Table of Contents

Synopsis

By the Author

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Epilogue

About the Author

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

Synopsis

A year ago, NASCAR star Evangeline Marshall barely escaped death in a tragic crash. Evie is plagued by nightmares and fears racing again, but she doesn’t want to give up her dream. Blythe Pierce, renowned photographer, struggles with her own demons, having worked in one warzone after another.

Blythe witnessed Evie Marshall’s crash through her camera and is impressed by Evie’s courage. She persuades Evie to allow her to document her recovery and return to racing. Blythe finds Evie irresistibly attractive and fears she can’t hide it. Evie in turn is mesmerized by the loving but enigmatic Blythe.

But as Blythe’s past catches up with her and Evie’s fears grow as her first race nears, can they find the strength to triumph over their pasts and find love together?

Speed Demons

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Speed Demons

© 2012 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-719-6

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: August 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Shelley Thrasher

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)

Cover Art By Gun Brooke

By the Author

Course of Action

Coffee Sonata

Sheridan’s Fate

September Canvas

Fierce Overture

Speed Demons

The Supreme Constellations Series:

Protector of the Realm

Rebel’s Quest

Warrior’s Valor

Pirate’s Fortune

Acknowledgments

This novel was the hardest one to write, to date. The topics hit close to home, my mother passed away, and I was a bit unfortunate myself, healthwise. You can imagine that I harbor even more gratitude toward the people who helped make this story better.

My first readers—Sam (South Africa), Maggie (Sweden), Georgi (Scotland), and Jan (Australia)—you helped me not make a fool of myself before I sent my manuscript in. Your thoughts, pointers, and—a few times—complete puzzlement made me go back into the story and bring the characters out better. Thank you! You are true pearls.

Radclyffe, aka Len Barot, thank you for reassuring me that you keep having faith in me. I adore our BSB family, and with Rad as our captain, we sail toward even better times.

Dr. Shelley Thrasher, my editor, my guide, and my very good friend. I owe you so many thanks, and it’s amazing to think we’ve worked on ten (ten!!!) novels together, and some short stories too. I can’t imagine going through the process without you. You know me and my style—and my weaknesses as a writer—so well, our work is fast and seamless.

Sheri—we work well together when it comes to the covers, don’t we? I love working with you and hope to do it a lot in the future.

Lori, Cindy, Sandy, Toni, and the rest of the people at BSB who help create the final product, thank you for all the hours you put in. There would be no books published without you.

There is a special group of women (mostly) online, who, like me, are obsessed with The Devil Wears Prada fan fiction. You all know who you are. Thank you for the spirit-lifting distractions!

Lastly, my family in Sweden, my extended family in Rhode Island, and my book circle friends, I’m glad that you support me and believe in me. It would sure be an uphill battle if you didn’t. I’m especially grateful to Elon, who this year (our thirty-first) has had to deal with everything I couldn’t. I also want to mention my children, Malin and Henrik, who bring joy to my life by their mere existence.

For Elina—my granddaughter who came into this world as I was working on this novel. Welcome, our beloved little girl.

For Lilian, my mother, who passed away as I was in the editing phase. I miss you endlessly and you never failed to state how proud of me you were. I love you and I hope to one day be as strong and resilient as you.

Prologue

The sound of roaring engines drowned out everything else. Blythe Pierce had her left eye pressed to the viewfinder of her Hasselblad, not about to miss any spectacular images of Evangeline Marshall entering the Daytona International Speedway pit. Her crew was prepared to change her tires, and Blythe was ready to capture the image of Evangeline through the net covering the opening in the side of the car. She hoped she could manipulate the photo digitally to make out Evangeline’s features through the helmet visor.

“Five seconds,” Ben Mason, the team leader, yelled over the communication system. “Go!”

The red Dodge Viper rushed toward them and stopped perfectly within the markings.

“Damn it, Benny. The engine’s still getting too hot.” Evangeline’s growl was unmistakable through the headset. “Tear the fucking plate off.”

Mason didn’t hesitate. “Pete, do as she says. We’ve got to cool it down, or it won’t last through the last few laps.”

A seventh pit crewmember jumped the wall and tugged at some plating in the front.

Blythe moved lithely among Evangeline’s team, careful not to be in the way or to trip over the crew’s equipment. She kept snapping pictures, shooting through the net over the window and always focusing on the woman in the car.

The crewmember in charge of the jack let the car down and Evangeline took off. Soon she was speeding around the track, making faster laps than before. Blythe climbed the makeshift platform she had built to stand on because she was so short. She followed the Viper through her lens until it was out of sight, then patiently waited for it to reappear.

Suddenly the voice over the speakers grew excited. The audience’s roar nearly drowned out his words. “Paul Gardner is in trouble and now also Leo Schwartz, in the blue Honda…”

A loud noise cut the speaker off. Instead Blythe heard Evangeline’s voice over the headset.

“There’s smoke up ahead and I can’t see shit. What’s going on, Benny?”

“Several cars crashed at the next corner. Go low. Go low.”

“I can hardly hear you.” The headset crackled, breaking up Evangeline’s words.

“Go low, Evie!”

Blythe kept looking through the viewfinder, her hands steady. Smoke billowed around the corner before the pit, and if Evangeline went low like Benny said, she would clear the pileup.

“Damn it, Evie, two more cars are involved, don’t go through.” Benny tore at his headset and began to run. “She’s not going to make it!”

Staring through the viewfinder, pressing the shutter release over and over, Blythe thought her heart would stop dead in her chest.

