Falling Free ( Falling Fast #3) Page 8

  “Well, is that a bad thing?”

  “Depends on where he got his money. I’m guessing from what he’s said that he doesn’t have a lot of family, so I doubt he inherited it. And he’s said that drifting doesn’t pay a lot, even at the professional level. I did some research, and he’s right. The money seems to go right back into the cars.” She shrugged. “I briefly dated a guy who flashed his money around, even took me to New York City for a weekend. Coming from poor, I was dazzled. Until he got arrested for dealing drugs minutes after I left his house. So I’m skeptical.”

  “That’s wicked. You could have been arrested yourself.”

  “I know. I was questioned, searched, but luckily they believed me when I said I knew nothing about his activities. I must have had NAÏVE stamped on my forehead.” Right under DESPERATE FOR LOVE.

  “But Tanner’s not flashing his dough. In fact, he’s turning our first event into a benefit for an organization that helps at-risk kids, and another one that’s close to Pax’s heart. The Alliance for Independence runs group homes for the mentally challenged. It’s where Pax’s sister, Janey, is living now, and she’s doing so well that she really is independent. She even has a boyfriend, and it’s so darned cute to see them together.”

  A benefit. Interesting.

  The cars took off again, running the course with Pax in the lead this time. Controlled chaos. That’s what Grace felt inside every time she was with Tanner. As long as she could control it, she’d be fine.

  Gemma let the shutter fly as the two made their run. Afterward, she sat on the desktop and scrolled through the pictures.

  “Can I see?” Grace asked.

  “Sure. This isn’t my forte, action and cars and stuff. But I’m the track’s official photographer, so I’m learning it. This event is really becoming something fast. Something big and exciting. Tanner said we could use him to draw in the area drifters. He’s a bit of a celebrity in the drifting world, apparently.”

  “He’s currently the top-ranked driver.” Grace drank in some of the earlier pictures Gemma had taken of Tanner and his car. Leaning against the back end in his driving suit, arms cheekily folded across his chest. Sitting in the driver’s seat in his helmet. “Nice effect there, with the shadow cutting across the front. What kind of photography do you like to do?”

  “Couples, families. And the occasional boudoir set for the gal who wants to spice up her marriage. Animals, too. I have three weddings booked at the B&B in the coming month. I love capturing emotion. It’s a challenge in a photo shoot, but making it real is so satisfying.”

  “What do you dislike about being a photographer?”

  Gemma tilted her head, contemplating. “Lack of steady income, especially starting out. Having to audition for each job.”

  “But you love photography.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Gemma’s passion showed in the glow of her smile. “I love how you can take something and capture its essence. And make it look even better.”

  Grace mulled over photography as a hobby. Would it fulfill her? She’d have to learn all those buttons and settings that Gemma adjusted on the fly.

  At the sound of engines revving, Gemma looked toward the window. “They’re doing another run. Pax bought that car just to drift. He’s really hot for it, maybe even more than for regular racing. He’s like bubbly champagne, so excited.” She got into position. “Hey, how would you describe Tanner as a wine?”

  “Hmm, let’s see. Definitely a red, with cherry notes, hints of cocoa, and a spicy aftertaste of trouble. And one hell of a hangover after being imbibed.”

  —

  Tanner had hopped into the shower in Harvey after his morning practice. As he headed to the garage, he saw Gemma showing Grace something on her camera. He soaked in the sight of Grace, the sun glinting off her silky brown hair, the way her ponytail slid over her shoulder as she tilted her head to get a better look at the display screen. The two leaned against the T-bird, and Grace’s long legs were angled out and crossed at the ankles. Fine legs, tanned, with a smooth sheen, nicely revealed by her midthigh pink shorts. In her white tank top, she looked like a confection.

  Before he’d made a sound, she looked up. Damn, that smile lifted his heart. “How’d the pictures come out?” Uh, look at Gemma, bonehead. She’s the one who took them.

