Hard and Fast (29 page)

“Yeah. It is,” he said simply, holding himself over her with his forearms. “As is how good it feels to be buried inside you.”

They moved together, slowly and easily, her hips rolling to maximize his pleasure, their mouths brushing over each other, until Imogen had a slow, rolling orgasm that took her breath away. Then within seconds, Ty followed, in a quiet, raw orgasm that had tears in her eyes again as she felt him pulse and shudder deep inside her.

Life had been good before, but now that she knew this, now that she felt so connected, so complete with this man, she would never be the same again.

 

 

IMOGEN was glad she was sitting next to Hunter for the race. Tamara’s daughter kept her abreast of every pertinent move during the five hundred laps, pointing out maneuvers drivers made, who was a lap down, who was in the lead, and who had suffered a lousy pit stop. Trying astutely to listen and absorb everything, Imogen found she had a fair understanding of the sport by the time they were down to the final ten laps, despite the fact that she was finding concentrating difficult.

Her thoughts kept straying back to one thought—Ty loved her. She loved him. They were in love.

It was a giddy little secret that she wished she could shout out to the world. Of course, no one else would care, but she was fairly bursting with the urge to announce how she felt, and maybe mention that she was very sore in a particularly intimate spot after two days of mind-blowing sex, interrupted only by Ty’s driving responsibilities. It was a wonder the man had been able to get behind the wheel, he was so short on sleep, but he was out there, not looking the least bit like a man who had expended huge quantities of energy giving her multiples orgasms.

Watching Ty go in circles made her dizzy, and every time it appeared another car got close to him, or he squeaked out of a tight spot, she went tense from head to toe, but it was more from exhilaration than fear. It was easy to get sucked into the energy of the fans, the roar of the engines, the excitement and awe of the announcers. Wearing the Ty McCordle sweatshirt that she had somehow just forgotten to give back to Ty after their camping trip, Imogen was heartily enjoying herself playing fan girl.

And she and Hunter could sit there mildly smug as they watched the race. Ty was Hunter’s godfather and Imogen was nailing him. Or was he nailing her? Truthfully, that was probably the more accurate descriptive for their relationship given that he was the one who did the inserting. While she had never considered herself a braggart, she couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of petty satisfaction at the knowledge that not only did Ty love having sex with her, he flat-out loved her.

“Did you see that?” Hunter asked, tapping Imogen’s leg to get her attention. The little girl was clearly glad to have a protégée to instruct. “Ty took a pass on the inside. He’s in third place now.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Imogen admitted. “But that’s good. Third is good. How many laps left?”

“Nine.” Hunter leaned over to her mother, wearing an Elec Monroe shirt, a Ty McCordle hat, and a Ryder Jefferson pin. The poor kid was loaded down with the effort of balancing her loyalties. “Mom, chill out. Elec’s having an awesome race.”

Tamara did look slightly ill. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just shouldn’t have eaten that hot dog.”

Imogen was fairly certain no one should ever eat hot dogs, but she kept the opinion to herself. Tugging on the strings of her—Ty’s—sweatshirt, she couldn’t help standing up with the other fans as the cars roared down the track, ticking off the final laps as the drivers jostled for position. Two cars spun out in a cloud of smoke, and a half-dozen other cars narrowly missed getting sucked into the accident. In the momentary confusion, the lead cars had pulled away from the pack.

“Holy crap,” Hunter proclaimed. “Look at the top five. Jimmie, Ty, Kyle, Ryder, and Elec. And Uncle Evan is sixth. Sweet.”

Though she had no clue who Jimmie and Kyle were, she knew everyone else and was pleased for them. It sounded like a good thing to her, considering exactly how many cars were winging around the track.

“Very cool,” she told Hunter, taking another glance at Tamara. She must not be feeling well at all if Hunter’s use of the term
crap
paired with a religious sentiment hadn’t triggered a reprimand from Tamara. “Are you okay?” she asked her.

“Not really,” Tamara said, breathing deeply through her mouth, her chest rising and falling.