The red Dodge Viper, Evangeline’s beloved car, shot through the smoke, and she went low exactly as her team manager advised. Two other cars had just turned over and slid down the eighteen-degree bank. Evangeline’s car T-boned the second car, spun around in a mad dance, and slammed sideways into the first. From behind, a black Chevy repeated the maneuver with Evangeline’s Viper.

Mechanically, Blythe kept pressing the shutter release and clinging to her camera with ice-cold hands, even as the first flames erupted.

Chapter One

Blythe pulled into a space by the park on Main Street in the center of Branford, a small town east of New Haven. She was way too early, as usual, and remained in her seat, watching people stroll by. The warm Indian-summer evening clearly had coaxed the Branford population outdoors to enjoy the nice weather. Checking her watch again, Blythe grimaced, then flipped down the small mirror behind the sun visor. Her blond hair lay in curls around her triangular face, and her freckles had multiplied during her latest assignment in Afghanistan.

She deliberately steered away from those memories. Even editing her latest photo book was almost too painful, and she’d rather not dwell on the upsetting images from Afghanistan just before she met Evangeline Marshall again. It had been more than eighteen months since she’d photographed Evangeline’s crash. Two rookie drivers had died that day, and Evangeline and two other drivers were seriously injured. In fact, nobody had thought any of them would make it, let alone race again, but here Evangeline was, about to prove everyone wrong.

Blythe had never used any of the pictures she’d shot that day at the Daytona International Speedway. She had printed them, only to tuck them into her safe together with two backup disks. Countless magazines and news networks, not to mention the tabloids, had offered her a lot of money. Blythe couldn’t care less about any monetary temptations; she valued her dignity more than that. A cynical inner voice added that it was easy for her to stand on such high moral ground, she who was financially independent. However, that hadn’t always been the case. Blythe also remembered vividly when she arrived in New York more than twenty-four years ago with less than fifty dollars.

“And even that wasn’t really mine.” Blythe snorted when she thought of how she’d stolen it from her father’s wallet. She’d paid him back in less than a year, but she’d never returned to her parents’ home in Myrtle Beach.

Blythe picked up the thick manila envelope holding more than one hundred photos she’d taken the day of Evangeline’s crash. She had spent the last two days scrutinizing them and was surprised at their quality, despite the horrific subject. This was the norm when it came to many of her photos. Bosnia, the Balkans, the Twin Towers, Iraq, Afghanistan—the theme was human courage versus human suffering. Some of her colleagues claimed to be there to document, to stay objective, to be non-political. But Blythe believed that everything you did in life, action or non-action, was political. She was assigned to document, to use her talent and her eyes to show other people what she saw. How could her opinion not color what she deemed important enough to capture?

After checking her watch, she tucked the manila envelope into her worn leather messenger-style bag, which held her ever-present Canon. Then she glanced at her reflection in the car window. Dressed in dark jeans, a crisp white cotton shirt, and a brown blazer, she looked younger than forty-two, at least at a distance. Her petite frame, and the freckles she’d despised as a teenager, didn’t exactly make her look more mature. Pearl Wang, Blythe’s mentor and friend ever since she’d arrived in New York, maintained that people only underestimated Blythe once. “Everyone with their head screwed on right will realize what this woman’s made of the second she raises her camera,” Pearl often said.

Blythe hoisted her bag and began to walk to Pasta Cosi, the Italian restaurant on the corner farther up the street, opposite the park. Pearl would also have recognized the way Blythe’s nerves were affecting her right now. When she wasn’t involved in photography, in doing her job, she had to deal with her lifelong struggle with nearly debilitating shyness. She had to force herself to approach people, to socialize and carry on conversations with people she hardly knew, even complete strangers. Few people, except Pearl and a couple of her closest friends, knew the toll it took on her. For a long time, she had hoped her shyness would become easier with age, but the last few years it seemed to have gotten worse.

Blythe willed her fingers to relax around the shoulder strap of her bag. Her heart hammered and goose bumps erupted along her arms. She knew how to appear unaffected, but it had taken her years to perfect the appearance of being comfortable when she wasn’t. Now she used one of her techniques, a mantra of sorts in which she told herself that Evangeline wasn’t a stranger. They had met several times before the crash. Tall, Evangeline Marshall had long dark hair and deeply set green eyes in a chiseled, oval face. Nobody had seen any new close-ups of her since the crash, and Blythe wondered, not for the first time, if the injuries had left scars.

She entered the restaurant, which looked about half full.

“Welcome,” a young woman just inside the door said, and reached for some menus.

“I’m meeting someone. Reservation’s under Marshall.”

The woman checked her chart. “Ms. Marshall is waiting for you. Follow me, please.” She guided Blythe over to the far corner. “I hope you will enjoy your meal.”

Evangeline looked up from a paperback she’d been reading. “Hello, Blythe.”

Blythe had never felt more tongue-tied, but forced herself to greet Evangeline politely. She hung her bag across the tall backrest of the chair and sat down across from Evangeline. “Nice to see you again, Evangeline.” It was. She shuddered at a sudden flashback of the smoking pileup of cars and the broken body of the vibrant woman in front of her.

Evangeline placed her book on the chair next to her. “Call me Evie. Please. It’s been a while.”

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“My manager said you have something important to show me.” As direct as always, Evie obviously hadn’t developed an affinity for small talk during her recovery.

“Yes.” Blythe didn’t allow the annoying tremors in her stomach to rush her. “I understand this is one of your favorite restaurants in Branford.”

“It is.” Impatience oozed from Evie, but she motioned toward the menu next to Blythe’s plate. “I recommend the puttanesca.”

