This Time, Forever (3 page)

“A
NXIETY DISORDER?”
Marley repeated, and she had to force herself to keep from yelling. “And you're telling us about this
now?
”

“It's no big deal. It has nothing to do with my driving.”

She collapsed against her seat. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “Please tell me you've got this under control.”

When she finally opened her eyes, it was in time to see him staring at her, the look on his face one that could only be called acute misery.

Linc Shepherd, humiliated.

She never would have thought it possible. But if she were honest with herself, it went a long way toward leveling the playing field.

He wasn't a god.

Not that she'd ever actually thought of him that way, but she'd lived through humiliation after humiliation thanks to him, and so it was nice to see the tables turned.

“Are you in therapy?”

She saw his jaw thrust forward. “I was.”

She shook her head. “We should probably work that into one of our press releases,” she said. “I'll talk to PR about it. I'm sure they can spin it. Make it into a human
interest story. Driver battles anxiety in order to return to racing.”

“I don't want this publicized.”

“Linc,” she said. “We can't hide your disorder.”

“It's not a disorder. It's completely manageable as long as
I
drive.”

She laughed—she couldn't stop herself—but she immediately regretted it. He appeared so obviously miserable about his little problem that sympathy won out. “Okay. Fine. You drive.”

“Thank you,” he said quickly and emphatically.

“But if you wreck it, you buy it,” she said, releasing her seat belt.

“Please,” he scoffed, looking less and less uncomfortable.

“And I still say we need to leak this out somehow. Don't worry,” she said quickly. “We'll do it in such a way that you won't be emasculated.”

“I'm not worried about that,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

He looked ahead, Marley recognizing that he'd grown more handsome over the years. Amazing that he'd stayed single all this time. She knew for a fact that he'd had more than his fair share of women throw themselves at him.

“I just don't want people to make a big deal about this. The accident—” She saw his jaw thrust forward again, saw his hands clench in his lap. “It was a bad time in my life. This little problem I have,” he shook his head, “it's just part of it all. I'm trying to move forward and so the last thing I want is a bunch of media types, or Anxiety Disorder International asking me to be their spokesperson.”

She found herself smiling before she could stop herself. “Is there really an Anxiety Disorder International?”

He met her gaze, and for the first time since they'd been reintroduced, she saw humor in that gaze. Genuine humor, not the sarcastic kind. Actually, now that she thought about it, it was the first time he'd
ever
looked at her like that.

“I have no idea,” he said.

It was her turn to stare out the front windshield. The sun had moved higher into the sky and the glare was killing her eyes. “Okay, fine,” she said. “We'll keep it under wraps, but I need you to prove to me that you're really fine.”

“Just give me the keys,” he said, holding out his hand.

Five minutes later they were on their way, and five minutes after that, Marley had her answer. He was completely at ease behind the wheel of her car. She relaxed a little inside. For a few moments there she'd been thinking they might have a huge problem. Thank goodness that turned out not to be true.

But
anxiety disorder?

She'd never heard of a man having that. Sure, she supposed it happened, but not to a race car driver.

“When did you first notice this little problem?”

“Once I learned how to walk again…and drive.”

She winced inwardly. Though she'd heard about the accident—who on planet Earth hadn't?—she'd never really given it any serious thought other than how sad it was for all families involved. But afterward, when the headlines had faded, she was abashed to realize she hadn't given him another thought. Well, that wasn't true. Every once in a while his name would come up
in conversation, but beyond that, she'd hardly noticed what was going on in his life.

He'd had to learn to walk again.

She might not like the man very much, but she couldn't imagine what that must have been like. And she couldn't imagine the stress he must be under right now. Anyone in the racing industry would tell you there was a lot of pressure on a driver to succeed. Not only was he battling that, but he also had to deal with a bum leg and an apparent psychological disorder—although apparently he'd been telling her the truth. She could see no sign of stress on his face now.

“See,” he said, glancing at her. “I told you I'd be fine.”

“I know,” she said, wondering why she felt so strange all of a sudden. “But you understand why I had to be certain you were telling me the truth?”

“I do,” he said.

“And you're going to promise me right now that you're not about to climb into a race car while on some kind of anxiety drug.”

“I told you,” he said after shooting her another glance.

“It's not like that. As long as I'm in the driver's seat, I'm fine.”

“Are you worried?” she found herself asking.

“About what?” he asked, his blue eyes intense.

“That you're not going to make it.”

It was the wrong question to ask him. If he hadn't been on the freeway, he probably would have slammed on the brakes. “There's not a single doubt,” he said, his voice terse. “Not a single one, that I'm as good a driver—maybe even better—than I was before.”

And yet, still, she felt the need to push him. “Better how?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He didn't answer right away. His face was in profile, but she could see his mind tossing over her question. “I appreciate things more.”

It wasn't the answer she'd expected. Linc had always been one of those drivers many had called cocky. Honestly, it was part of the reason why she'd been so horrified by her behavior in the past. Once the puppy love had worn off, she'd found herself wondering what she ever saw in the man. Sure, he was good-looking. Okay,
really
good-looking, but she didn't like men who were full of themselves, and that was the impression she'd always gotten over the years.

“I can understand how something like that accident could change your life.”

She saw his shoulders relax. “It does.”

And though she knew she might regret the words, she found herself saying. “I'll do whatever I can to help you get back on top.”

His eyes found her own again. “Will you?”

She nodded, having to look away for some reason. They were passing a residential area, trees intermixed with homes and lawns. Nice homes, she absently noted.

“Given how I treated you when you were younger, I appreciate that.”

She quickly turned her head toward him. “I was young. Silly,” she quickly amended. “A kid with a stupid teenage crush. Thank god I grew out of it.”

