Full Throttle (Fast Track) by Erin McCarthy Read Free Book Online Page A

gearshift, fully in control, forcing the truck to bend to his will. “Running some trials on Eve’s car. It’s running loose, but she has a great mechanic in Sheppard. He’ll tighten it up, no problem.”
    It was an addiction, this sport, this career, this lifestyle. She knew that, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
    She couldn’t walk away without trying. She just couldn’t. There was no way. It was in her blood.
    A crazy idea popped into her head. A very insane, she couldn’t be serious, idea. Yet she couldn’t help but follow the thought through.
    She quickly calculated some figures based on the insurance information Clinton had given her. Rhett Ford was hard up for money, he had told her that. He also understood the love of racing. He was attracted to her, he was single, he was clearly a man who did what he wanted, with no regard for anyone’s opinion about it. He was a risk taker.
    But was he desperate enough for cash to marry her?
    And could she go through with it?
    It was ludicrous, the very concept.
    But once the idea had taken hold, Shawn couldn’t shake it. She could save her livelihood, the last connection to her grandfather, a sport that she loved. If Hamby Speedway closed, there wouldn’t be a regional dirt track in the area, and that would be a crying shame.
    To do that, she needed to get married.
    Why not Rhett?
    As he parked and came around and opened her car door, then the door to Milt’s, when he pulled out her bar stool, and took her coat from her and hung it on the back of her chair, she debated with herself, her heart pounding at twice its normal rate as she contemplated blurting out such a bizarre business proposition to him.
    “What kind of beer would you like?” he asked her.
    “I’ll take a Guinness.”
    “That’ll grow hair on your chest. I’m impressed,” he said with a close-lipped smile, his eyes assessing her.
    She laughed, a sound of pure relief that she hadn’t screamed out a marriage proposal. Yet. “That hasn’t been the result for me, thank God. I like dark ales. When I’m feeling really sassy, I like a good Irish Car Bomb. Jameson dropped into Guinness is a taste like no other.”
    “Now I’m really impressed.” Rhett put his keys on the scratched-up bar top and said, “I’ll do one if you do.”
    Uh-oh. “Are you daring me?” How could he have figured out already that was her weakness?
    “I’m definitely daring you. In fact, I double-dog dare you.”
    Damn it. He was either psychic or Eve had been telling tales.
    Shawn slapped her purse on the bar and said, “I’m in.” No matter that she hadn’t eaten dinner and, on an empty stomach, was very likely to get snookered from whiskey at the end of such a stressful day. She could not turn down a dare.
    Rhett grinned and flagged down the bartender. “How competitive are you? Think you can drink it faster than me?”
    “Oh, I know I can.” Hell, she had paid half her living expenses in college from bets on how fast she could shoot a beer. “It’s all about opening up the throat to take it all down,” she told him confidently.
    His eyebrows shot up. “Now that’s a mighty fine talent to have.”
    Oops. That did sound a little sexual. Shawn felt her cheeks heat. “Don’t be rude.”
    “What? I didn’t say anything.”
    “You were thinking it.”
    “Thinking what?”
    Damn it. He was good at this. He wasn’t going to say it, that they were both thinking about her giving him a blow job. Neither was she going to say it. “Just take your drink.”
    He gave her a slow grin as the bartender set the glasses with the Guinness down on the bar in front of them, three-quarters full. A shot of Jameson was next to each glass, waiting for them to drop the shot glass down inside the Guinness. “On the count of three.”
    Shawn picked up her shot of whiskey and let it hover over the Guinness, which she held in her right hand. From experience she knew to throw back with her dominant hand. Her coordination