around her waist, his hands grazing her rib cage.

  If she didn’t move, that hand would slide right up to her breast. She froze for a split second at the idea, then grasped the roof and balanced her hip on the door before twisting out of the car. He stood right in front of her, motionless and oozing that masculine heat that clung to him like cologne.

  Finally he stepped back, giving her space and air. The lingering exhaust fumes and fresh paint of the deserted garage made her a little light-headed. Once they’d turned the blinding overhead lights off and the deafening engines had stopped, the smells were even more intense, more intoxicating.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention to the car, tracing her finger along the metallic paint. Beau snared her with a predatory gaze as she walked around the vehicle.

  “Why don’t you drive those sleek Formula One things with giant tires and screaming, high-pitched engines?”

  He crossed his arms. “Open wheel racing’s too sophisticated for the likes of this Virginia boy.”

  She shot him a skeptical look and leaned over the hood, peering into the windshield. The lightning bolt slashed across the hood looked three-dimensional. Alive. Ready to strike. “Now that I’ve seen a stock car race, I get the allure. I guess.”

  “You guess?” He’d followed her to the front of the car, and she could feel him behind her, trapping her between him and the car. Slowly, she turned to face him.

  With a dangerous smile he put his hands on her shoulders with just enough pressure to tease her into thinking he was going to lay her down on the car. The erotic image quickened her pulse.

  “You make a nice hood ornament, babe.”

  She kept her eyes locked on his, hoping he couldn’t feel the blood pounding through her at his touch. “Are you going to push me onto the hood of this car to see how I’d look as another one of your trophies?”

  His dark eyes flashed in surprise and pleasure. “You gotta be kidding.”

  She must be reading him all wrong.

  “Tony’d kill me if we unbalanced his perfect alignment and ruined the ride height.” He pulled her an inch closer. Her arms hung by her sides, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He studied her mouth, then slid his attention down to the opening of her thin cotton blouse.

  He inhaled. A long, deep, steadying breath.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “You.” She heard the raspiness in his voice. “You are the matter, Celeste Bennett.”

  She loved the way he said her name. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

  She felt the heat from his jeans and knew without looking that she was having an effect on him. One breath closer and she would feel it. Craving started a slow build low in her stomach. A deep, needy ache.

  “You’re looking for another victory, Beau. You just admitted that winning was the only thing that turns you on.”

  He stared straight at her mouth. “Not the only thing. What about you? What turns you on?”

  You. An image of Craig kissing her chastely teased her mind. She never felt weak around him. Not like this. “I’m not easily…turned on.”

  “Really? That’s intriguing.”

  Somebody walked by the garage opening with a boom box, disturbing the quiet. They waited until it passed, not moving from their risky proximity to the perfectly balanced car. They waited until every single sound stopped. But her breath. And his.

  “You don’t have any fantasies?”

  She shook her head.

  “No secret passion for a famous movie star or long-ago lover?”

  She laughed a little. “No.”

  “How about a used-to-be-wildly-popular race car driver?”

  “No.” Damn. She’d said that too fast and his cocky smile confirmed it.

  “There has to be something. Someone. Some vulnerability.” Centimeter by centimeter, he closed in on her.

  “Nothing. I’m not interested.” At least, she wasn’t until a week ago. When images of naked race car drivers started dancing in her head.

  His soft laughter filled the garage. “With all those fiancés, no one knew how to fire up your engine to peak performance?”

  “No.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  “No, I just never…” She started to move to the side, but he held tight to her shoulders.

  “Never what?”

  She bit her lip. “I’ve never crossed the finish line, as you would undoubtedly say.” She nudged to the other side, but he wouldn’t let her move. “My time’s up, Sigmund Freud.”

  “Oh no. We’re just getting started.” A slow, delicious smile crossed his face. “You appear to need some extensive therapy.” His thumb circled the concave dip between her collarbones, and her pulse pounded under his fingertip. “So, you’ve never had an orgasm?”

  Why was she having this conversation? “Not in the technical man-woman sense.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Would you like to?”

  She would like to die. “Someday.”

  “How about today?”

  She felt her eyes widen and her legs weaken. A garage door rumbled and more lights went out several bays away.

  “Right now.” His fingers started their little dance again. “Right here.”

  She stared at him. All ability to talk had turned to a pool of heat in the lower half of her body. “You…you can’t.”

  “I can.” His smile was pure sin. “Just do exactly as I say,” he whispered, pulling her so close that she could no longer pretend his jeans weren’t ready
to tear open from sheer pressure. “First, I’m going to kiss you senseless.”

  “Beau—”

  He laid a finger over her lips. “I’m in charge. First, senseless kissing. You understand that?”

  She could only stare.

  “Then I’m going to lift you up and you’re going to wrap your legs around me. Real tight.”

  She nodded. Good God. She nodded.

  “Then I’m going to take you on a little ride. Got it? Kiss. Climb. Ride. Like a race.” His eyes sparked with a sexy glint that made her want to laugh and scream and eat him up and then howl at the moon.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m turning into a redneck.

  “This is very cute, Beau, but we don’t need to—”

  “Oh, yes we do.” The words came out like a growl just before he crushed her mouth with a kiss.

  True to his word, he kissed all sense from her brain and replaced it with shooting sparks and his hot, hot tongue, which she licked and devoured like a starving woman. How could she be held responsible for clutching his neck and pressing her chest into him just for the sheer delight it gave her hardened nipples? She was senseless, for God’s sake.

  A groan rumbled in his chest as his hands traveled down her waist, and he pulled her hips toward him. “Watch the car, baby.” He cupped her backside. “Just climb up.” In an instant, he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking around his waist, giving her burning, senseless crotch a direct shot at his.

  “Oh…that feels good.”

  Did she just say that? Yes. She said that. And other things. Her mouth appeared to be working on its own every time he stopped kissing her long enough to suckle her neck or lick her earlobe. She said his name. She said yes. She moaned. But never, not once, did she say “stop.”

  He was hard and warm and wet and delicious.

  He broke a kiss, his eyes still closed. He ran his tongue over his own lips as though he wanted to lick the taste of her from his mouth, and her heart kicked wildly. Oh, Lord, he was killing her.

  He opened his eyes. “You have no idea how much I like a challenge.”