Beyond The Checkered Flag (4 page)

This was crazy. She was crazy. It had to be the house. Or
maybe Fate. No, she was definitely crazy. And then it no longer mattered what
she was. She was where she wanted to be. Surrendering to the moment. To the
rush. To Bobby Wayne’s mouth as he kissed her. To his lips as they devoured
hers, making her forget everything but his strength, his arms wrapped around
her, his rock hard body pressing into hers.

And then she was taking control. Kissing him. Pushing him
back as they half walked, half stumbled toward the marble staircase. She pulled
on his shoulders until he sat down on the bottom stair. And then his hands were
sliding up under her shirt, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples, his
touch exquisite.

“I need you, sugar.” His plea was raspy, guttural. And he was
pulling down on her shoulders until she was on her knees between his
wide-spread legs. And his fingers were in her hair as her fingers feverishly
fumbled with the button fly of his jeans. And then he was free of his boxers
and she was holding him, cupping his balls in her hand, stroking his long, hard
length with the other.

For the first time in her life a Foster wasn’t running
away
from something. No, she was running full-out, throw-caution-to-the-wind,
jump-off-the-edge-of-the-cliff-without-a-safety-net, right to him. And then she
was going down on him, sucking him deep into her mouth, licking and tasting him
like she couldn’t get enough.

And she couldn’t.

Nothing had ever felt like this except when she was with him.

“Oh, yeah, baby, just like that.” His hands were tangled in
her hair, guiding her head up and down. And his groans, his guttural hisses of
pleasure were an aphrodisiac to her wounded spirit. God! She’d never felt so
empowered. So alive. So wanted. So sure she was
exactly
where she was
supposed to be.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest at the revelation.

And while she still reeled from that, Bobby Wayne gently
pulled her off him. He stood, kicked his jeans aside. And before her world
could tilt back on its axis, before she could question or second guess what she
was doing, before she could run away, he was kissing her, inhaling her and she
didn’t care if her world ever righted itself.

She was where she wanted to be
.

And it terrified her.

“Bobby Wayne,” she breathed out his name.

His hands slid up over her stomach, pushing her shirt up over
her breasts and over her head. Then they were sliding around her back,
unhooking her bra. It fell to the floor, and they were naked.

“Bobby Wayne.” She placed her palm against his muscled chest.
“We need to talk. There’s too much between—”

“There’s nothing between us,” he stated the obvious, his
finger teasing the undersides of her breasts.

“Bobby Wayne, we need to talk.”

“No talk, sugar. There’s only room here to feel.” And then he
was picking her up, his palms cupping her butt and she was feeling him. All of
him. Every thick, long, hard inch of him. Her legs wrapped around his waist and
she cocked her hips so she could rub against his engorged flesh. And she nearly
whimpered at how good he felt. How needy she was for only him.

And how
right
he felt. How perfect.

“That’s it, baby, just feel.” And then his mouth was on hers
again, his tongue eagerly mating with hers as he walked them across the grand
foyer to his study. They stumbled through the doorway. Bobby Wayne made his way
to the couch as Lauren reached a blind hand out for a light switch.

She found one. The room illuminated with soft golden light
and her breath caught in her throat.  

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she looked all around her. “Oh…
my… god.”

Pictures she’d hung in here of Bobby Wayne’s NASCAR
achievements – his first win at Daytona, his first championship – and every
championship after had been replaced. With pictures… of
her
.

Pictures of her on tour. Pictures of her lifting high her
Horizon Award. Of her holding her first album cover. Then another picture of
her holding the disc when the album had gone platinum. And other pictures of
her accepting awards at the CMAs and the ACMs and the AMAs. Her heart pounded. She
turned back to him. “I- I don’t understand,” she stuttered.

And Bobby Wayne stood stiff and silent as she slowly slid
down off his body. “I decorated this room for you,” she softly stated the
obvious. So how did
she
end up on the walls? How did
her
career
achievements end up here? She looked back at him waiting for an explanation.

And still he stood silent, exactly where she’d slid off him.

Barbara Jean would never,
never
have hung these
pictures. Not when she’d destroyed all the other rooms Lauren had personally restored
and decorated. This wasn’t exactly a shrine to her, but it did make a
statement. A huge statement. One Lauren didn’t quite know how to interpret. She
looked back at Bobby Wayne. “You followed my career?”

“I should have followed you.” And she heard real regret in
his voice. Saw it in his eyes and in the downward set of his mouth.

