The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

and she was forced to toss up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “I’m having a small party tonight.” His voice was quiet. “In my suite at the hotel.”
    â€œOh?” Foxy employed the arched-brow look she had perfected in college.
    â€œSeven o’clock. We’ll have dinner.”
    â€œHow small a party?” Foxy met his eyes steadily, though hers were shadowed by her hand.
    â€œVery small, as in you and me.”
    â€œSmaller,” she corrected evenly, “as in just you.” Two mechanics, clad in the vivid red shirts of Kirk’s team, moved past them. Lance’s gaze never wandered from hers. “I have a date with Scott Newman.”
    â€œBreak it.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAfraid?” he taunted, bringing her an inch closer with a slight movement of his hand.
    â€œNo, I’m not afraid,” Foxy retorted. The green in her eyes shimmered against the gray in his. “But I’m not stupid either. Maybe you’ve forgotten, I’m not a newcomer where you’re concerned. I’ve already seen your string of—ah—ladies,” she said with a dash of scorn. “It was quite a boost to my education, watching you pick and shuffle and discard. I do my own picking,” she added, growing angrier as he remained silent. “And I do my own discarding. Go find someone else to feed your voracious ego.”
    Abruptly Lance smiled. His voice was light and amused. “You still have a vile temper, Foxy. You’ve also got a bright, inquiring mind and energy in every cell. You’ll outdistance Newman in an hour, and he’ll bore you to distraction.”
    â€œThat’s my problem,” Foxy snapped, then remembered to jerk her arm free.
    â€œThat it is,” Lance agreed cheerfully. He deprived her of having the last word by walking away.
    Infuriated, Foxy whirled around, prepared to stomp off in the opposite direction. With a small shock, she saw that the grandstands were filling with people. Time was moving quickly. Annoyed, she swiftly walked down into the pit area.
    As she interviewed a rookie driver Pam watched the entire scene between Lance and Foxy. It wasn’t possible for her to hear what passed between them, but she had clearly seen the variety of emotions take possession of Foxy’s face. She watched them with the objectivity and curiosity peculiar to her trade. There was something physical between them, she had only to see them together to be certain. She was certain, too, that Foxy was kicking out against it like an ill-tempered mule and that she had come out second best in the battle that had just taken place.
    Pam had liked Lance Matthews immediately. She was prone to judge people quickly, then calculate the most direct and productive approach to them. The consistent accuracy of her judgment had helped her climb to success in her profession. She had judged Lance Matthews as a man who did not so much shun convention as make his own. He would attract both men and women simply because he had so much to offer. He had strength and arrogance and a rich sensuality. Pam thought he would be indispensable as a friend and terrifying as a lover.
    The rookie, blissfully unaware of her preoccupation, continued to answer her questions as she wound up the interview. With one eye cocked on Lance’s back, Pam thanked him graciously, wished him luck, and hurried off.
    â€œMr. Matthews!”
    Lance turned. He watched a small, delicate-faced blonde dressed impeccably in gray slacks and a blazer running toward him. A tape recorder was slung over one shoulder, a purse over the other. Curious, he waited until she caught up with him. Pam paused and offered Lance a breathless smile.
    â€œMr. Matthews, I’m Pam Anderson.” She held out a hand whose nails were polished a baby-pink. “I’m doing a series of articles on racing. Perhaps Foxy mentioned me.”
    â€œHello.” Lance held her hand a