Pete was looking at his mother suspiciously. “You’re going to puke, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Tamara admitted, her brow dewy with sweat. “Imogen, do you mind if I go back to the coach now? Do you know how to find your way back on your own with the kids when the race is over?”

“Yeah, I can manage. If not, I can ask directions. You go ahead and lie down. Do you have your cell phone?” Despising throwing up herself, Imogen could well imagine Tamara’s urgent need to get back and do so in private.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She took a shaky breath and stood up, grabbing her backpack. “You all have your passes, right? You can’t get back to the coach lot without them.”

“Yes.” Imogen checked and saw Pete and Hunter still had theirs dangling around their necks, and hers was in her purse. “Hope you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Tamara made a frantic dash down the stairs of the grand-stand while Hunter smacked Imogen’s leg again. “You’re missing it!”

Swinging her attention back to the track, Imogen asked, “What did I miss?”

“Ty has the white flag!”

Like that meant a damn thing to her. “Is that good?” She scanned the track for the sixty car, but she couldn’t see anything other than cars buzzing by in a blur.

“It means the lead car has started his final lap. Ty is in the lead.”

“Well, yes, that would be good, then.” Hunter had scooted forward in the seat, her little bottom bouncing up and down, and Imogen found herself leaning forward as well. “Does Ty win a lot of races?” She assumed he did, though it occurred to her she had never actually inquired as to specifics of his season. That made her a bad girlfriend. Girlfriend. She was his girlfriend. A surge of giddiness rushed through her, even as guilt made her realize maybe she should ask for better details from him. But whenever she asked him how things were going, he always gave a shrug and a Ty answer of “Alright, Emma Jean.”

“He hasn’t won a race in twenty-three weeks,” Hunter told her.

“Oh.” That didn’t sound good, but again, what did she know exactly about the sport? She was trying, desperately, but she had a lot of ground to cover to understand the how, the why, and the what of stock car racing. “So this is really exciting, then.”

“Yes.” Hunter was up on her feet, as was the crowd, all screaming and cheering and waving their arms in the air.

Imogen surged to her feet along with everyone else when Pete gave her a grin and tugged her arm to get her up. She smiled back at him. “Think he’s going to win?” she yelled to Pete over the roar.

“He just did!” Pete yelled back, pointing at the track as the crowd went wild.

The announcer came over, “That’s Ty McCordle in the number sixty car for his first win in twenty-three races!”

An amazing amount of pride rushed through Imogen, and she wanted to stand on her seat and tell everyone around her, “That’s my boyfriend! He’s number one and I’ve given him oral sex.”

Fortunately, she controlled the urge.

“Let’s go!” Hunter demanded, grabbing Imogen’s hand and tugging her toward the stairs.

“Where? What’s the hurry?”

“Victory Lane.”

“Victory Lane?” Imogen halted in her flats as her handbag fell off her shoulder. “I don’t think we’re allowed there, are we?”

“We have passes,” Hunter said, holding out her badge.

“And you’re Ty’s girlfriend,” Pete said.

She could give him a cookie for saying that unprompted. “But . . .”

“And we’re related to half the top finishers,” Pete added.

“Victory Lane is the most awesome-ist place ever,” Hunter said. “We
have
to go or I’ll die.”

Imogen’s logical mind couldn’t come up with a legitimate argument for not going, and all three of them wanted to, including herself, so she just shrugged. “Okay, let’s go. Lead the way.”

“Whoop, whoop!” was Hunter’s opinion as she dragged Imogen and her brother down the stairs at a speed to rival the racing itself.

 

 

 

TY climbed out of his car and pumped his fist in the air. Hell, yeah. Winning had never felt so goddamn good in his life. He’d been having a good season and was in the Chase, but it had still been a long time since he’d passed under that checkered flag, and nothing beat that excitement. Add to the win the fact that his girlfriend, his first, honest-to-God, “I love this woman with all my heart” girlfriend was there to witness it.

The only thing better would be if she were standing there in Victory Lane with him, but they had never discussed anything like that, and Ty knew Tammy would never suggest it to Imogen, not wanting to interfere.