His confession went a long way to soothing the hurt that had
never quite healed in her heart.

“I knew the mistake I made… as soon as I said,
I do.
Barbara
Jean knew it, too.”

“But… I…” Her heart pounded in her chest.

She looked around. Really looked. Beyond the pictures. To his
clothes, his jeans, his tee shirts, and boxers that were neatly folded and
stacked on his desk instead of upstairs in the dresser in his bedroom. To his
boots and shoes stashed in a corner. To his books and magazines stacked by the
couch and his files that littered the coffee table.  

He’d been living in here for a quite a while. Longer than his
recent accident; maybe as long as his marriage to Barbara Jean. But why? Why
live in here surrounded with pictures of her?

He stepped closer to her. “I love you, Lauren. I don’t think
I ever stopped. Hell, I know I never stopped.”

And he stood there, naked in front of her, with no barriers
to his body, or his soul. And only a man who was telling the truth would do
that.

Which mean that Jeremy had
lied
to her.

“Bobby Wayne,” she softly breathed out his name.

“I love you, Lauren.”

They were the words she’d longed to hear. Words she’d never
thought she’d hear again. And they were words she didn’t know what to do with,
or how to react. The urge to run like the born-and-bred Foster she was bore
down on her hard. “I—” Her heart pounded. She’d made such a mess of things. “I
don’t— I don’t know what— what to do.” Jeremy thought she was ending things
here. She’d thought she be ending things, too. Yet now…

And Bobby Wayne knew her – better than anyone – better than
she knew herself because he reached for her hand. Laced his fingers with hers
and held her right where she stood. And he kept talking to her in that sweet
slow drawl he had, talking to her like she wasn’t having a panic attack. Like
her world wasn’t being completely altered by just his presence.

“I still love you, Lauren.” He squeezed her fingers. Tugged
her closer into the welcoming heat and strength of his body. I still want you—”

And then there was no talking. Just Lauren in his arms. Her
mouth on his, surrendering to him, kissing him. Her hands sliding into his
hair, holding his head close, part of her half afraid he’d come to his senses.
Or maybe she’d come to hers.

And then there were his hands. Sliding down over her body,
making short work of her jeans, and she no longer cared about what made sense,
just what felt right.

And being here with Bobby Wayne Forsythe felt more than
right. It felt
perfect
.

His fingers slipped between her legs to stroke her… tease
her. And she was panting. Begging. And he obliged her every demand, driving her
closer and closer to completion as his finger slid into her wetness, back and
forth, his thumb circling her clit.

 And then she was tumbling over a precipice, gasping as a
blinding orgasm rocked through her, tumbling her back onto the couch when her
legs gave out. And he was holding onto her, like he’d always done, and she’d
wondered how she could have been so dumb to have let him go. To have walked
away from him when he was her everything.

He was between her legs, pushing her higher as he was
thrusting into her, driving her toward a second orgasm.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she panted as she wrapped her arms
around his big shoulders, holding on tight.

And he was gasping for breath, whispering of the wildly
erotic things he wanted to do to her, driving her – no, driving them
both
over the edge. And she was crying out his name as another orgasm rocked through
her body and he was growling out his as he followed her over the same edge.

Together they slowly tumbled back to earth, weak and sated in
each other’s arms.

And Lauren knew. She would
never
be the same again.

And what did she do about that?

* * *

She hadn’t moved a muscle, yet Bobby Wayne knew her mind was
reeling. He could practically smell the brain cells burning. And once she got
into clean air and she cleared her senses, she’d pull away. And then it was
only a hasty exit out the front door and he’d lose her again. 

“I know this isn’t what you planned when you came back here.”
He gently brushed a dark wavy lock of hair from her flushed cheek. “Give me
another chance, sugar, please?” he begged. “Give
us
another chance.”

She breathed in a shaky breath. Her fingers gently pushing
his hair from his forehead and he could see the battle waging in her beautiful
eyes. Her lips trembled as she opened her mouth—

“Don’t say anything sugar, unless it’s what I wanna hear.”

“Bobby Wayne,” she whispered his name out on a breathy sigh
and he prayed it wasn’t regret.

“Just feel, baby. Just feel.” And Bobby Wayne settled his
body between her legs, the erection he always seemed to have every time she was
near pressed against her moist, hot center. “Forget about everything outside of
here,” he whispered, desperate enough to play the house and home card.
“Remember what Olivia and Adam found here. And Jane and Brennan had here. And
most of all, remember what
we
had here – what we can have again if we
just give ourselves a chance.”