“Thank you. I’ll take your word for it.” Glad she didn’t have to peruse the menu, she turned to the approaching waiter.

“I’ve already placed my order,” Evie said, when Blythe gestured for her to go first.

She ordered the dish Evie suggested, then sipped her water, stalling a few seconds longer. “You want to eat first or…?”

“No, let’s get to the point.” Evie also drank some water.

Understanding that Evie wanted to make sure she wasn’t wasting her time, Blythe dug into her briefcase for the manila envelope. “I just want you to know that some of these aren’t easy to look at. For anyone. For you, it might be even worse.”

“What is this?” Evie weighed the envelope in her hand, her dark eyes burrowing into Blythe’s.

“Photos that I took. That day.” Not sure why she found it impossible to say “the day of your accident,” she watched Evie pale a couple of shades.

“You—you took photos?”

Blythe couldn’t judge if Evie was shocked or outraged. Trying not to recoil, she nodded solemnly. “I did. That’s why I was there, after all. I was lined up to photograph you coming through the curve and was already shooting when everything happened. I just kept my finger on the shutter release. It all went so fast.”

Evie’s eyes turned flat as she opened the envelope slowly, as if it contained a bomb. Blythe assumed the experience had been like being in a high-powered blast. She knew every single one of those pictures by heart, and even if Evie remained expressionless, the crisp images of her car plowing through the crashing cars hidden in the smoke reflected in her eyes. More than a year after the accident, Blythe still shuddered to think of the horrific events she’d witnessed.

Evie browsed through the first photos, and as she turned each one over, her eyes narrowed and her hands faintly shook. Without finishing the full series of pictures, she suddenly shoved them back into the envelope.

“Are you trying to sell me these, this long afterward?” Looking dangerous, she pushed the envelope back. “I’m not interested.”

“No. No, you misunderstand.” Hadn’t Evie’s agent explained properly? Blythe pressed her palms against the table. “I don’t want money for the photos. They’re not for sale.”

“Then, frankly, I don’t get why I’m wasting my time here.” Acid dripped from Evie’s words.

“Because I want to give them to you, and I have a proposal.” Blythe normally didn’t handle customers herself. She had employees to take care of the administrative tasks, so all she had to do was show up and do the actual work. But she refused to leave this task up to an assistant, no matter how far out of her comfort zone she had to step.

“Go on.” Evie looked more relaxed and calm.

“I know it’s been hard for you. On top of that, it’s so unfair that the bloggers out there are spreading false rumors and raising questions that the NASCAR officials and your rep have already answered. My pictures should set the record straight once and for all. We could include them as one of the chapters in a photography book. That way, you’d get to tell your story and I could finish what I started.” Blythe took a deep breath and gulped down some more water.

Evie didn’t say anything at first. She observed Blythe with those dark green eyes, which didn’t give away any of her thoughts. Blythe wanted to lower her own eyes, but the brave woman across from her would consider that a sign of weakness, and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil her plans.

“You wish to resume where we left off?” Evie lifted one corner of her mouth. “Trust me. A lot has happened since then.”

“Your manager confirms that you’re planning a comeback.”

“Planning one and actually getting there are two completely different things. You might end up like before, having put tons of planning and work into something that amounted to nothing.”

Blythe heard the pain behind Evie’s defiant words. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me, or the book, the photos are still yours, and you can use them to prove once and for all exactly what happened. I had a vantage point that the news cameras and the sports network didn’t. My pictures tell the true story.”

“You’re giving these to me, and the right to do whatever I please with them?” Evie’s voice lost some of its annoyance.

“Yes.”

“No strings attached?”

“None.”

Evie had her reasons to be suspicious. According to her manager, several publishers and editors had swamped her with suggestions and proposals. The chance that she’d accept Blythe’s offer was infinitesimal.

“If—if I should go ahead with such a project, there’d be tons of clauses and exceptions.” Evie placed a hand on top of the envelope between them.

“I’m sure we could work things out.” At last, Blythe realized there was enough oxygen in the restaurant. The waiter returned with their food and she welcomed the break in their conversation. Cautiously she tasted the puttanesca, relieved that the angel hair pasta dish was savory, but not too hot.

“Great choice, huh?” Evie said, sounding casual.

“It’s delicious. Very good choice.” Blythe smiled as carefully as she’d just tasted the pasta and, to her relief, Evie reciprocated.

*

Evie studied Blythe surreptitiously as they ate in silence. She usually wolfed down the food at Pasta Cosi, but tonight, with so many emotions fighting to overwhelm her, she had to concentrate on chewing every bite so she wouldn’t choke.

She’d recognized Blythe Pierce as soon as she stepped into the restaurant. Evie felt at ease here at Pasta Cosi, having frequented this place ever since high school, but her heart raced as Blythe walked toward her.

Blythe’s face was one of her last clear memories before the crash. During the day she couldn’t remember the pileup, but some nights it all returned in her dreams, haunting her with nauseating details of flames, smoke, and broken bodies. She shook away the destructive thoughts and instead studied Blythe. Dressed in preppy clothes, with her blond hair curling down to her shoulders, Blythe had translucent, blue eyes that grabbed Evie. How could someone who had witnessed so much in all the major hellholes in this world have such a mild gaze? Blythe’s pale, freckled complexion also belied her age and experience.

Evie had reacquainted herself with the photographer’s biography and work via her website before she agreed to meet. According to it, Blythe was twelve years Evie’s senior, but she didn’t look it. Surely you couldn’t spend months and months in Iraq and Afghanistan, in such scorching heat, without sun damage? Perhaps Blythe’s makeup protected her, but from what Evie could see, she wore only some eye shadow.