His crew congratulated him and there were handshakes and back pats all around as he offered his thanks to them, his team, and his sponsor. Slapping his sponsor ball cap on his head, he climbed onto the hood of his car and got doused with beer as confetti rained down on him.

God, there was nothing like it.

Glancing out at the crowd gathered around, he almost slipped when he caught sight of Imogen standing there watching him with a gigantic smile on her face, her hands on Hunter’s shoulders. She was wearing jeans and the sweatshirt she had borrowed from him on their camping trip. With a grin so wide he about split his skin, Ty gestured for her to step forward.

She made a return gesture with her hand, eyes wide, as if she were confirming he really wanted her to come toward him.

“Yes!” he yelled. “Get over here.”

There was no sign of Tammy, which struck Ty as odd, but maybe she was off planting one on Elec. Imogen shuffled the kids forward and Ty hopped down to meet them. Hunter gave him a hug and Pete a high-five.

“Awesome race!” Hunter declared.

“Thanks, punk.” Ty smiled at Imogen. “Hey.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “It was an awesome race.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad I can share it with you, Engine.”

“I am, too,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ty stroked his hand down her cheek and looked into her beautiful blue eyes.

In them he saw everything he ever wanted—an intelligent woman who respected and loved him with her whole self. He suddenly knew that if he was being offered everything he ever wanted all in one package, he should hold on to it, right and tight. There was one way to do that, and he knew with absolute certainty that was what he wanted.

“I love you,” he murmured, giving her a soft kiss.

Then, needing her to know, to understand, needing permanency, a commitment, a forever with the woman of his dreams, he backed up a step, took her hand in his, and went down on one knee. “Imogen Ann Wilson, will you marry me?”

Those beautiful eyes went huge behind her glasses. Her jaw dropped open. Her cheeks went lily white.

Ty was aware there were flashbulbs going off all around him, and he could feel the stare of the television cameras. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this in such a public place, but hell, he had felt like he wanted nothing more than to make her his wife, and why should a man wait when he knew something so enormous and important?

Vaguely aware Hunter was jumping up and down yelling to his right, Ty stared up under the brim of his ball cap at the woman he loved and felt elation start to sink as she said nothing. “Well?” he finally asked her.

“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice shrill, her hand clutching the neck of her sweatshirt.

“Hell, yes, I’m serious,” he said. “Do you think I would be asking in front of hundreds of people if I wasn’t dead serious?” He gestured to the crowd gathered around them, all blatantly staring, capturing every minute on film and video.

Imogen glanced around and her cheeks went from stark white to beet red. “Oh, my.”

“So, anyway, now that you know I’m for real . . .” Ty squeezed her hand. “You going to answer me? I asked you once if you were the marrying kind and you told me that you hadn’t met any man you wanted to marry yet. I’m hoping I am that man. I know this is soon, but Emma Jean, I’ve waited my whole life to meet a woman like you, and I love you. Will you marry me?”

Her head started bobbing up and down before he was even finished speaking. “Yes. Yes. I will marry you.” Her eyes filled with tears and she gave him a watery laugh. “I’m trying to think of a witty quote about marriage from Beatrice or Benedick, but my mind is completely blank.”

Ty stood up. “As long as your mind is together enough to say yes to me, I don’t give a damn about witty quotes.” His heart racing, he leaned forward and gave her a slow, deep kiss, wanting to take it hotter but knowing he couldn’t in this venue. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll try to be a good husband, I swear.”

“I love you, too.”

Then he turned to the media crowd gathered and lifted his fist again. “She said yes! I’m getting married. How’s that for sweetening the day’s victory?”

Knowing he was grinning like a damn fool, he put his arm around Imogen to pull her close, and basked in what was hands down the best moment of his life.

 

 

 

TY had asked her to marry him. He had gotten down on one knee and said lovely things that she’d been too stunned to retain in her brain, and somehow she had managed to choke out a yes. Now she was surrounded by reporters taking their picture, interviewing Ty while she stood there, still stunned, and occasionally being asked a question herself.

“Did you suspect he was going to propose?” a blonde in her early forties, with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, asked with a smile.