“I’m scared,” her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I know you are.” He brushed a finger over her thundering
pulse. “Believe me, I know about being afraid.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I do.” His body was healed enough he could physically get
behind the wheel, but his head… well, he didn’t want to think about his head.
Or Toby O’Brian, the young upstart filling in for him. The one getting all the
media attention now that he was yesterday’s news. Bobby Wayne owned his own
team. It wasn’t like he was going to replace himself. But what would he do if
he couldn’t race again? What would he—

“We were happy here.” Her softly uttered words pulled him
back from the dark abyss of his uncertain future.

“We were.” The happiest he’d ever been. He shifted until he
settled in behind her on the couch. He pulled her close. Even without the heat
of sex, her body melted into his, the fit perfect. Like two puzzle pieces
joined. And he knew their joining was more than just a sexual attraction, or a winning
chemical combination. It was the joining of two souls, two hearts beating as
one, and he wanted that for the rest of his life.

Her arm wrapped over his stomach as she settled her head
against his shoulder. Her tumble of hair fell over his arm. Her nose pressed
into his neck, her perfect tea-cup breasts lightly grazed his chest as her
breath feathered against his chin. And his dick laid happy and hard right
between his legs.

He made no move to slip into her. Instead, he marveled at the
contentment which settled around him just holding her close, having her in his
arms. Having his heart beating steadily against hers.

“Give us a chance,” he whispered against her temple. “Give
me
a chance.” And he waited with his heart in his throat the anxious seconds for
her to stay… or walk away. Again.

She looked up at him with the softest, most beautiful golden eyes
he’d ever seen. Shining as brightly as the flickering flame of a candle. A gentle
smile turning up the corners of her mouth filled him with hope. And—

“Why can’t I tell you no?” she breathed out against his jaw.

“Because you’re where you belong?” he told her, but it was
more a question, one he was anxiously waiting for her to reply. His life, his future
happiness depended on what she decided.

“I am,” she whispered against his neck before she
surrendered, slipping her hand down between his legs, giving him that second
chance. 

And a whole lot more.

One week turned into two. They talked. They hashed out old
grievances. Made new memories, too. Hand in hand they walked the grounds of the
estate, enraptured by the everlasting beauty of Jane’s garden and the
solemnness of the Harrington family plots. They’d slogged through the mundane
chores of everyday life, passionately soared to new heights of ecstasy at night
in the makeshift bedroom he’d created in the study, and Lauren was happier than
she’d ever been in her life. Neither talked of what their future would bring
and that was okay with Lauren. Now was what mattered.

And now was pretty damn near perfect.

The Foster-Forsythe name carried a lot of weight in getting
the house quickly renovated and restored back to its pre-Bimbo Barbie state.
Bobby Wayne’s checkbook and the promise of a big, fat bonus had the crews
working long shifts; and in the two weeks’ time, the front doors were
refinished and the front entry floor restored. The master bedroom had been put near
to rights, as well as most of the main staircase, which was almost finished.

Although Bobby Wayne had visited the doctor, he’d made no
trips to the garage. As a result, there had been a steady stream of Forsythe
Racing Team employees who’d traipsed across the entryway to the library, which
had somehow become his off-track racing office. Lauren avoided the inquisitive
looks from his pit crew, the appreciative looks from his substitute driver, and
the narrow-eyed glares from his ex-wives who were still a major part of his
racing organization.

Ex-wife number one and ex-wife number two, that is.  

Barbara Jean had defected, resigning whatever position she’d
held after the divorce what with her now dating a rival racecar driver, which
was a good thing in Lauren’s opinion. She didn’t know what she’d do if she’d
run into the woman. She still fostered a lot of anger and yes, jealousy.

“You ready, sugar?” Bobby Wayne walked into the study.

Lauren nearly stumbled over her tongue. “Oh my god,” she
whispered.

“What?”  

The man had to ask? Was he serious?
“Have you not looked in the mirror?” He
was eye candy at its very best
.
The snap-button shirt he wore hugged broad
shoulders and was tucked into a well-worn pair of faded Levi’s that molded to
his thighs and cupped his crotch. The black cowboy hat she’d gifted him to
disguise them in their outing was pulled down low. She’d seen her share of
racecar drivers who’d won in Texas. And she’d seen her fair share of country
music singers who’d donned the hat, too, in their acts.

None of them wore one quite like Bobby Wayne did, or looked
as good in it as he did.