She had been certain Blythe had intended to sell those photos at a very high price, and that she would threaten to sell them to the tabloids or someone else out to use them for God knew what purpose. When Blythe simply gave them to her, Evie became speechless for several moments. The selfless act seemed without ulterior motives. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out Blythe’s next step. She began to relax as Blythe merely ate and seemed content to wait for her to make up her mind.

“I need to know more,” Evie blurted. “I’m sorry. I just can’t make a decision like this on the spot.”

“I realize that your comeback alone must be stressful enough, without having me shadow you. Still, that’s how it would be. If you eventually agree to do this book, I’ll have to be with you during practices and everything that has anything remotely to do with you as a NASCAR driver. It’s important that you understand this.”

Evie nodded, grateful for Blythe’s straightforwardness. “I do.”

“I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have. I know that your team researched me last year. Nothing much has changed, but if you want, you can double-check my credentials and references.”

“I might. Still, that’s not what worries me. I mean, you’re well-known and everything.” Evie put down her fork, unable to finish her meal. She could tell that Blythe liked hers. Her plate was almost empty.

“What’s the problem, then?” Blythe frowned, running her fingertips along the rim of her glass. She tipped her head sideways, looking intently at Evie in a way that made something hum inside her.

“Eh…I need to talk this over with you further. In public like this, I’m sure I’d forget half the questions I meant to ask.” Evie thought for a moment and then decided to take the leap. “Why don’t you come to my family’s summer house in Plymouth this weekend? I’m having some friends over and you’re welcome to join us. I know from last year how excited they were that the famous Blythe Pierce planned to feature me in a book.”

“Are you sure?” Blythe looked taken aback. “I’d love to discuss this project more, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No problem.” Evie waved the waiter over, but before she had a chance, Blythe took the leather case from his hands, tucked in her credit card, and returned it.

“You don’t have to do that. I suggested that we meet here.” A little annoyed, Evie inhaled and slowly let the air out again. Digging deep for a more gracious approach, she forced a smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” Blythe turned to the waiter and signed the receipt. “Seemed like a good compromise since I’ll be your guest this weekend. When do you want me…there?” The hastily added word and Blythe’s flushed cheeks amused Evie.

“How about Saturday, around noon? We can have lunch and, if the weather’s good, enjoy a walk on the beach.”

“It’s a deal. Why don’t you text me the address? You have my cell phone number on the business card in the envelope.”

Evie placed a hand again on the envelope that held the evidence of the event that had nearly ended her life and had definitely changed her outlook on it. The woman across the table was unlike anybody she’d ever met. Evie remembered how she had transformed from a shy recluse to a completely focused and brilliant professional photographer. Her résumé and published work suggested she wasn’t afraid to take risks and approach things in unusual ways to obtain the shot she was after. This juxtaposition between such extremes fascinated her, and perhaps this time around, Evie would have a chance to get to know her better.

They rose from the table and thanked the staff on their way out.

“I have my car over there,” Blythe murmured, seeming even more aloof than before now that they were standing close together on the sidewalk. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“No, thank you.” Evie knew she sounded short, but apprehension, originating from a flicker of attraction, made her wary of being in a confined space. If she decided to collaborate with Blythe on this project, she had to keep a certain distance. She had walked from her Branford condo, and she didn’t want Blythe to feel she had to drive her home. “I’ll have my manager e-mail you directions to the summerhouse. See you then.”

“Thank you. Bye.” Blythe seemed relieved to be on her way, hurrying to her vehicle over by the park.

Evie remained on the sidewalk, people occasionally brushing by her in the warm Indian-summer evening, laughing, talking, or just walking. She stood there and followed Blythe with a strange sensation in her chest. Pressing a hand against it, she didn’t know if she was trying to capture the feeling or perhaps hide it, push it back, but she couldn’t deny the truth. Blythe Pierce didn’t leave her indifferent or cold. Something about this woman of obvious courage, who still displayed such discomfort in social situations, had surprised Evie.

She was used to keeping people at bay. She maintained emotional barbed wire to ward them off—her father, fans, the press, paparazzi, and people out to make money from her name. Now this deceptively fragile woman had somehow found an angle, a loophole, into her inner circle. A very narrow circle at that. Watching Blythe drive away, Evie approved the fact that not only did Blythe drive an Audi A8, but she clearly wasn’t above pushing the accelerator where it belonged.

To the floor.

Chapter Two

Blythe looked up at the foreboding sky where dark clouds gathered. Plymouth was crowded in the summer, but during early fall the tourists abandoned it for attractions farther south. Glancing at the sea, Blythe shuddered as the dark gray waves created foam where they crashed against the shore. On the horizon she could detect large ships, but nobody in their right mind would go out in a small boat on a day like today.

Hoisting her overnight bag over her shoulder, she took the camera bag in her free hand, the weight of it, the sense of normalcy it created settling her onset of nerves. She turned her attention to the house that her GPS had guided her to. With its light blue exterior, white trim, and black roof, it looked like many other houses around Cape Cod Bay. Blythe snorted. At least if you compared it to other wealthy estates.

A flagstone garden path led to the front door, and she took a firmer grasp of her camera bag as she approached it. She raised an eyebrow at the oversized door knocker in the shape of a growling lion before she used it. Immediately the sound of quick steps filtered through the door before her hostess flung it open.

