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.”