An Impractical Match (Match #2) Read online

  His irises turned to smoke. “There’s something about you that says desirable.”

  “You’re trying to embarrass me.”

  “What I’m trying to do is explain. If it was me, I’d have picked you. That’s why my speculation went there.” With that, he turned his attention back to the race course.

  Jillian couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  After a moment, he spoke into the silence. “That’s my explanation.”

  She drew a ragged breath, arousal buzzing senselessly through her body. “Okay, I admit that could be a complimentary answer.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, but he did smile.

  “I think,” she finished. “I assume that’s how you meant it.”

  “You assume correctly.”

  She turned her own attention back to the track. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way.”

  “What exactly do we have out of the way?”

  His question was unexpected, and she found herself scrambling for words. “I...uh...”

  “The fact that I think you’re hot?”

  “No. Not at all. I was thinking you were more of a gentleman than I’d expected.” She hadn’t meant to sound conceited about her looks. She was simply thinking she might have misjudged him.

  “It’s not as if I’m unique. Every guy in the world thinks you’re hot.”

  He was obviously joking.

  “Ha, ha,” she said.

  “Owen thinks you’re hot.”

  “Maybe. But that only makes one.”

  “Edmund does.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “He does. He’s a man, so he panicked. I’m betting he’s already regretting walking away.”

  “If he is, he’s regretting it with Marsha Olson in his bed.”

  “There was another woman?”

  “They’ve been photographed together ever since he left me.”

  Devlin turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

  She brushed away his concern. “Nothing to do with you. But can we stop talking about him now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Because a gentleman doesn’t dwell on a lady’s embarrassing moments.”

  “The gentleman thing was always going to be temporary. Eventually, I’ll get back on a motocross bike, and you’ll be afraid to come near me.”

  “Afraid? I wasn’t—”

  He shot her a quelling look.

  “Okay, I was a little afraid. But you were filthy, and I was wearing a Vandella suit.”

  He seemed to find that amusing. “Being filthy is the story of my life. And I’m guessing being pristine is the story of yours.”

  o o o o

  As the crowds thinned out at the end of the day, Jillian took the opportunity to wander around the King’s Cross racetrack. She stopped at the food kiosks, talking to the vendors and making notes on their sales and popular items. Though there’d been a broader mix of ages and more women than she’d expected in the spectators, food sales seemed appropriate to the primary demographic of young men and teenage boys. Who else could possibly eat chocolate-covered bacon and all those jalapeño corn dogs? She wasn’t crazy about corn dogs, but her research had given her a craving for a cream puff.

  The motorcycle engines were quiet now, most loaded onto trailers and already hauled off the grounds. But the rumble of the track-grooming equipment filled the air, sending clouds of dust billowing around the hilly terrain.

  The wind was hot, and flies buzzed around. She knew dust had to be sticking to her sweaty hair and to her clothes. She’d gone with blue jeans and low-heeled, brown leather boots. But her blazer was going to need dry cleaning, and she was afraid to look at her blouse.

  From her vantage point on a hillside next to the Freezie Treats van, she turned on the camera app on her tablet. She checked out the view, lining up for a wide-angle of the track layout. She clicked a panoramic shot then zoomed in on the start-finish area. She clicked again, moving methodically clockwise around the grounds. In front of the beer tent, she spotted Devlin. He was talking with a group of men. It took her a moment to realize that one of the men was Owen.

  Seriously?

  Something about seeing them together made her distinctly nervous. But she assured herself they were probably talking about motorbikes and races. There was no reason in the world to assume they’d even mention her or Edmund. And she certainly wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about the Staffords.

  She and Edmund had been a nice fantasy while it lasted. He had been the consummate gentleman, smart, sophisticated, successful. He had been everything she’d ever fantasized about in a husband. And when he’d proposed with that big diamond and sapphire ring, she felt like she’d been transported into a fairy tale. So much so that she’d fully expected to live happily ever after.

  During all those months they’d been together, she’d never seen Edmund upset. He’d certainly never behaved callously, never mind maliciously. She’d never imagined he had had it in him to be cruel. Yet, somehow, he’d done it.

  Maybe that was why it had hurt her so badly. Not that she was dwelling on it. Well, except for those few times in the middle of the night when she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done wrong. Something had made him change his mind, maybe—

  She shook her head and determinedly snapped the next two photos. Indulging in self-pity wasn’t going to change the fact that she’d been jilted. The only thing she could choose now was how she reacted. She could sit around and cry about the unfairness of life, or she could dust herself off and get on with it.

  Ironically, the dusting-off part was quite literal today. But she was getting on with it.

  She finished the series of photos and made a few notes on her document. When she glanced back to the beer tent, Devlin had disappeared. She started to scan the area to find him, but her gaze caught and held on the massive blue-striped tent. The workers were moving in and out with tables and chairs. She smiled, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before. Tents were definitely the answer.

  While there wasn’t the time or budget to undertake any serious construction at the Phoenix track, they could level a few areas, put down some wooden floors, and erect event tents.

