“You crash into my life, and one dance is all I’m going to get?” he asked, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.
She nodded.
From the distance, he could hear the sounds of music once again, but he didn’t want to go back to the crowd. He could stay here forever. Alone with her, listening to the soft music of her voice, drowning in the teasing light of her eyes. Forever wasn’t normally a word in Demetri’s vocabulary. He drove fast cars for a reason. When the world went by in a blur, you never knew what you missed, and Demetri had a feeling that he missed a lot. Yet sitting here, doing nothing more than talking with this woman, made him want to slow down.
“I don’t know if I’ll survive with only one dance,” he told her, the words harmless enough, but deep down, he wondered if it was the truth. He’d never felt this before. This obsessive need to do nothing more than sit in her presence and breathe.
“You certainly turn a lady’s head.”
“But not yours?”
The teasing light in her eyes dimmed. “Not enough,” she said. There was some imaginary line in the room, some piece of rope between them, and she was determined not to cross it.
“What if I made you a deal?” he asked softly.
“I don’t make deals with the devil,” she said, obviously seeing temptation for what it was.
“There you go again with the name-calling.”
“If the shoe fits…”
He glared, and she had the grace to look ashamed—a little. “Tell me what you’re proposing, and it had better be aboveboard.”
He wanted her across the line, and there was an easy way to get what he wanted, and he wasn’t above using it. “You want to help your family?”
She angled her head, watching him carefully. “Yes.”
“So do I. We should team up.”
“I already have some ideas of my own,” she said haughtily. “What sort of ideas?” he asked, because his mind was brimming with ideas. Glorious, detailed, mostly pornographic ideas.
“Not those sorts of ideas,” she answered, her eyes knowing.
Demetri willed his mind back to the issue at hand. “Pity. I want to hear more about your ideas. I’m staying in town for the race. You should come.”
“I don’t do car races, Mr. Lucas,” she told him, as if they were the lowest form of entertainment on the planet.
“Could you please call me Demetri?’
“Since you begged so nicely,” she teased, and she had no idea how much he’d be willing to beg for her.
“Demetri,” he added. “Demetri,” she complied, and he planned on hearing his name on her lips again. And again.
He smiled to himself. “So you’ll come?”
“I didn’t say that,” she answered, and his smile faded.
“You could sing. At the start of the race. Oliver says your voice is lovely. I’d love to hear you sing.”
“I’ll give you a CD. Truly, the quality is amazing. Can’t tell the difference.”
He took a chance, taking one step toward her. “You’re going to make this difficult,” he said, noticing that she didn’t run. Progress.
“No, Mr. Lucas. You’re making it difficult. I know what men like you are about, and I’m not going there, so you might as well give up.”
“I don’t give up, Elizabeth. Sorry.”
“You’re destined for bitter defeat.”
“I’m a race-car driver. I live for defeat.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Because you’re a lot smarter than you let people think.”
“Maybe.”
He took her palm in his, twining their fingers together. She had long, elegant fingers with perfectly polished nails. He could picture those fingers trailing down his chest, the polished nails digging into his back…. Demetri shook his head. “You’ll have dinner with me?” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.
“No,” she answered, obviously sensing the more explicit train of his thoughts.
“You’ll let me help you help your family?”
She looked down at their hands, staring for a moment. Eventually she looked back up at him. “Maybe.”
“You’ll sing at the race next weekend?”
“Don’t you think you need to check with somebody before you ask?”
“I can pull some strings.”
Regretfully she removed her hand from his, and for a second his fingers flexed, still feeling her warmth before it finally disappeared. “Yeah. And I bet she’s female and you just flutter those thick lashes of yours at her, and she doesn’t dare tell you no.”
Demetri looked at her, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone notice my lashes before.”
“It’s a weakness of mine. Don’t read too much into it.”
Immediately Demetri’s imagination shifted to high gear. “Are there any other weaknesses I should know about it?”
“None,” she answered promptly, hiding all sorts of delightful secrets.
“I guess I’ll have to discover them on my own,” he murmured, already dwelling on the infinite possibilities.
“Over my dead body.”
“Body, yes. Dead, no.”
“Is your mind always this immoral?” she asked, exposing a charming dimple in her left cheek.
“Not normally this immoral. Usually some other thoughts manage to crowd in there, but since the first moment I saw you, no, that’s pretty much it.”
Her lips curved up in an irrepressible smile. “You’re going to be honest about it?”
Demetri shrugged without remorse. “If I lied, you’d see through it, so why try?”
That kept her silent—for a minute. “Assuming my agent says okay, I’ll sing at the race,” she said at last.
“Was it all those immoral thoughts?” he asked, teasing, but still dying to know.
“No, it was the eyelashes,” she answered, dashing his more immoral expectations.
“There’s the qualifying lap next Friday. You should come and watch.”
“No, I don’t think I should.”
“We can talk afterward. I’ve got some ideas of my own.”
“I bet you do,” she answered.
“About the Prestons,” he said, wounded that she would think so low of him. Yes, it was true, but he still was wounded that she thought it.
“I bet.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me kiss you?”
“Not tonight,” she said primly, but he liked the sparkles in her bright eyes, sparkles that reflected the moonlight, the candlelight and the better part of a man’s dreams. No wonder the advertisers loved her. Driving a man wild with anticipation.
“Hope is a marvelous thing, Elizabeth.”
“Isn’t it, though?” she told him. “I think