Evie wore light gray sweats, the expensive type, and a white T-shirt. For the first time, Blythe noticed the scar along the left side of her neck, slightly discolored and wrinkled. Her dark brown hair hung loose around her face and covered some of it. She looked much more relaxed than at the restaurant the other day. Perhaps being on her home turf put Evie at ease?

“Hello. You made it.” Evie motioned toward Blythe’s bags. “Can I take one of those?”

“Sure.” Blythe handed her the overnight bag. Nobody carried her cameras but her. “I’m the first one to arrive?”

“Yeah. My friends Colleen and Don won’t be here until dinnertime. I figured we’d get a chance to talk before they do. You know, about the details of your proposal.” Evie tilted her head, smiling. “Want to come in?”

“Oh.” Blythe realized that she was still standing on the doormat, fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her camera bag. She had to literally force herself to continue talking. “Sure. Sounds good. Us talking, I mean.” Hating how staccato her speech pattern became when her nerves got the better of her, she kicked off her shoes and stepped into a bright hallway that was part of a living room. Large windows gave a spectacular view of the rough sea. “What a lovely house.”

“Thank you. My mother tried to influence my dad’s more bohemian and wild taste while they were married, so anything stylish and elegant you see is her doing.”

Blythe managed a shy smile. “So I take it your father chose the lion?”

“The li—? Oh, the door knocker. Yes. Yes, he did.” Evie laughed. “He used to bring stuff like that home when he returned from whatever country his latest race took place. Mom was less than thrilled.” Evie’s eyes darkened as she briskly pushed her hair behind her ears. “Let me show you to the guest rooms. Since you’re first to arrive, you get to choose.” She walked over to a dark wood staircase, Blythe’s bag dangling over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. “We have one overlooking the ocean or one overlooking the garden.”

“I’d love to have an ocean view.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” Evie grinned, and if she noticed Blythe’s warming cheeks, she didn’t let on.

The room was typical New England. Dark wood, nautical theme, white and blue, with a splash of red. The only thing that stood out was a large abstract painting that hung above the headboard of the queen-size bed.

“Don’t tell me. Your dad?” Blythe indicated the painting.

“You catch on quick. The year he came second in the Monaco Grand Prix.”

“Your father is quite the legend in the racing world.”

“He sure cultivates that notion, anyway.” Evie’s lips looked tense. “Don’t get me wrong. Together with Fittipaldi, Lauda, and Stewart, he was among the best of his generation. These men, they lived this larger-than-life way that consumed them. It left very little for anything else. Or anyone.”

“Must’ve been hard for a young girl, being separated from her father during the racing season.”

“It was, and the seasons lasted beyond the actual dates of driving.” Evie didn’t volunteer anything else, and Blythe knew when to back off. She shied away from asking about personal matters like this up front. It was easier to be inquisitive and curious through the lens of her camera. It showed the truth better than words did.

Evie motioned haphazardly around her. “Want to see the rest?”

“It’s a beautiful house, so yes, I’d love to.”

“No pictures, though.” Evie glanced at Blythe’s camera bag.

“Of course not.” Reluctantly, she put the bag down on an upholstered chair in the corner before following Evie around the house. Each guest room was decorated in eclectic New England style, except for the items Evie’s father, the legendary Malcolm “Mad Mal” Marshall, had added.

“This is my favorite part of the house.” Evie opened the door to a large deck that stretched the entire length of the back of the house. “Damn, it’s windy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, those clouds don’t look too promising.” Blythe was impressed with the view, but the black clouds growing at the horizon left her feeling uneasy. “Still, I can understand why you like it out here. What a view of the ocean.”

“I never get tired of it.”

They stood on the deck, Blythe acutely aware of Evie’s unwavering gaze as they talked about the view and the history of the house.

“Honestly, I prefer my own beach house in Pawleys Island,” Evie said, holding the door open for them to get back inside. “This house has…too many memories and it’s still my father’s, not mine.”

“I see what you mean.” Blythe remembered her first condo, a small loft that she actually still owned, but sublet to an employee. “You strike me as a very private person. In fact, you did from the beginning. I’m grateful that you’ve let me and my camera in.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve made a mistake.” She walked ahead of Blythe into the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Just some water, please.” Blythe propped her hip against the counter. “How can I put your mind at ease?”

Moving gracefully, Evie grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. As she handed one over, her fingers grazed Blythe’s. Hiding a gasp, Blythe pressed against the counter. Something had passed between them, and she couldn’t blame static electricity. Right now, her fingertips tingled and she trembled as she opened the bottle. She took a deep gulp of water.

“I don’t know. I think it’s about me and my control issues.” Evie jumped up and sat on the kitchen island. “I’m all about that. Most drivers are. If we’re not in complete control, every tenth of a second, we could get our ass killed. Well, you know. You saw.”

“Does this need for control spill over into your everyday life?” Interested, Blythe jumped up on the counter beside her.

“What everyday life? I live, breathe, and eat racing.”

“Even during your convalescence?”

“Especially then.” Evie dangled her legs sideways. “Every day at the rehab clinic, from six a.m. to eight p.m., I followed the schedule we set up.”

“Every day of the week?”

“Yes.”

“No rest? No fun?”

“I wouldn’t have beaten the paralysis and gone through the skin-graft transplants without discipline. I had two years.”

“Why two years?” Blythe was intrigued now. Evie looked defiant and passionate at the same time.

“My contract with my main sponsor, Besto Oil, stipulated that if I wasn’t back on my feet and able to drive, I’d have to find another car, another sponsor.” Evie’s smile clearly wasn’t a happy one. “So, I set the goal, what I had to accomplish each day to get my life back.”