  “Getting what you need?” asked Devlin as he appeared over the rise. He looked completely at home in the setting, not the least bit rattled by the noise or the dust or the heat.

  “I am,” she confirmed. “Do you know where we can rent tents in Phoenix?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Not to worry. I can figure it out. If we level the ground, we can cover a lot of our building needs with tents. Maybe we can even pipe in some AC.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hot in September.”

  “It’s sure hot now.”

  He gazed at her with a critical eye. “You look fresh as a daisy.”

  “A wilted daisy, maybe.”

  He shook his head as he walked. “I can’t imagine you getting wilted.”

  “It’s eighty-five degrees in the shade.”

  He was backlit by the setting sun, and the closer he got, the more aware she became of his rugged masculinity. He was entirely unsuitable, not even remotely the kind of man she liked. But it was becoming harder and harder to deny her sexual attraction.

  As unsettling as it was to have her thoughts wander into that territory, she couldn’t help imagining his square hand touching hers, his strong arms around her, his full lips coming down on hers. Though the air was cooling down, her temperature was definitely heating up.

  “I talked to Owen,” he told her in a deep tone that seemed to caress her nervous system.

  “I saw,” she replied, hoping her expression wasn’t giving away her interest in him, but she couldn’t seem to look away from his dark eyes.

  “You have any desire at all to trade one cousin for another?”

  The question took her by surprise, and the answer she blurted out was completely honest. “None whatsoever. Owen seems like
a decent enough guy, but he’d always be a pale imitation of Edmund.”

  “Ouch. Poor Owen.”

  “I was in love with Edmund for a long time,” she defended.

  Devlin eased a little closer. “And are you still in love with Edmund?”

  The sun slipped behind the hillside, putting the world in shadow, somehow increasing the intimacy. “It’s hard to still be in love with someone who publicly stomped on your heart.”

  Devlin wordlessly reached out and squeezed her hand.

  She glanced down, feeling pulses of heat climb her arm and aim their way into her chest.

  “So, you want Owen to back off?”

  “That would be best.”

  “Okay.” He tugged her toward him. “He already thinks we’re dating. Let’s seal the deal.”

  Before she could decipher the meaning of his words, Devlin’s lips were on hers, his palm on her cheek, their joined hands pulled around to press against the small of her back.

  The kiss went from tentative to bold in a fraction of a second. His lips were firm and hot, opening against hers as his hand tunneled into her hair. Her chest expanded, heart rate jumping, while tendrils of arousal curled along her belly and thighs.

  The kiss lasted seconds then lengthened. He broke away, but only to reposition, then he urged her lips further apart and increased the intimacy between them. His tongue swooped inside, and she answered with hers.

  He groaned deep in his throat, and his hand pressed into her back, bringing their bodies tight together. Her breasts brushed his chest, and her nipples turned instantly hard, sensitive to his heat, causing her to press against him to assuage the sudden ache. She tipped her head back to deepen the kiss.

  His lips were magic, his hands sure and strong. Her body seemed to give in, willing to go wherever he led.

  Then, suddenly, he was backing off, pulling away, letting her go. It took a moment for her legs to solidify under her, and she gripped his upper arm for support.

  He gave her a wink and a conspiratorial grin. “That ought to do it.”

  She blinked. It had done it all right. It had taken her to another plane of existence.

  “Don’t look,” Devlin mumbled. “But Owen got a perfect view of all that.”

  “I, uh...” Jillian ordered herself to speak. She had to act normally. She couldn’t for one second let Devlin know how much the kiss had affected her. “Thanks,” she managed.

  His grin widened, and he reached up to brush a lock of hair back from her face. “Anytime.”

  Chapter Four

  Devlin leaned his elbow on the bar, sipping his way through a Jack Daniel’s at the wind-up banquet of the King’s Cross race the next day. Jillian was working her way around the room, talking to everyone from the floor manager to the DJ, bartenders, servers and guests. As he’d expected, she was thorough with her research.

  She blended well with the highbrow crowd. Her dress was understated, her hair swooped back in a simple knot, makeup done with a very light touch¸ but she still held her own, looking incredible compared with every other woman in the room. The sleeveless dress was basic black with a scooped neckline subtly highlighted with gold thread. A slightly flared skirt dropped to midthigh. She had a diamond necklace at her throat and little studs that winked in her ears.

  As near as he could tell, she’d turned down about a dozen dance offers. And many of the other men, either too shy to ask or unable to break away from their own dates, were watching her with obvious interest. Owen was included among them, although he’d kept his distance. Clearly, Devlin’s kiss yesterday afternoon had done the trick.

  It was obvious Jillian had wanted to send a strong message to Edmund’s cousin. She’d thrown herself into that kiss with gusto. Devlin could still feel its effects the next day. In fact, if they hadn’t been in public, and if he hadn’t been absolutely certain of the gazes on them, he might have hauled her into the back of the Freezie Treats van and tried to take things further.

  No, scratch that. Even if she was a back-of-the-van kind of woman, which she wasn’t, there was no point in pretending she hadn’t been playacting. As had he. At least he’d been for the first two seconds. After that, things had gotten very muddled, very fast. He’d ended up in the middle of the most incredible kiss of his entire life.

