Hearts on Fire Read online

  She allowed him to assist her out of the truck, and with her hand firmly in his, she walked up the front steps. The moment she stepped through the front door, she felt something shift inside her. Light from the windows she’d noticed before filled the big room.

  Everywhere she looked were the unmistakable signs that a child lived here—favorite toys left out, hand-drawn pictures taped to the wall. But there were masculine touches, too. A pair of boots that had seen better days sat next to a large recliner she could imagine Steve sitting in. A towel was draped over the top of the chair.

  Steve let go of her hand and rushed to claim the towel. “Sorry,” he said, hiding the faded blue terrycloth behind his back. “I sort of rushed out of here this morning.”

  Shannon smiled at his awkwardness. Even with a nanny, keeping a house clean with a small child living there had been almost impossible. Steve’s house was clean, and, best of all, it looked lived in.

  “Don’t apologize.” She waited for that familiar claustrophobic feeling to hit her, but the panic didn’t build. “This is nice. Really nice.”

  “It’s not much, but it’s home. It’s only two bedrooms.”

  She shifted her focus from herself to the man hiding the soiled towel behind his back. He’s nervous! She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that, but she didn’t. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted anything as much as she wanted this sweet man, who got the jitters showing his home to a woman. She smiled at him, and when the corners of his lips lifted, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over her.

  This place. This man. It all felt right as if the universe had planned all along for the two of them to meet.

  All doubts vanished. It was time to return to the living, and she wanted to begin her new life with this man. “Why don’t you show me your bedroom?”

  “We don’t…I mean…I want to, but—”

  She fingered the top button on her blouse then slipped the fastener free. “I specifically want to see your bed.”

  Being blunt was apparently the way to go with Steve. She didn’t have time to register anything along the short hallway he pulled her down. Then they were in his bedroom, the door kicked shut, sealing them inside.

  “Just in case,” he said, locking the door. He set to work on the rest of her buttons.

  She stilled his hands. “Let me. Get to work on your own.” They raced to see who could undress the fastest. In moments, they were naked, coming together, skin-to-skin, in a heated rush. His hands were everywhere, awakening her body, blazing a trail straight to her need.

  “I want to see and touch every inch of you.” His breath fanned hot across her ear. His words, heavy with desire, sent a blast of heat all the way to her toes.

  “Please,” she begged, melting against him.

  He had her on the bed in a flash. Stretched out beside her, Steve propped on one elbow. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” One callused palm cradled her head while his thumb stroked her cheek. The tenderness in his gaze contrasted with the urgency of his erection, pressing against her hip.

  “I want you so bad, but I want to make this good for you.”

  Her pussy ached to have him inside her. She reached for his cock. He shifted, allowing her access.

  “Fuck. That feels good.” His gaze traveled down to where she teased him with slow, sure strokes.

  The solid evidence of his desire emboldened her. “I need you inside me. Now.”

  He closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her. He was looking at her again, his face lined with the strain of holding back. “You deserve more than a quickie.”

  Knowing he wanted to give her more made her heart flutter, but she thought she might die if he didn’t fill her soon. Fighting the hold he had on her wrist, she squeezed him tighter then stroked from base to tip again. “Once won’t be enough, no matter how long it is.”

  He let go of her wrist to cup her face once again. His gaze searched hers for a heartbeat before he bent and covered her mouth with his. She opened for him immediately. His tongue invaded while his hand skimmed her body, pausing to test-squeeze her breasts before traveling to the juncture of her thighs.

  Insistent fingers parted her, sliding through the slick folds to her core.

  “You’re so goddamned wet.” His gaze held hers while his fingers explored. “I don’t think I will ever get enough of your pussy.”

  Shannon opened her legs wider, inviting him to do more, to ease the persistent ache there.

