She
stopped her pacing and stared at him. God, he looked good, and she almost forgot
why she was mad at him – then he ran his hands through his champagne-soaked
hair and it all came back to her. “I'm paying you to drive, not to kill
yourself.”
The
words dropped between them like a stone. Dell stilled. Like an animal sensing
its prey, he swung his feet to the floor and stood. He towered over her, and
even though he had to be exhausted, he looked ready to take on the world. Or
one petite female team owner.
“You
know what's killing me, Caro?” he asked as he closed the distance between them.
Caro held her ground. He smelled of stale champagne and sweat, with a hint of
burnt rubber thrown in. It should have been nauseating, but to Caro, it was the
smell of victory, however won. She lifted her eyes to his as he slid one foot
between her splayed ones and pressed his body into her personal space.
“Lord knows dying on the track would be easier
than keeping my hands off you every day.”
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