  Gemma said, “I don’t usually let people see them before I tweak a bit, but since I let Grace take a peek I suppose it’s only fair to show you.”

  He wasn’t a fan of the posed ones; it came with the territory at times, but it always felt awkward. He wanted to break out in mock-bodybuilder poses, just to ease the tension, but not at the risk of those kinds of pictures floating around in cyberspace. His fellow drifters would never let him live it down, and a guy’s street cred was everything. He liked the ones of the cars better. “Nice action pics. The smoke looks like cotton balls.”

  “Amazing what you can do when you play around with speed and aperture, eh?” Gemma said.

  “Speed, I understand. But probably not in the way you mean.”

  Gemma scrolled back to one of the poses. “I think this would make a great souvenir card. It really captures your racing charm. See, there’s a nice area for your autograph at the bottom.”

  “All those teenage girls clamoring, must be hard. ‘Oh, Tanner, would you sign my chest? Oh, Tanner, can you take me for a ride?’ ” Grace was clearly funning on him, with a playful glint in her eyes, batting her eyelashes, her hand splayed against her chest.

  He couldn’t help laughing. “Mostly it’s teenage boys who want to be like you. ‘Tanner, what engine did you start out with? Tanner, do you recommend front-wheel drive or rear?’ That’s how all the pros started out, going to casual events and making a pest of themselves asking the drivers questions.”

  Pax came up from behind and patted Tanner’s back. “Come on, now. I’ve seen those pro hoes hanging on you Formula Drift drivers.” He caught the horrified look on Gemma’s face, and perhaps the uncomfortable look on Tanner’s, and amended, “Well, not you particularly. Just…in general.” He started backing up. “I’m leaving now, though I may have to hop, with my foot in my mouth like this.”

  Tanner waved away his concern, mock though it was. “The higher I rose in the ranks the less I was revved by all that.”

  “And the more you probably got. The more attention, I mean,” Pax clarified.

  “Pax,” Gemma said in a low voice that carried a lot of undertones.

  “What are pro hoes? Like groupies?” Grace asked.

  “Yeah. I’m sure every sport has them,” Tanner said. “Even back in my motocross days they hung around flashing their…smiles. Some of the guys called them moto hoes. When you’re a young, rangy teenager who only has one thing going for him, it’s pretty cool. As you get older, you realize it’s pretty damn sad to give yourself away to some guy because he’s a star or a celebrity. In fact, I don’t tell people what I do unless it’s relevant.”

  Grace said to Pax and Gemma, “It’s true. When we met, he only said he was the prince of a small country.”

  Pax laughed. “Ah, now the truth comes out.”

  Grace touched Tanner’s arm as she explained to the other two, “We were playing a liar’s game the night we met. All in fun.”

  She quickly dropped her hand. Damn, the woman didn’t realize how easy it was between them, did she? Like on their walk on the beach, how they’d fallen into step together, his arm around her shoulders, her leaning closer, as though they’d been doing it for a decade.

  Not that he’d ever been with a woman for a decade. Or even a few months. But, if he had, that’s how they’d be with each other. He was sure of it.

  So he slung his arm over her shoulder now. “Well, Grace and I are off to car shop. See you all later.” He steered her around and walked her to the car, ignoring the way she stiffened slightly. “Just two friends out to find a car, right?”

  Okay, it was a little bit manipulative. If she complained about his arm over
her shoulder, she was making it clear that they weren’t just friends. And if she let it stay there it could go on feeling right. At least until they reached the T-bird, and she slid out from under his arm to head around to the driver’s side.

  “Uh-uh. I believe this car is now officially—if not legally—mine. Which means I drive.” He crooked his hand in a Give me the keys motion.

  She opened her mouth to protest. He saw the war in her eyes at the thought of relinquishing control, and the knowledge that she had no choice.