  Bending, Steve took one nipple in his mouth at the same time he drove one finger deep inside her. She arched off the mattress, writhing to take more of him inside her while she cradled his head to her breast. White-hot desire consumed her body, arcing from her nipple to her pussy as if he’d somehow completed an electrical circuit inside her.

  She gasped for air as he drove her closer to the brink. One finger wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  As if he’d read her mind, he plunged another finger inside her, then another, stretching her, filling her.

  “God, Steve.” He switched his attention to her other breast, sucking the tight nipple against the roof of his mouth. Shannon moaned her pleasure, digging her nails into his scalp.

  The tension in her belly grew until her entire body felt like a spring wound tight. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. She reached for his hand between her legs. As she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, he bit down on her nipple while simultaneously pressing his thumb against her clit.

  Shannon threw her head back, letting the orgasm roll through her in wave after wave of pleasure that stole her breath and flooded her system with endorphins. Nothing had ever felt as good except Steve’s cock buried deep inside her pussy.

  He released her breast, pulling her close against his body, his hand still working the last shuddering waves of pleasure from her body. “God, I love making you come, babe.”

  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, savoring the purely masculine scent of him. The intense orgasm had taken the edge off her need, but it didn’t come close to quenching her thirst. She needed him inside her.

  He brought his hand to his lips. “Damn, your pussy is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  He teased her mouth with his middle finger. “See what you think,” he said, spreading her own juices over her lips like balm. She swiped her tongue out, gathering the moisture.

  “Mmm. Not as good as you taste.”

  “Liar.” He rolled onto his back, reaching to open the drawer on the nightstand. In no time at all, he’d rolled a condom on and settled between her legs.

  “Open for me.”

  She spread her legs wide. His gaze locked with hers, he entered her, stretching her to accommodate his girth. When he was fully seated inside her, he held perfectly still for a heartbeat before he began to move, sliding slowly out then filling her again. Shannon rocked her hips up to meet his, taking as much of him as she could.

  As he braced himself above her, she longed to feel him against her. She trailed her palms from his wrists to his shoulders. His arms felt like solid marble. When she reached his shoulders, she tugged.

  “God, Shannon.” He came down, pressing her into the mattress. Face buried in the crook of her neck, he cupped her ass, lifting her to the perfect angle.

  Pinned under him, taking him into her body over and over, she felt safe, cherished. Alive.

  “Steve.” His name on her lips sounded right. Another wave of déjà vu stole over her, confirming what she already knew. She and Steve were meant to be. All that had gone before had been leading up to this time, this place, this man. This love.

  Love.

  She lost their rhythm for a second as the meaning of the word took hold.

  “Stay with me, love.”

  Hearing the word on his lips, though she knew he couldn’t mean it as anything more than an endearment, lifted a weight from her heart. She was worthy of love. Her past mistakes had
not taken that from her. Concentrating on his guiding hands, she found the rhythm again. He’d shown her how to do that, how to move in the world again, how to love.

  Shannon gave herself up to the moment, to the connection she shared with Steve. It was too soon to say the words, but they were crystal clear in her heart. I love you, Steve Rankin. I love you.

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  SWEET CAROLINA

  Carolina Hawkins lifelong dream of running her own racing team is running on fumes. Her only hope is her childhood friend - the driver they now call Madman. Now that she's got him, she's got to find the man inside who was once heralded as the future of NASCAR before he drives her dream, and her heart, into the wall.

  Dell Wayne gave up caring on the day his daddy died at Darlington, but there's something about this grown up version of his childhood friend, Carolina Hawkins that has him wishing he could be the driver and the man she needs. The race is on, and winning her heart will be the sweetest victory of all.

  Chapter One

  “On your right.”

  “Stay low.”

  “Clear.”

  “Hold steady.”

  Dell listened to the voice in his ear. Earl was one of the best spotters in racing and Dell would have to be crazy not to pay attention. One hundred and eighty miles per hour doesn't leave much room for error. Hell, there wasn't any room for error. The 14 car sped past on his right, leaving Dell looking at his bumper. He loosened his fingers on the steering wheel to keep blood flowing, then curled them back into a tight grip. His car inched up the track. The wall zoomed past, close. Too close.

