They looked at one another for an endless moment, saying a thousand things, each one of them answered. They relived last night, every second of it, all in a heavy silence that the camera crew could interpret any way they wanted.
It was torture, really. A morning after in front of the whole bloody world. But as the moment lengthened, Tori almost began to enjoy it. She got a little shivery thrill, sharing this secret with him, the rest of the world be damned.
“So, have you been doing anything interesting the past few days?” he asked, giving her a look of such innocence it nearly made her burst into laughter. That was likely what he’d intended, to playfully torment her, knowing she couldn’t respond.
She could play his game. “Oh, not what I’d call interesting, really.”
His brow shot up. “No? Nothing enlightening or exciting going on? I can’t imagine that.”
“It’s been terribly dull.”
“Dull?” He practically wore his offense on his face. The man was fun to tease, if only to give the naughty part of him more chances to come out and play.
“Shew, I’ve had more fun changing out a tranny in the pits than I’ve had around this place.” Giving an exaggerated yawn, she stretched her arms out to her sides, knowing the move was pulling her turtleneck sweater even tighter against her body. He noticed. She saw him swallow visibly. But that was his only reaction.
“Well, I can imagine working on cars is exciting for you.” Then he lowered his voice. “But maybe not as exciting as racing. Being in the driver’s seat, in complete control.” An evil smile warned her one second before he added, “Handling the stick.”
Oooh, the wicked man. Her body shook, from top to bottom, at the mental pictures his words put in her head. Her tummy started rolling over, and heat dropped down to rest between her legs. She throbbed there, her corded slacks suddenly feeling too tight. Uncomfortable.
If only to get even, to make him sweat a little, too, she replied, “I’d say that depends on the stick. Some of them don’t have the right feel.” His eyes flared but he remained silent. “It has to be the perfect size, just thick enough to fit into my....” She licked her lips provocatively before concluding, “palm.”
Drew’s face reddened as he mentally substituted the word she wanted him to imagine. Mouth. How perfectly he’d fit into her mouth. She never could have imagined how much she’d like doing something so blatantly carnal and her whispered words told him so.
He drew in a deep breath. She watched his hand, resting lightly on the seat beside him, curl into a fist as his muscles visibly tensed. Oh, yes, she was definitely getting to him.
But he, apparently, wasn’t crying uncle just yet. “Hmm, I never thought about it that way. About it fitting into your...palm. Seems to me there should be other criteria for how well it works. Maybe making sure it has stamina. Staying power. And that it’s long enough.”
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, almost groaning, almost laughing. “Oh, yes, length and breadth are both important. But it’s the smooth movement of it that matters more than anything else.”
Nodding thoughtfully, he murmured, “That makes sense.”
She thought they were done torturing each other, that they’d both scored a few hits and would stop this sensual torment. She should have known better.
“So I guess you have to keep it really well lubricated,” he said, his tone light. “To make sure it moves smoothly.”
Tori coughed into her fist as she choked on her own breath. Oh, she was going to get him for this. Definitely get him. Closing her eyes briefly, she managed a nod. “Yes. Right. Absolutely. Lubrication is important.” Then, raising a brow she added, “As, of course, is having an expert in the driver’s seat.”
His jaw clenched. “You saying you’re an expert? That’d take a lot of experience, with a lot of...equipment...wouldn’t it?”
“Not necessarily a lot.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Dozens of sticks?”
Dozens? Criminy, did he think she was some kind of track ho? “No.”
“Tens?”
She shook her head. Finally, showing mercy, she admitted, “Maybe it only takes one or two for someone to find the perfect match.”
He stared into her eyes, and she didn’t flinch, letting him see the truth she was trying to convey. No, he hadn’t been her first, but he hadn’t been much beyond that, either.
Finally, a pleased look softened his expression. “That sounds reasonable.”
“Glad you approve. Not that it’s, you know, really up to you.”
“Correct,” he admitted. “As long as you acknowledge that now, having found the perfect ride, it’ll be the only one you ever want to race again.”
"Leslie Kelly pokes gentle fun at the reality-TV craze in Make Me Over, a fresh, surprising story about real people falling in love. 4 Stars." - RT Bookclub
