Thunderstruck by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

inside the track. A special lot near the garages.”
    Her jaw unhinged. “You’re in the Drivers and Owners lot?”
    “Yes, that’s it. The D and O lot, she called it.”
    “How the heck did you manage that?”
    “I did a favor for someone in the travel department.”
    Janie. She would die for this. “Don’t tell me. He’s four foot three and his name is Sam and he’s a soccer fan.”
    He grinned. “Cute kid. Do you have a problem with me being there?”
    She almost snorted. “I think we’ve pretty much covered my problems with you.”
    He handed the leather folder to the waiter, thanked him and regarded Shelby as she stood. He rose to help her into her jacket. “Nice of you to put all those problems with me aside to have dinner tonight.”
    “Who said I put them aside?” She smiled and left the table.
    In a moment he was next to her to open and hold the heavy restaurant door as an icy gust of wind blew in. “But I think we made great progress, don’t you?” he asked.
    “Progress? I haven’t agreed to anything. Oh—” She lifted her face, closed her eyes and let a few lacy flakes hit her cheeks. “This might be the last snowfall of winter.”
    His fingertip grazed her cheeks, and goose bumps that had nothing to do with the weather erupted under her leather jacket. He was so close to her ear she could feel his breath. She didn’t dare turn toward the scent and warmth of him. Because then she might do something even more stupid than relaxing.
    She’d kiss him. Again. When no one was watching.
    But when her truck pulled up, she stepped away and thanked him politely for dinner.
    He slipped some money to the valet and held the door for her. “There’s just enough snow to make the roads dangerous. Why don’t I follow you home?”
    “No.” She said it much too fast. “Thank you. I’m a great driver, and this thing—” she tapped the roof of the undersize truck “—is small but mighty. Thank you.”
    Once again he had her trapped between the front seat and the open door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re afraid of me.”
    She managed a narrow-eyed gaze. “I’m afraid, all right. Afraid of you sending my well-ordered life into a spinout,” she admitted. “But I won’t let that happen.”
    His gaze moved slowly from eye to eye, down to her mouth, then back up to meet her warning look. “You can’t control everything.”
    “I can try.”
    All she would have to do was lift herself one inch on her toes and their mouths would touch. She’d feel the scratch of his beard growth against her chin, the softness of his full lips and certainly the taste of his tongue.
    She kept her heels firm to the ground. “I can control me.”
    His chest was so close that if she took a deep breath, their jackets would touch. His arms would automatically encircle her. She’d feel every muscle and she had a sneaking suspicion he’d want her to.
    She didn’t breathe.
    Seconds crawled and snowflakes fell and his car pulled up behind them. But neither one of them moved until he put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “Next time we’ll talk transmissions.”
    Before she could breathe again, he was gone.
    What a shame. Because, to be honest, there was nothing in the world Shelby wanted more than to talk transmissions. And to kiss Mick Churchill.
    For all her heartfelt speeches about racers and reality and the joy of breathing car fumes, she still had to admit the truth every time she checked her rearview mirror all the way home.
    She was disappointed that he hadn’t followed. Even if Ernie never knew.
     
     
     
    “D ID YOU GO OUT TO dinner with Mick last night?”
    Shelby kept her fingers on the keyboard and frowned, not turning to look at Ernie, but analyzed the edge in his voice. Was that anger? Hope? Surprise? She couldn’t tell.
    “I was just being a good corporate citizen and getting to know the barbarians at the gate.”
    “He’s no barbarian, but you don’t need to take him to