  “I'm tryin', Earl,” he answered. “Car's loose. I don't know if I can hold speed and make it through the turn.”

  “Stay low,” Earl admonished.

  Dell fought the car through curve two, narrowly missing the wall as the rear of the car lost its grip on the track and pulled him up the embankment.

  “Go back low.”

  “Fuck, I'm tryin',” Dell said. “Who the hell built this car? The backend is all over the place.”

  “Hang in there, Dell. We'll pit on caution and adjust the track bar.”

  Dell battled the car through two more turns, barely keeping off the wall in turn four. He coaxed a bit of extra power out of the car on the straightaway, caught some air drafting off the car in front of him, and throttled back in turn one again, fighting to keep the backend from dragging him ass-backwards up the embankment and into the wall.

  “Shit, Dell. Go low. Clear left. Hug the stripe.”

  “I would if I could,” he said through gritted teeth. “Car needs a rebuild. Piece of fucking shit.”

  “Engineers are working on the problem, Dell.”

  “Hi, Ray,” Dell greeted his crew chief. “What the hell happened? The car was perfect in qualifying.”

  “Don't know, but we'll have a fix when you pit.”

  “If I make it that long. Damn thing's dragging me all over the track.”

  “Right.” Earl again.

  Dell glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the car coming up on his right side.

  “Got it.”

  Shit. “Where are we?” Dell asked.

  “Fifteenth, and slipping.”

  Well, fuck. The first race of the season, the Daytona 500, and he was driving a piece of shit that didn't have a preacher's prayer of winning. At this rate, finishing would be a long shot. It was only a matter of time before the car asserted its inclinations and dragged him into the wall, or worse, into another car. The 35 car passed and dropped down the track, forcing Dell to throttle back.

  “Clear.”

  “Yeah, I see.” Fuck.

  “Ten laps.” Earl called the milestone out.

  Jesus. Only ten laps? “Roger,” he acknowledged. “Where's a fucking caution when you need one?” he asked.

  “Patience, Dell,” Earl said. Such an idiotic statement didn't warrant a response. Dell wrestled the steering wheel, willing the car to follow.

  “You've got a tail,” Earl said.

  Dell glanced in the mirror. Shit. What the fuck would Warner want to draft off him for? Dell couldn't think of a single reason anyone on the track would draft off a car the driver couldn't control, and it had to be obvious to everyone the car was driving him, not the other way around.

  “Fuck.”

  “Hold,” Earl admonished.

  “Like I have any fucking control,” Dell answered. “What the hell does he think he's doing?” Daytona was one of two tracks where bump drafting, catching a free ride, so to speak, from the driver in front of you, was allowed. It could be a mutually beneficial maneuver, causing both cars to go faster, but the last thing Dell needed was to go faster. With the recent rule changes, it wasn't wise, or necessary to draft for the entire race. Most drivers saved the maneuver for when they or a teammate needed a boost. If it had been anyone other than Richard Warner on his tail, he might have been grateful.

  His car lurched when Warner eased up on his bumper, pushing, nudging. Dell reacted, braking, engaging the clutch and using his heel to rev the engine – keeping the RPM up. The car responded, and pushed by the car kissing its bumper, accelerated. Dell's eyes flicked to the control panel and back. He cringed at the increase in speed. Shit. He re-engaged the gears and held on for the ride.

  His fingers tightened on the wheel and his arms ached with the effort to keep the car on the track. Seconds. Flying, fleeting, seconds. Warner was going to take him out of the race. It was the only reason Warner could have for drafting at this stage of the game.

  Dell ground his teeth as he approached turn one.

  “Clear right,” Earl said.