“What?” he asked again, his brows pinching together.

“You look hot.”

His responding smile told her he liked her comment. And the
air shifted as his hot blue gaze slid slowly down over her. The tiny lines
radiating out from his eyes crinkled. “
You’re
the one who looks hot,
sugar.”

“I’m naked.”

“I know.”

He slowly walked toward her. It was just one booted foot in
front of the other, soft, faded denim-covered legs moving toward her with that
slow, easy gait he had, but he was right. She was hot.
For him.
The
rough tip of his finger sensuously slid down her neck, down her chest, and over
her breast to circle her nipple. He leaned in, kissed her neck, his mouth
sensuously teasing that little spot near her ear that…

She dropped her head to one side giving his tongue more
access to her sensitized skin as the rest of her body melted against his.

“And might I add,” he nuzzled that sweet spot right below her
ear. “It’s a good look on you.”  

Tingles of awareness radiated out from the spot of contact.
And… reluctantly she pulled away from him. “Enticing as that might be—”

“—and it would be,” he cockily added, as he dipped his head
for another lick.

She squeezed up her shoulder to block his sensual assault.
“We’ll be late if we don’t get goin’,” she needlessly reminded him of the
private appointment he’d made with the antiquities dealer.

“We could be comin’ hard and fast instead of goin’.”

And damn, if that wasn’t the most tempting offer she’d had in
about eight hours. She resisted… barely. “You’re the one who wanted a bed,” she
reminded him as she reached for her shirt.

He heaved out a heavy sigh before plucking the shirt from her
hands and tossing it over his shoulder.

“Bobby Wayne!” She made a futile attempt to grab what was
already out of her reach. “We’re gonna be late. We can’t—”

“I don’t know about you, sugar, but I can do it just about
on-demand.”

And didn’t that thought just make her insides cinch up nice
and tight?

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna jump you.”

“Damn,” she grumbled.

“Ha-ha,” he teased back. “But if I have to wear a disguise, sugar,
so do you.” He pulled a bright red piece of cotton from his back pocket,
handing it to her.

It was an official Bobby Wayne Forsythe racing shirt. She
hadn’t had one of them since she’d walked away. She looked up into his handsome
face. “Does this mean I’m part of your team?”

“It means you’re the most important part of
me
,” he
solemnly told her.

Her heart melted. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Or it
would
have been my pleasure,” he
playfully teased as he tugged the shirt over her head. And she was quite sure
he was making up for not getting laid by taking his sweet ol’ time smoothing
the soft cotton down over her chest.

“You done?” she teased, swatting at his hands.

“I guess as done as I’m gonna get.”

She turned to catch her reflection in the mirror. The bright
red tee shirt hugged her small curves. His car’s number thirty-five was embroidered
across her breasts like false advertising of her bra size. Her hand rested
between her small breasts. Her self-consciousness at their petite size had her once
again wishing for things she didn’t have. Just like when she’d been a kid.  

He wrapped his arms around her as he stood behind her. “I
think your breasts are perfect,” he softly told hear, reading her mind. “Just
like you,” he added, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “You are perfect,
you know.”

She dipped her head, suddenly shy. Only Bobby Wayne had ever
thought her perfect.

“And you make me very happy.”

“Well, in that case, Mister Forsythe,” Lauren turned in his
arms and slowly unsnapped his shirt. She tugged it from his jeans, pushing it
off his broad shoulders and down his arms, before letting it drop to the floor.
“I do believe you’re going to get that pleasure you’ve been wanting so badly,”
she added, reaching for his belt buckle.  

* * *

“We need to do that more often,” Bobby Wayne told her a while
later as he tucked his shirt back into his jeans.

She totally agreed, pulling her own tee shirt over her head.

He ran his hands through his hair while she scrambled to drag
her disheveled curls into a pony tail. “Sex with you does a number on my makeup
and my hair,” she whined. “I look—”

“—Like a woman who just had a hell of a good time rockin’ her
man’s world.”

“A mess – that’s what I was thinking.” She fussed with
another attempt at a pony tail. “I look—”

“Beautiful? Happy?” He paused in buttoning the fly on his
jeans. The lightness of his teasing words belied the uncertainty shadowing his
eyes.

And Lauren stopped her whining; somehow knowing she was
standing at the edge of something… wonderful. Something she’d wanted all her
life. Something this man was ready to give her, if she’d just stick it out. She
inhaled a long, slow, steadying breath as she waited for the doubt to push her
toward the front door. But there was nothing but…
happiness
. And
contentment. She was where she was supposed to be. She was with who she was
supposed to be with.