  “That’s going to be weird,” she said at last, visibly gathering her composure. “No one’s driven this car while I was in it since I was old enough to drive.” But she handed him the keys.

  He beat her to the passenger door and opened it for her. “Milady.”

  As soon as she was buckled in, he started the engine and headed out. Even though this was a far cry from his drift car, he felt a rush of adrenaline. A clear, sunny late-summer day, heading up the road with the top down and a beautiful woman beside him. He’d always told himself he liked women who were happy just having a fun time because they had no idea what they wanted out of life. So a few drinks, some dancing, a tangle in the sheets, and then a bittersweet parting as he headed down the road. On to the next event, just as he’d warned when the evening started.

  Grace was a whole different category of woman. Classy. Deep. And she couldn’t care less about his status. He liked being with her in a way he’d never felt with anyone else.

  It kind of scared him, and not much scared Artemis Tanner.

  He glanced over at her and caught her watching him. She quickly averted her gaze. He had a feeling she felt the same way about him. No way would he wake up in her bed and bid her goodbye.

  “I wonder how this car would drift,” he mused, rocking the wheel gently back and forth.

  “No friggin’ way. Not with me in it.”

  He gave her a lazy shrug. “This might be the only way I’ll get you to experience drifting.” He tugged the wheel, crossing the center line and swerving back long before the oncoming car was in range.

  “I object! You need those safety bars that go over the cab in case the car rolls.”

  “You mean the roll cage.”

  “And that seat-belt system.” She folded her arms across her chest to indicate the five-point harness.

  “Not for casual drifting. Lots of people drift in their street cars. You only need that when you reach certain levels of competition. We’re going to hit an open stretch of road up ahead. I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”

  She was shaking her head emphatically, though she didn’t seriously look scared. “You will not drift with me in this car.”

  “Only if you promise to come ride with me in my competition car. I’ll be the perfect driver today, hands at ten and two.” He sat up straight and demonstrated.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and he knew that he had her. “Are you trying to get me hot?”

  That made him blink in surprise. “Hot?”

  “You think you’re going to skid me around on a track, and I’ll jump on your lap and…well, you know. That is not going to happen.”

  He had to laugh. “You know what I want you to do, Grace? I want you to fall free. To let yourself spin out of control. To do something with absolutely no goal in mind—even getting hot sitting on my lap.” Which—damn, the thought of that alone was having an effect on his “lap.” “I want you to let go and let someone else drive for a change.”

  She settled back in her seat, arms crossed, looking adorably sulky. “I am. You’re there right now.”

  “That’s ’cause you didn’t have a choice.”

  “Well, you’re not giving me much of a choice on the drifting thing, either, now, are you? I either give in or die on this highway. And you’ve coerced me into agreeing to some specific manner of car shopping as well.”

  “Wondered how long it was going to take you to mention that. I figured you must have forgotten.”

  “Yeah, right. I keep imagining us shopping for cars in furry costumes or pretending we speak some obscure language, perhaps from some politically insignificant European country.”

  He laughed, pleased that she remembered.

  “It’s not funny,” she said. “I don’t like being out of control. And I don’t like people forcing me to do things.”

  Yeah, he could see that, with her stiff posture and her tight mouth. “All right, I take back my coercion about drifting. I want you to come because you want to come.”

  Her cheeks reddened slightly, and she glanced away. “Thank you.”

  He ran that last sentence through his mind, hearing all the sexual connotations in it. But hell, he did want her to come, in more ways than riding in his car. He’d never had this kind of exchange with a woman he was attracted to. It was hard to keep his ardor in check.

  No pun intended.

  Clearly, his subconscious was intending a few puns. He needed to keep that in check, too. She’d already accused him of being a player, and maybe he was. Women usually approached him. When he zeroed in on one who’d caught his attention, he didn’t use lines or bullshit, because he could already see her interest.

  Another way that Grace had been different. Sure, she’d looked his way a few times, but she’d never given him the look. The smile. Yet he’d felt a strong draw to her just the same.