  Maybe she was just a great kisser. Or maybe he had a secret passion for classy, uptight women. Whatever it was, she’d nearly blown the top off his head.

  “Hey, Devlin.”

  Devlin turned to see Josh Wasco approach the bar.

  “I heard you were going to be here tonight.”

  Josh was a regional rep for NMAC, and their paths had crossed on occasion.

  “Nice to see you.” Devlin reached out to shake the man’s hand.

  “Congratulations on bringing the show to Desert Heat.”

  “Thanks. Hank’s thrilled.”

  Josh nodded. “Been lobbying for a while now, have you?” he asked a little too casually.

  “Didn’t lobby at all,” Devlin responded.

  “Seriously?”

  Devlin shrugged. “I’m in the dark as to why they chose us.”

  “Damn,” said Josh, signaling the bartender to bring him a Jack Daniel’s as well. “I was hoping you had some inside information.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Devlin admitted.

  “I was wondering how it all stayed under my radar. One minute there’s a moratorium on new venues, next minute everybody’s fixated on Phoenix.”

  “I assumed we were all just livin’ right.”

  “Good an explanation as any.” Josh thanked the bartender and accepted his drink. “You got any local contenders in the race?”

  “A couple of guys in the juniors.” Devlin had strongly encouraged both Riley and Spike to enter for the experience.

  “Get them in shape,” Josh advised. “It’ll be a light turnout, and finishing in the top ten might get them noticed.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Devlin, happy for the advice. “Now, here’s a question for you.” His gaze traveled back to Jillian. “What’s up with NMAC hiring Jillian Korrigan?”

  “You mean UpNext Events?”

  “How did they get involved? You know they’re clueless about motocross.”

  “I guess they must know someone in a high place.”

  “A vice president, board member?” Though his gut told him otherwise, Devlin hadn’t completely discounted the personal relationship angle.

  “You mean related to them or sleeping with them?”

  “I don’t think she’s related to anyone.”

  Josh chuckled. “I haven’t heard that it’s payback. Is she hot?”

  Devlin gestured with his drink. “Black dress, next to the pillar. With a tablet in her hand.”

  Josh whistled long and low, and Devlin immediately regretted sharing his speculation.

  “Not that she’s said or done anything that makes me think she is,” Devlin quickly put in. “I’m just scrambling to make sense of the situation, is all.”

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. Checking the screen, he saw Amelia’s name.

  “Need to take that?” Josh asked.

  “My sister. I can call her back.” Devlin hit end.

  Josh downed his drink and set the glass deliberately on the bar. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “What?”

  Josh gave him a salute and a conspiratorial brow waggle as he walked away. It took Devlin a moment to realize what he’d meant. He was going to pump Jillian for information.

  At first, Devlin was curious, wishing the man good luck. But once Josh arrived at her side and relieved her of her tablet, handing it to a waiter for safekeeping, Devlin got nervous. He could see she was protesting, but Josh wouldn’t take no for an answer. Moments later, they were on the dance floor. Josh’s arm went around her waist, hers slightly tentative on his shoulder. But then he said something that made her smile, and she seemed to relax.

  They danced smoothly tog
ether, and every step amped up Devlin’s jealousy. Maybe it was because they’d shared that kiss, or maybe it was because he’d made that stupid allusion to her sleeping her way into the job—and who knew what kind of ideas that had given Josh? But the upshot was he couldn’t stand to see her in Josh’s arms.

  He polished off his own drink, setting the highball glass firmly on the bar. His feet took him toward the dance floor, his jealousy and determination growing along the way. Josh’s hand was too low on her back. The gleam in his eyes was too predatory. And his face was far too close to her hair. He was inhaling deeply. Why didn’t she slap him or something?

  The song changed, and Devlin quickly made his move.

  “Cutting in,” he told Josh. “My turn.”

  He didn’t give either of them a chance to react, quickly twirling Jillian into his arms and spiriting her across the floor. He’d have been shocked if Josh had decided to make a scene at an NMAC event by arguing. But he wasn’t taking any chances, either.

  “Hello?” Jillian stared up at him, clearly expecting an explanation for his behavior.

  “You shouldn’t trust that guy,” Devlin lied.

  “Trust him to what? We were dancing, not discussing my investment portfolio.”

  He settled her into his arms. “I wasn’t worried about your money.”

  She was light and soft, and she smelled like wildflowers. He had to fight to keep from enveloping her in an intimate hug.

  “What were you worried about?” she asked.

  “The look in his eyes.”

  “What look?” There was humor in her tone. “Like he might suddenly grab me out of the blue and kiss me? Men apparently do that in Seattle.”

  Devlin shifted. “There was a perfectly good reason for that kiss. And it worked. Owen’s here, but he hasn’t bothered you all night.”

  “How would you know he hasn’t bothered me?”

  Excellent question. Devlin didn’t have a ready answer. And he was beginning to worry he was behaving like a stalker.

  “I meant I hadn’t seen him approach you,” he quickly amended. “Did he?”

  “Not yet.”