She noted there were no windows, just net coverings, and only one seat for the driver.
The inside of the car was completely gutted, and she knew the tubed frames were called roll bars, to keep the car from being crushed if, God forbid, it turned over.
Fascinated by all she was seeing and learning, Liz did not notice the feet sticking out from the under the car. She tripped, screamed and was barely able to grab a window frame to keep from tumbling to the ground.
Beneath the car, Rick Castles jerked his head up to painfully bump it. “Ouch. Damn it, who’s the nitwit that can’t see where they’re going?”
Lying on a roller board, he angrily swung himself out from under the car, ready to lambaste the person responsible. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”
He found himself gazing up a skirt framing a very shapely pair of legs.
But only for an instant.
Embarrassed and red faced, the woman connected to the legs quickly stepped back.
“I…I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see your feet down there. I didn’t know anybody was under the car.”
He stood, taking in the rest of her as he did so and, despite his annoyance, liked what he saw. Her legs weren’t the only thing about her that was shapely. Long, thick lashes framed very apologetic green eyes that sparkled with little flecks of gold. Her turned-up nose gave her a saucy, playful look.
But there was nothing playful about her full, sensuous lips.
They begged to be kissed, and, with a warm rush, Rick was reminded how long it had been since he’d had a woman.
“If you can’t see feet as big as mine, lady, then you need glasses.”
Liz automatically looked at his feet and saw that, indeed, they were large. Then, unable to help it, she thought of a dirty joke she’d heard once about the size of a man’s feet being indicative of the size of his—
She blushed, all the way to the roots of her flame-red hair, and turned away lest he be able to tell what she was thinking. “I…I’m truly sorry,” she stammered. “I was just mesmerized by the car, I guess. I’ve never seen a race car up close.”
Rick bit his lip to keep from laughing. He knew the joke about women comparing the size of a man’s foot to the size of something else.
Her red hair was pulled up in a knot on the top of her head, and she looked quite dignified in her gray linen suit and matching heels. But he also did not miss how her breasts strained against the white silk blouse, nor how her skirt hugged, then cupped, her high, tight buttocks. She was a knockout, all right, but he was still irritated.
“I’ve got work to do,” he said grouchily. “Why don’t you move along? The garage is no place for women, especially wearing stupid shoes like that.” He pointed accusingly at her heels. “It still amazes me how they’ll give just about anybody a garage pass.”
Liz felt rancor quickly rise. She could have told him she had every right to be there by introducing herself, but she wasn’t about to. Whoever he was, she didn’t like his attitude. After all, she hadn’t stepped on his feet on purpose. Still, she couldn’t help noticing how his broad shoulders and chest filled out the tight, grease-stained T-shirt, or how his jeans molded his muscular thighs so deliciously. And despite his oil-streaked face, she found him ruggedly good-looking, his sleepy, mocha-colored eyes complemented by his thick, black hair.
She had feared there might be some leftover macho types who would resent a woman working in what was considered a man’s sport. This one was obviously a member of Rick’s pit crew, and she decided it best to try to make friends. After all, it was important she get along with all the guys. The fact his nearness sent her heart into overdrive had nothing to do with it.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m looking for Rick Castles. I take it you are a member of his crew.”
Rick wasn’t about to reveal himself, instead stringing her along in hopes of getting rid of her. Cute or not, he wasn’t about to take up time with another groupie. “Yeah, you might say that. What do you want with him?”
“I just want to meet him.”
“So you’re a fan,” he said, unimpressed as he noted her media badge. “What are you doing wearing that?”
“Somebody gave it to me,” she replied, which wasn’t a lie. “And, yes, I’m a big fan, but I haven’t been for long. Rick is my favorite driver, though,” she added with a confident grin, then pointed at the logo. “New sponsor?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Just think. We get free pizza for painting that all over the car.”
Liz stiffened. Even if this guy was just a part-timer, hanging around to get into the races free, he was going to have to learn how to act around people. What he should have said in response was that yes, Big Boy’s was the new sponsor, and Rick and all the guys were grateful. Not act as though it was no big deal because all they were getting out of it was free pizza, for heaven’s sake. Besides, for the kind of money the sponsor was shelling out to try to make the car competitive, even a part-timer should be appreciative.
Rick was watching her out of the corner of his eye, thinking again how good-looking she was and wishing all the more she’d disappear. He had no use for females hanging around the pits. Or anywhere else around a racetrack for that matter. They were nothing but trouble and got in the way. “Look, I don’t know when Rick will be back, so you might as well go on—”
“But where is he?” She had seen the schedule in the office, knew that this was the last practice session before tomorrow’s race. “How come he’s not here to try the car out?”
“He practiced this morning. He’s at the beach this afternoon. Sunbathing. Now you really should get out of here. The garage area is a dangerous place.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She was almost petulant, fighting to hold her temper all the while. Obviously Rick Castles was not taking himself, or his career, seriously. Otherwise, he would be at the track and not the beach. And even if he weren’t planning on practicing anymore he should be around to greet fans.
There was also another problem with his absence. She had the photographer lined up to take his publicity photos.
She suddenly remembered the blackboard she had seen on the wall of the booth where she’d gotten her garage pass. “There’s a drivers’ meeting at five o’clock. Won’t he have to go to that?”
“Yeah, probably.” Rick wondered if he was going to be able to get rid of her, after all.
“Then I’ll wait.” Before he could protest, she pointed to the smooth tires on the car and, figuring she might as well spend her time learning something, innocently asked, “How come there’s no tread?”
“They’re old tires. All worn-out. Can’t afford new ones.” He felt no guilt at the lie. He had no intention of being her racing tutor, for Pete’s sake. Let her go bother somebody else.
He lowered himself to the board again. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Oh, don’t mind me.” Her eyes went to his thighs, and a tremor ripped through her tummy. His jeans fit like they were molded to him, and she couldn’t help noticing the manly bulge, and…
She told herself to get a grip. Even if she was interested in men—which she wasn’t—she would never get involved with this one, because he obviously had an attitude.
“Keep hanging around, and you’re liable to get embarrassed,” he warned, rolling himself out of sight. “Sometimes guys cuss around the garage.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll ignore it.”
“But you have no business here,” he said