  “So spill, Tanner. What are we doing?”

  “My condition is simple and does not involve fur: you toss your list and just feel the cars. Be open-minded. Try them all.”

  “But I want certain features in a car. It doesn’t make sense to test-drive a bunch of cars I know won’t fulfill my criteria.”

  “You have a list of features you think you want. And it may turn out that those are the best for your life. All I’m saying is drive cars that don’t fit your life. Play, have fun with it. I have all day. How about you?”

  “I have to…I should…” She pulled her flyaway hair from her face and gave him a half smile. “All right.”

  They settled into silence, the way they had on the beach the night they met. He liked that she didn’t feel a need to fill the gaps, to make chatty conversation because she needed some kind of connection.

  He fiddled with the radio and stopped on “Mustang Sally,” which he swayed to in his seat. “I think the first car you drive should be a Mustang.”

  “Too sporty, too—” She visibly swallowed the rest of her protest. “Fine.”

  “A real pony, with a V8-GT engine and around four hundred horsepower.”

  “How many—or is it how much—horsepower do you have in your drift car?”

  “A thousand.”

  “Sounds like a rocket. Honestly, I don’t know a lot about cars.”

  “To give you an idea, this car has two hundred, give or take.” He gunned the engine, and they shot forward. “Imagine how you’d fly with a thousand horses under the hood.” He floated those words out there, because even though she resisted the whole losing-control thing, he’d seen a longing in her face, too. “Drifting is a lot like flying, but on the ground. It’s hard to explain. That’s why I want you to experience it.”

  “With you, I need to keep my feet on the ground.”

  “And I want to take your hand and soar with you. I know you’re afraid I’m going to take you a thousand feet up and let go of you. But I’ll bring you right back to earth.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damned if I know, but it’s what came to me. And no, it’s not a line.”

  When she didn’t respond, he glanced over at her. “Your check cleared.”

  “Yep.”

  She wasn’t smiling. “I deposited it that same morning.”

  “I told you I’d see if my bank could clear it faster. Apparently, they obliged. Now, if you’ve changed your mind about selling the car—”

  “I haven’t.”

  Still firm on that, was she?

 
; The next song was one he’d never heard before, a soft seventies tune about a guy remembering when he was a younger man fooling around, hitting the town, and growing his hair. Then he met the woman he was singing to, and how she’d changed him. Tanner switched to a more current station, and Jet’s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” blared out. He turned it down some.

  “Raleigh said your dad left the T-bird to you when he passed. How old were you?”

  “Eight. My mom kept it out of necessity. But he made it clear that he wanted me to have it when I turned sixteen. He named it Birdie, his nickname for me.”

  So he’d died a long time ago. Why was she angry with him now? Maybe she’d discovered some secret love letters to his mistress.

  “Do you know anything about your father?” she asked. “You said you were better off not knowing him.”

  “My mom couldn’t even remember what he looked like, though I’m guessing I take after him, since I look nothing like her. She met him in an Irish pub. He was in Nashville on college break from Ireland, and in exchange for sex he gave her money for drugs. So I’m guessing he wasn’t an exemplary character. Of course, neither was she.”

  There, he’d give her his sordid story in the hope that whatever she’d found out about her father would seem better in comparison.

  She winced in sympathy. “Sorry I asked. So what happened with your mother?”

  “She was in and out of state-mandated rehab. My sister and I grew up in foster care. I haven’t heard from or seen either one in a long time. Are you close to your mother?”

  “We were never particularly close. She worked a lot, so I didn’t see her much. She died from lung cancer five years ago.”

  “Sorry. I know how it feels to be alone. Did you get along with your dad?” he asked, turning it back to her.

  Her smile was soft, melancholy. “We got on great. I was definitely Daddy’s little girl. He had his faults…“

  “Don’t we all?”

  She nodded. “But I knew he loved me. Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to rub it in.”