“Did you?”

She wished the radio was on. A song. A broadcaster. One of those annoying ads. Anything that might help
her change the topic of their conversation. “Of course I did,” she said. And then she leaned forward, pressing the power button before she could stop herself. “Hope you like country music.”

“I do,” he said, but there it was again, that look in his eyes, the one of secret amusement.

“Good,” she said, hoping, wishing, praying that he might drop the subject because the truth of the matter was, she hated being in the car with him. Hated the fact that it was just the two of them.

She wasn't over her crush.

The sexual attraction was still there. Raw. Unfettered. Uncontrollable.

Because from the moment he'd climbed into the car she'd been aware—of him, of the tangy scent of his aftershave, of the way his tall frame filled the car. Damn it.

She didn't need this. Didn't want to be attracted to him…still. What she wanted was to get this stupid business trip over with because the sooner she secured a major sponsor, the sooner he'd be out of her hair.

She just hoped that happened before she did something to embarrass herself.

 

T
HEY ARRIVED
in Atlanta beneath sunny skies. Actually, Linc thought, the whole trip had been pleasant. Once he'd quit grilling her about her crush on him, she'd seemed to settle down.

But he'd seen the look in her eyes.

No matter what she might say, there was still residual attraction. She tried like the devil to hide it, but it was still there.

He smiled to himself as he followed her directions
to Shelter Home Improvement's headquarters. They were just outside of Atlanta, high rises gleaming in the distance like giant crystals. One thing Linc had come to realize over the years was that the entire southern United States looked about the same. And so, just like North Carolina, they were surrounded by smooth green pastures intermixed with thick stands of trees. And just like up north, contractors chose to erect their buildings in whatever treeless pasture they could find. The headquarters of Shelter Home Improvement had been built in one of those clearings, its massive concrete-and-glass enclave seeming to sprout up from nowhere.

He was nervous.

Linc found himself wiping his palms against the front of his tan slacks as he slipped out of Marley's car.

“Catch,” he said, tossing her the keys across the hood of her car.

“Hey,” she complained, having to dive to catch them.

“If that had landed on my car, you'd have been paying for a new paint job.”

“That's why I was aiming for your head.”

She tucked the keys into her purse, Linc thinking that even her car's engine smelled new. He caught a whiff of barely broken-in motor as he stood waiting for her.

“Thanks a lot,” she said, giving him a smile that was completely devoid of animosity. At least they'd progressed that far. He glanced at the building ahead of him. They'd parked in the visitors' stalls and so they were right in front of the two-story structure, its windows tinted with something that turned them blue-black. The building's roofline was framed by green and black paint—the same color as Shelter Home Improvement's
logo. If things went right, those would be the colors of his car.

If things went right.

“You look nervous,” she said, her briefcase hanging against her upper thigh. She wore a black business suit that should have made her look severe; instead, it hugged her curves in a way that attracted his eyes. When had she grown into such a beautiful woman?

“Not nervous,” he said, “just anxious.”

“Isn't that the same thing?”

He shook his head, stepping up next to her as she headed toward the front door. “I equate anxiousness with anticipating an event, and I'm really looking forward to meeting the people from Shelter Home Improvement—in a good way.”

She paused before a set of double doors with the company's logo drawn onto the glass. The stare she gave him was one of calm reassurance. “You know, if this doesn't work out I have other fish on the line.”

“Yeah, but none as big as Shelter Home Improvement.”

She nibbled her lower lip. Funny, he'd forgotten she did that until now. Years ago he'd considered the gesture childish, now he couldn't keep his eyes off her soft flesh.

“True,” she said, “but it's not like it would be the end of the world if they said no.”

He looked away, out into the parking area. “I realize that,” he said. “And after almost losing my life, you'd think I'd be more immune to this kind of pressure.”

She clasped his arm. “It'll be okay. You'll see.”

He hoped she was right, Linc thought, following her into the building.

They were immediately enveloped by a cool, conditioned air, Linc's bare arms instantly sprouting goose bumps. He wore a Double S Racing polo shirt and matching tan slacks but he was wondering if he shouldn't have put on a sports jacket instead.

“Welcome to Shelter Home Improvement,” the receptionist, a woman with black hair and bright green eyes said. She sat behind a massive counter painted the same green as the building outside. In fact, the entire lobby echoed the color. Marble tile. Lush plants. A plush couch covered in a fabric that reminded Linc of money. Even the pictures that hung on the wall—exterior shots of various Shelter Home Improvement stores—echoed the hue.

“Who are you here to see today?” the woman asked, her gaze shifting to him. She jerked out of her chair. “Oh my gosh. You're Linc Shepherd,” she cried, the cord that ran from the communication console to her ear pulled taut so that she almost tipped over.

“I am,” Linc said, catching Marley's amused expression.

“You're here,” the woman wearing a name tag engraved Nancy said.

“He's here,” Marley echoed. “And
we're
here to see Sharon Taylor.” But the words were uttered in a teasing way.

The receptionist sank back down. “Oh. A…yeah. Sure. Of course you are.”

Linc bit back a smile. He was used to being recognized, but it'd been a while since someone had reacted so strongly. He took it as a good sign that it'd happened at Shelter Home Improvement's headquarters.

The receptionist dialed some numbers, the keypad
emitting beeps. “Would you please tell Ms. Taylor that Mr. Shepherd and Ms….” She glanced at Marley in panic.

“Ms. Sizemore,” Marley provided.

“Sizemore,” the woman said, “are here to see her.” The receptionist's eyes grew unfocused as she listened to the person on the other end. “Okay, great,” the woman said with a wide smile. “I'll tell them.” She hung up.