“Did your family stay with you? Your father?”

“Mad Mal? Hardly.” Evie snorted. “He didn’t show his face after the first media frenzy died down. While there were photo ops, he was there, the doting father, but once the reporters directed their cameras to something else, he was gone. Well, after having given me his latest adamant speech about how I’ve chosen the wrong path.”

“Doesn’t he want you to race? I mean, is he concerned for your safety, as a father?” Blythe could understand that a parent would freak out watching his kid ride a vehicle that could become a death trap.

“Oh, no. It’s not that easy. Mad Mal thinks I should race, all right. He loves having a famous daughter. He hates NASCAR, though. He always pictured me following in his and Granddad’s footsteps.”

“Your father wants you to race the Formula One cars?”

“Yup.” Evie sipped her water, slamming the bottle back down on the counter hard enough to make Blythe jump. “In his mind, and in several other people’s, Formula One is the ultimate way to compete in racing. Formula One drivers are royalty. NASCAR drivers are the common man heroes, hardly worthy of his time. For his daughter to prefer the NASCAR circuit…it’s like an insult.”

“Really?” Blythe wondered if Evie knew how much hurt was visible in her eyes. “He should be proud of your success, of how you’ve set one record after another, not to mention that you’re the best female driver, ever.”

Evie snorted. “I wish. Not going to happen.” She jumped off the counter and placed her bottle beside the sink. She moved her hands in a restless pattern, until she seemed to notice her action and hid them behind her back.

Blythe had to defuse the situation. “Is it all right if I take a few shots from the back porch?”

While having their first conversation, she’d sensed Evie had shared as much of her life as she was ready to. Honestly, this was also about as much as Blythe could take.

Pearl had labeled her socially awkward, at best, even a virtual hermit. But Pearl only said such things out of exasperation, or even desperation, when Blythe had disappeared to work on her photos. In the digital era, Blythe could withdraw to either the darkroom or her office, depending on which camera she’d used. That was where she was the safest and most at ease.

“Sure. Go ahead. Just hold on to your equipment out there. The clouds are beginning to look scary.” Evie tossed her dark hair over her shoulder with a sharp twist of her wrist. “I think I’ll go check the Weather Channel, just to be safe.”

“See you later, then.” Blythe knew she appeared aloof, but Evie actually seemed to appreciate the reprieve as much as she did.

Chapter Three

Evie wanted to smack the TV remote against her forehead as she watched the Doppler image on the Weather Channel. How could the meteorologists have missed this? Living on the coast, Evie always kept the weather situation in the back of her mind, whether she was staying in Plymouth or on Pawleys Island. Nobody had breathed a word about this damn “Perfect Storm” scenario unfolding a few miles outside Provincetown. It was clearly heading straight for the East Coast.

She jumped when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Evie, it’s Colleen. You’ve seen the weather news?”

“Just looking at it, Colleen.” Evie sighed. “Guess you’re not going to make it, huh?”

“Nope. Sorry, kiddo. Don and I have to board up this house as well as my mom’s. Looks like it’ll be pretty bad. The fleet is returning as we speak.”

Colleen’s brothers owned four fishing boats, and she sounded relieved that they’d be back before the storm made landfall.

“I better get the house in order too.” Evie walked over to the window. “God almighty, what’s she doing?”

“What’s who doing?” Colleen sounded confused.

“Blythe Pierce. The photographer I told you about. I swear to God she’s insane.” Evie moved fast between the furniture to reach the French doors leading to the deck. “She was going to take pictures of the bay from the deck, and now she’s perched way up in the freaking oak tree.”

“She…she climbed up? Now? During the beginning of a storm?” Colleen gasped. “She sounds even wilder than you. Isn’t she, like, older?”

“Older?” Evie entered the backyard, having to hang on to the door to keep the wind from slamming it back against the wall. “She’s not old. She looks like a kid up there. I’ve got to go, Colleen. Talk to you later.”

“Okay, later. Be safe.”

After closing her phone, Evie shut the door and ran toward the old tree. Blythe clung to the trunk six feet from the ground, snapping pictures with an impressive-looking camera. Her blond hair whipped in the strong wind.

“Are you crazy? Get down from there!” Evie yelled as loud as she could, but Blythe didn’t seem to hear her. “Blythe! Blythe, it’s dangerous. We have to go inside.” Groaning, Evie climbed up the first set of branches and managed to reach Blythe’s foot. Not about to waste time, she took hold of a slender ankle and squeezed it hard. “Blythe!”

“Oh, hi! Isn’t this great?” Blythe beamed down at Evie. “The waves are fantastic.”

“And you’re crazy. Get down before you break your neck. We have to board up the house.”

“What? Oh. That bad?” Blythe hooked the camera over her shoulder and climbed down with impressive ease. “Show me what to do.”

“Don’t worry. It’s pretty automatic, since I have it done by remote when nobody’s here. We have to go inside first, though. Do you have everything you need from your car? I don’t have any more room in the garage, or I would’ve let you protect it in there.”

“You think the car’s in danger?” Blythe frowned, gazing around her. “Guess the Weather Channel wasn’t very encouraging.

“My friend’s staying home tending to their house, and my friend’s brother is bringing in his fleet of fishing boats.” Evie closed the door behind them and walked over to a panel on the wall next to the hallway. “Would you light a few of the candles, just in case the power goes out? It’ll get dark in here when the shutters lock into place.”

A humming sound reverberated throughout the house as the shutters closed, the flickering shadows from the candles that she and Blythe lit creating a completely different ambience.