She stepped closer. Tenderly touched the side of his handsome
face. “I am happy,” she softly told him before pressing a gentle kiss to his
mouth. “I’m very happy.”

“Good.” He breathed deep. Hauled her close. Hugged her hard
and kissed her thoroughly. He dropped a Forsythe racing baseball cap on her
head and tugged her haphazard pony tail through the opening in the back. “So
what do you say we go buy us a bed to celebrate?”

* * *

The beautiful antique bed was delivered three days ago. Set
up and christened in the newly remodeled master bedroom upstairs. The missing
Civil-War-era dresser Bobby had bought her when they’d been married had been miraculously
resurrected and returned to its rightful place.

In a way Lauren had been returned to her rightful place, too.
She was happy here, in this house, with Bobby Wayne. The kind of happy that
went beyond good sex, to that of two hearts that knew love and now beat as one.
She hadn’t turned on a radio, or a television, and except for the clandestine
outing when they’d gone out to buy the bed, she had no contact with the outside
world.

Reality would eventually intrude on their happiness, but for
now…  

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Bobby Wayne whispered in a
rough-edged voice still laced with sleep. Dawn was slowly rising over the Atlantic.
Weak fingers of pale pre-dawn light were slipping through the sheer drapes that
covered the long French windows.

“Actually,” She wiggled closer to him, sliding her hand down
over his flat stomach to slip around his morning erection. “I’m thinking how
very happy I am.”

He rolled her onto her back. Looked down at her. His hair was
rumpled. His jaw dark with beard stubble. “I’m happy, too.” And when she
expected him to slip into her, he held back.

Uncertainty gnawed on the edges of her happiness. “What’s
wrong?” she whispered.

His eyes lost their lazy sleepiness, replaced instead with a
burning intensity. The same look she saw when he was behind the wheel of the
Number 35 Dunmyer Chevrolet. “I want my future more than vague.”

She swallowed. “That’s the one thing we haven’t talked about.”
 

“I know.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” What they had here
was
everything
she’d longed for all her life, dreamed of when she’d been
a kid moving in the dead of night, leaving behind all the things she couldn’t
carry in a duct-taped, hand-me-down backpack. When she’d been a teenager hoping
to live in one spot long enough to have a boyfriend who’d screw up enough
courage to ask her to a school dance.

And Bobby Wayne was offering her all of that. And more. 

“I want you in my life, Lauren.” He lifted a lock of her
hair. Curled it around his finger. “I want you with me, by my side. I know my
life is hectic and I’m not around all the time,” he rushed on, “and I know it’s
real important to you havin’ someone around who’s always here for you. I know
my schedule makes that impossible, but when I can be here, I will be. And when
I’m not, I’ll still be right here.” His finger brushed over her heart.

“Bobby Wayne—”

“Will you at least think about bein’ here with me? I need
that. I need you.”

 Lauren’s heart started a wild gallop inside her chest. She
tried to push herself up toward the headboard, but Bobby Wayne wasn’t letting
her go. And there was a part of her, buried under her insecurities that reveled
in that insight. That he never let her go.  Even when she’d cut him free. “Exactly
what are you saying?” she whispered.

“That I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And she did. He gave her a small smile.

Which meant he had more to say. Her breath caught in her
chest.

“Don’t look so scared,” he softly told her.

“I’m not.” But she was. More scared than when she’d stood up all
alone at the Charlotte Motor Speedway and sang the National Anthem a cappella
in front of a hundred-and sixty-thousand racing fans.

“You don’t have to marry me.”

“But—” She’d marry him in a minute if he’d ask her again.

“You can live with me. I just don’t wanna live my life
without you in it.”

“I don’t wanna live a life like that either.” Not anymore.

“So,” his smile grew. “You’ll stick around a while?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak. She’d stay forever.

He made no move to kiss her. Or make love to her. “What’s
wrong?” she whispered.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever race again.”

He’d just spoken his deepest, darkest fear. She didn’t know
what to say, what to do. She touched his hair. Her fingers slowly slid down his
cheek, her gesture inadequate compared to the graveness of what he’d just told
her – of what he was facing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. A part of her didn’t want him to
race, didn’t want him to put himself at risk or in danger week after week. Yet
a bigger part of her knew the pain of losing something you loved. She knew the
helplessness, the anger, the pain.