  Fuck. Warner nudged his bumper. The rear end of Dell's car lost its tenuous hold on the asphalt. He turned into the slide, trying to bring the car back under his control. The sound of crumpling metal penetrated his sound-muffling headphones as the car hit the wall. He spun out of control down the thirty-one degree embankment at one hundred and eighty miles per hour.

  Dell fought for control and prayed no one would hit him as he spun in dizzying circles. His car came to a halt at the bottom of the turn, untouched, but mangled from his close encounter with the wall.

  “Caution's out,” Earl informed him.

  “Fuck that.” Dell shifted into gear and throttled up. Warner had fucked with him one too many times. It ended here. Now.

  If Dell was out of the race, Warner was going out too.

  “Damnit, Dell, pit. Now.” Ray's usually calm voice was anything but.

  “Shit, Dell. Pit,” Earl entreated. “Fix the car, then we'll beat Warner.”

  Dell ignored both men and steered what was left of his car back on the track. He racked up a half-dozen penalties as he sped around the track, passing the cars slowed under the yellow caution flag. Warner wasn't going to get by with it, not this time. This time he would pay.

  Turn four. Perfect. In the aftermath of Dell's spin, Warner wormed his way into the front of the pack and now cruised sedately three positions behind the pace car. Dell caught the look of surprise on Warner's face as he traded paint with him. Satisfaction brought a smile to Dell's face right before he wrenched the wheel to the right and drove Warner's car hard into the wall.

  Dell eased off the throttle and dropped behind Warner. Warner over-corrected and his car dropped toward the bottom of the track.

  “Oh, no you don't,” Dell mumbled as he cut low, accelerating in time to ram Warner in the rear left panel, sending him back up the track toward the wall. Dell followed, keeping his right bumper tight against Warner's car, pushing.

  Warner hit the wall again and spun. Dell throttled back, but not in time. Warner clipped him and sent him spinning down the embankment in turn four. Metal shrieked against metal. Dell jolted as one car rammed him on the left. Another plowed into him from the right. Smoke filled the interior, blinding him. Not that it mattered. His car was d
estroyed, steering a luxury no longer available. Dell braced for impact as his car careened out of control, spinning in circles like a giant, lethal top.

  Ray's voice in his ear broke the unnatural silence. “You okay?”

  Dell considered the question. He was alive. He mentally took stock of his appendages. All present and accounted for. “Yeah. I'm okay,” he said. “Getting out now.”

  He unhooked the six-point seat restraint and reached up to disconnect his helmet from the communications and cooling systems. A moment later, he stood beside his mangled car. He'd come to a stop on the grass, smack-dab in the middle of the giant painted letters that spelled out “Daytona.”

  Before he took his helmet off, the crash team arrived and hustled him into the back of an ambulance. As they shut the door, he caught a glimpse of his car. Well, fuck. That wasn't going to go over well. Even if it were a piece of shit, it cost a fortune to build. Turning it into scrap metal ten laps into the first, and arguably biggest race of the season wasn't going to win him any points with the team owner.

  ~~~

  “You're a menace, C.J. Your daddy must be turning in his grave.”

  Dell Wayne leaned all six feet of his aching body against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and fists clenched as the power behind NASCAR stewed over this latest infraction. Why the hell they thought he'd care if his old man spun in his grave, he couldn't fathom. He just wanted to get this over with, and go. The race was over, for him, at least. The Daytona 500 would go down as a DNF – Did Not Finish. All because of Dickhead Warner.

  “Dell. My name is Dell,” he reminded the old man.

  “Caudell Wayne, Junior don't you get smart with me, young man. I've known you since you were in diapers, and I'll damned well call you whatever I want. Your daddy called you C.J., and as far as I'm concerned, that's your name.”

  Dell held his tongue. What did a man have to do to prove himself? Apparently, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. He'd be Caudell Junior for the rest of his life. He'd never measure up to his old man in the eyes of these people, just like he never measured up in his old man's eyes. What the hell? He shook his head. Why did he even try?