“Cozy.” Blythe pushed herself up and onto the couch.

“We can switch on a few lamps as well. For now we’re fine.”

“Oh. Good.” Blythe looked relieved, which puzzled Evie, since the same woman had hung from a gnarled old oak tree happily snapping pictures only moments ago.

“You’re a bit of a wild woman, aren’t you?” Evie asked, quite enjoying Blythe’s startled expression.

“What? Me? No, not at all.”

“So, I imagined you dangling out there in the storm, huh?” Evie gestured emphatically. “Looked wild enough to me.”

“Eh, I just got a bit carried away when I saw that view with the waves crashing in.” Blythe’s cheeks colored faintly. “I’ve been known to forget everything but my camera.”

“I could tell. You’re lucky that branch didn’t snap off. It’s a very old tree. Sure, you’re small, but still. I wouldn’t want to explain to your publisher how you broke your neck in my garden.” Evie’s lips tightened, and she heard how cold her voice became. “God knows what the press would make of that. ‘Evie Marshall involved in yet another accident with deadly outcome.’”

“Evie. Please. First of all, I’m fine, and you didn’t tell me to climb the darn tree. Second, we’re going to show everybody the truth.”

“We are?” Evie sat down at the other end of the couch and kicked her shoes off before pulling her legs up. “You sound awfully confident.”

“You have a solid reputation among your peers. Your fans, especially your female fans, worship you. When it comes to them, you can walk on water.” Blythe spoke in the low tone Evie had already come to associate with her. “I have an equally solid reputation among my peers. I heard from the news desks that buy my pictures that their readers consider my pictures honest. I suppose I enjoy some kind of fame, within certain circles. Between us, we’ll get the truth out there, and we’ll tell the story of how you definitely aren’t a quitter.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Evie knew she was staring at Blythe like a wide-eyed kid. Did the woman have a damn crystal ball?

“Your road to recovery was fast but can’t have been easy.” Blythe fiddled with the seam on the side of her shirtsleeve. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how you’ve pushed yourself to come back so fast. I’ve seen enough traumas to last several lifetimes, and what it takes to bounce back. Not just physically. Mentally too.”

Evie relaxed marginally. Blythe’s face was lit by the candles, and her tousled, blond hair was backlit by the table lamps behind the couch; she looked so young and ethereal. She was clearly neither, and true to form, Evie spoke before thinking.

“How old are you?”

“Forty-two.”

Impossible. Not that people of forty-two looked very old these days, which any of the “Desperate Housewives” would show you, but this woman had to be younger. “You’re kidding.” Evie snorted. “You have good genes, then.”

“I suppose. Hasn’t always been beneficial to look too young.” Blythe shrugged. “My height, or lack thereof, combined with blond hair and freckles, works against me.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Still, the way you carry yourself and…I’m not sure, there’s something else that makes you look less like a kid.” Evie stopped talking. Blythe was shifting and averting her eyes, obviously beginning to feel even more ill at ease. “Sorry. I tend to speak before I think.”

“It’s all right. I’m really not the person of interest here. You’re the star. I’m just the one doing the documenting. As long as we agree on that.”

“I was a star, perhaps. As in past tense.” Evie wasn’t comfortable with the term, never had been. She just wanted to drive her Viper and win races.

“My publisher said you had quite a few offers from other photographers before you said yes to me. I mean the first time around.” Blythe tilted her head. “Why did you end up choosing me and my idea for a project?”

The answer was tricky. “You’re not pushy. I mean, invasive.”

“My camera is.”

“Yes.” Evie tugged at her hair, wrapping it around her hand, a comforting habit from her childhood. “That’s different, though.”

“How so?”

“So many journalists intrude in ways that make me super-defensive. They ask things that have nothing to do with racing, or even with me. My father enters the damn equation sooner or later, and then there are the gender-biased motorsport guys who have to insinuate that my success is nothing more than a fluke. I’ve been known to lose my temper.” Evie shook her head. “I’m just not cut out to be congenial and accommodating when someone pushes too hard. No matter who it is. You push, I push back. Harder.” Knowing that this revelation didn’t put her in a very good light, Evie yanked so hard on her hair that her scalp stung.

“So, the fact that my camera works in silence makes it easier?”

“A camera is objective, no pun intended, and as long as the photographer lets the camera do the work, that’s fine. Unless…” Evie grimaced.

“Unless?”

“Paparazzi. Hate ’em with a passion.”

“Some would argue that they’re just doing their job.” Blythe showed a neutral expression and leaned back and tucked her legs up under her.

“Their job. I’d argue right back that it’s not their job to sneak into the hospital to try to get a picture of my burns. Or follow every step I take on the hospital grounds, shouting offensive questions.” Evie tossed her hair back over her shoulder and tucked a loose strand behind her ear, her movements jerky.

“You compare me to the paparazzi?” Blythe’s voice was quiet and measured.

“You wouldn’t be here if I did. If the most god-awful paparazzi are at one end of the spectrum, then you’re at the opposite end. Your job is as admirable as theirs is horrible and morally debatable.”

Blythe blinked slowly, as if Evie’s statement came as a complete surprise. Had she really thought Evie placed her in the same pit as the paparazzi?

“Perhaps establishing the way you regard my work will benefit everything we do together.” Blythe curled the corners of her mouth, which added to her elfin looks. The combination of her soft, young appearance and her steely, subdued side intrigued Evie.

“I hope so. The old adage that the camera never lies is hardly true anymore, with Photoshop and everything.”

“Then again, that just states that people using Photoshop can doctor and manipulate photos. It has everything to do with the photographer and nothing to do with the integrity of the camera.”

