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He chuckled and thoughI couldn’t see his smile, I saw it in the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners.It was my smile.

When I turned to walkaway, he revved the engine.

Turning slowly, Ilooked over my shoulder and even through the window net I saw the wink beforehe flipped his visor back down.

With the revvingaphrodisiac, I found the need to fan myself and wiggle my hips.

That earned me anotherrev.

Relieved my pep talkworked, I joined Kyle on the pit box.

“Is he okay?” Kyleasked as I adjusted the head set.

“I don’t know yet.” Ieyed his hotdog he’d gotten from the concession stand. “Give me that.” Isnatched it away.

“Hey, that’s mine.” Hereached for it only to have his hand slapped away. “I’m starving.”

I pointed behind metoward the pit concessions swarming with customers. “Then go get another one.”

Kyle grunted, tossedhis clipboard and got himself another hotdog.

When Jameson’s carfinally pulled onto the track, I let out the breath I didn’t know I washolding.

He was quiet on theradio, only answering “yes” and “no” to Kyle’s persisted questions on thehandling.

He didn’t take manylaps; the car seemed to be perfect in his eyes. So after fifty laps, he broughtit back in.

Jameson just grinnedand shook his head as he carefully withdrew himself from the car. I couldalready tell his left side was sore by the way he favored it when he swung hislegs around.

“How do you feel?” Iasked. Anxiety made me feel slightly ill and ready to hurl the hotdog Iinsisted on eating.

His eyes gleamed withreprieve at me, running his hand through his wet shock of hair. “Good.” Hegrimaced slightly. “I’m a little sore, you know, from the G-force in the turns.I’ll get used to it again.”

“So...” I began, examining his face carefully.He looked a little tired. He was breathing heavier than usual, but his cheekswere flushed with healthy exertion and his eyes were glowing.

“I’m fine honey,” heshook his head assuring me everything was okay. Leaning against the side of hiscar, he set his Gatorade on the roof. “Yeah, I’m a little sore and more out ofbreath than I wanna be but it felt good.” He grinned, a full on, beamingJameson grin, and I wanted to pin him to the hood of his car and ride him.

“Good.” I smiledtremulously, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss.

“Good.” He repeated hiseyes cast toward the media gathering behind me.

“I was worried aboutyou.”

“I know.” The smilelingered on his full lips, and for some reason my eyes were glued to them.

My gaze was stilllocked on his mouth, and he deliberately licked his goddamn lips, the littleshit.

I jerked my eyes to hisand saw he was looking at me in amusement and desire.

“Stop it,” he saidsoftly near my ear. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” His eyes gestured towardthe media again and I knew our time was up.

Brushing the towel he’dbeen holding across his face, he gave me a wink and turned to the press thatgathered. Lifting his hand, he ducked his head in acknowledgment of some nearbyfans cheering.

As with the previousdays at the track, I surreptitiously watched as the media asked question afterquestion on Jameson’s theory as towhyDarrin Torres hit him.

He shunned most of themwith sarcasm, but a few he answered diffidently with the help of Alley.

When he was finishedwith the media, he followed behind me toward the hauler so he could change andthen it was off to a nearby Ford dealer for another meet and greet.