Beyond The Checkered Flag by J.D. Wylde Read Free Book Online Page A

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trips to the garage. As a result, there had been a steady stream of Forsythe
Racing Team employees who’d traipsed across the entryway to the library, which
had somehow become his off-track racing office. Lauren avoided the inquisitive
looks from his pit crew, the appreciative looks from his substitute driver, and
the narrow-eyed glares from his ex-wives who were still a major part of his
racing organization.
    Ex-wife number one and ex-wife number two, that is.  
    Barbara Jean had defected, resigning whatever position she’d
held after the divorce what with her now dating a rival racecar driver, which
was a good thing in Lauren’s opinion. She didn’t know what she’d do if she’d
run into the woman. She still fostered a lot of anger and yes, jealousy.
    “You ready, sugar?” Bobby Wayne walked into the study.
    Lauren nearly stumbled over her tongue. “Oh my god,” she
whispered.
    “What?”  
    The man had to ask? Was he serious? “Have you not looked in the mirror?” He
was eye candy at its very best . The snap-button shirt he wore hugged broad
shoulders and was tucked into a well-worn pair of faded Levi’s that molded to
his thighs and cupped his crotch. The black cowboy hat she’d gifted him to
disguise them in their outing was pulled down low. She’d seen her share of
racecar drivers who’d won in Texas. And she’d seen her fair share of country
music singers who’d donned the hat, too, in their acts.
    None of them wore one quite like Bobby Wayne did, or looked
as good in it as he did.
    “What?” he asked again, his brows pinching together.
    “You look hot.”
    His responding smile told her he liked her comment. And the
air shifted as his hot blue gaze slid slowly down over her. The tiny lines
radiating out from his eyes crinkled. “ You’re the one who looks hot,
sugar.”
    “I’m naked.”
    “I know.”
    He slowly walked toward her. It was just one booted foot in
front of the other, soft, faded denim-covered legs moving toward her with that
slow, easy gait he had, but he was right. She was hot. For him. The
rough tip of his finger sensuously slid down her neck, down her chest, and over
her breast to circle her nipple. He leaned in, kissed her neck, his mouth
sensuously teasing that little spot near her ear that…
    She dropped her head to one side giving his tongue more
access to her sensitized skin as the rest of her body melted against his.
    “And might I add,” he nuzzled that sweet spot right below her
ear. “It’s a good look on you.”  
    Tingles of awareness radiated out from the spot of contact.
And… reluctantly she pulled away from him. “Enticing as that might be—”
    “—and it would be,” he cockily added, as he dipped his head
for another lick.
    She squeezed up her shoulder to block his sensual assault.
“We’ll be late if we don’t get goin’,” she needlessly reminded him of the
private appointment he’d made with the antiquities dealer.
    “We could be comin’ hard and fast instead of goin’.”
    And damn, if that wasn’t the most tempting offer she’d had in
about eight hours. She resisted… barely. “You’re the one who wanted a bed,” she
reminded him as she reached for her shirt.
    He heaved out a heavy sigh before plucking the shirt from her
hands and tossing it over his shoulder.
    “Bobby Wayne!” She made a futile attempt to grab what was
already out of her reach. “We’re gonna be late. We can’t—”
    “I don’t know about you, sugar, but I can do it just about
on-demand.”
    And didn’t that thought just make her insides cinch up nice
and tight?
    “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna jump you.”
    “Damn,” she grumbled.
    “Ha-ha,” he teased back. “But if I have to wear a disguise, sugar,
so do you.” He pulled a bright red piece of cotton from his back pocket,
handing it to her.
    It was an official Bobby Wayne Forsythe racing shirt. She
hadn’t had one of them since she’d walked away. She looked up into his handsome
face.