“You make it sound as if the camera is a live entity.”

“Ah. Yes. I suppose I do. My Hasselblad certainly has a temper like a diva.” Blythe’s smile was full and genuine this time.

Eve laughed at the unexpected humor. She had a lot to learn about this woman whom she in her youthful arrogance had pegged as a socially uncomfortable introvert when they first met last year. Already she’d seen Blythe be assertive and humorous, not to mention adventurous up in the tree. Now Blythe looked nothing short of beautiful as she sat curled up on the oversized couch. Her skin glowed softly, and her makeup-free face looked fresh. Her scent was fruity, flowery, and so very clean. Something stirred in Evie’s belly, something even more surprising than Blythe’s unknown qualities. Suddenly Blythe’s lips looked even pinker and softer. Full and curvy, with a perfect Cupid’s bow, they’d revealed small, white teeth when she smiled just now.

“You could name it. Your Hasselblad. I mean, what kind of name is that, anyway?”

“A Swedish name. This camera is made in Sweden. Mostly professionals use it, since it costs a small fortune. Hence me being paranoid with the camera bag.”

“Gotcha. Still, the name. How about…Mabel?”

“Mabel?” Blythe snorted, her eyes becoming narrow slits as amusement made her squint. “My mother had a great-aunt named Mabel. It has to be something sexy. I’m sure some Mabels are hot, but that doesn’t do it for me.”

“And merely Hasselblad does?” Evie giggled. “Okay, hot. Hot, hot. How about Randy?”

This suggestion sent Blythe’s eyebrows hovering just below her hairline. “I think not.”

“So not that kind of hot, huh?” Evie pursed her lips, thinking. “Oh, I’ve got it. Of course, since she’s Swedish, your camera, her name has to be Viktoria, like the Swedish crown princess. Viktoria with a k.”

“Viktoria.” Blythe tilted her head, looking like she was actually tasting the name. “Yes. That will do. Viktoria Hasselblad. Sounds like a hot diva.”

“Yeah, I saw a picture of the crown princess. Think she got married a while back. She is a very beautiful, certainly hot, woman.” Evie suddenly realized how she was talking about women with Blythe, who didn’t seem to take any particular notice. In fact, she actually looked pleased that Evie had come up with a name for her beloved camera.

Evie found this love for an object adorable. She could totally relate, since she used to have the same feeling for her car. Evie wasn’t sure she’d be able to feel such devotion for her new car, even if it was the same type. A red Dodge Viper. Sleek, fast, and like a roaring tigress beneath her when she took her out on the course. Not missing the fact that she regarded her car, at least the old one, as a female being, Evie decided to take the plunge. Be a little more personal and let Blythe a tiny bit closer. “We should name my new Viper too.”

Blythe looked up, clearly interested. “So, same type of car. What color?”

“Red. Again.”

“All right…” Blythe lay draped along the armrest, ending up closer to Evie. Her curls bounced around her cheeks as her eyes looked brighter than before. Ice blue to warm, soft aqua in less than a minute. “Female?”

“Absolutely. Female and feline, I’d say.”

“Chloe.”

“Almost. It has a nice ring,” Evie said slowly. “Something exotic like that. Try again.”

“This isn’t my strong suit.” Blythe’s teeth sank into her lower lip. “Let’s see.” She sat in silence for a few moments, her fingers moving in small circles on the armrest, following the texture of the fabric. “I’ve got it!” Blythe slammed her open hand on her thigh. “The perfect name for your car.”

“Well, are you going to tell me?” Evie leaned forward, nudging Blythe’s knee impatiently. “Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Blythe looked down at Evie’s hand and seemed to catch her breath. “I think you should call her Chase.”

“Brilliant.” Evie grinned. “That’s a great choice. We should have a christening party or something. A naming ceremony. But let’s not slam them with champagne bottles or anything like that.” Evie covered her mouth with her hand when a new giggle emerged.

“Slam Viktoria with a bottle? No way.”

“I’ll get tons of bumps and scrapes on Chase, but I refuse to deliberately hit her with a bottle.”

“There are other ways to treat a gorgeous lady,” Blythe said, then colored a pretty pink. “I mean…eh, I don’t know what I mean.”

A sudden hard bang against the east wall rescued her. The wind gave a sorrowful howl as it tore at the house. Blythe looked decidedly uneasy when the sound rose and fell but never really went away.

“Will it be like this the whole time?” Blythe now rubbed both her hands on her designer True Religion jeans. “The storm?” She was paler now.

Without thinking, Evie moved over to the couch. “Hey. The house is solid. We’re safe. I’ve sat out more than my share of storms here. Been snowed in too.” Why was the storm upsetting Blythe so much that she had a hard time concealing her reaction? Blythe was evidently very unnerved about showing any personal so-called shortcomings and was actually trembling. Fine tremors moved from Blythe and over to Evie.

“I know.” Blythe took a deep, shaky breath. “I do know. It’s just the sound.” She paused and closed her eyes hard as the wind roared again. “It makes me—it brings back bad memories.”

“I understand.” Actually, Evie wasn’t entirely sure she did, but she guessed this had to do with an assignment in one dreadful place or another. “Will it help if you hold my hand?”

“Perhaps.” Blythe tentatively extended her hand. “So much for being the intrepid photojournalist that Katie Couric designated me.”

“Oh, she had it right.” Evie took Blythe’s cold, trembling hand in hers. “Nobody in their right mind can witness what you’ve seen and not have some sort of reaction.”

Blythe looked blankly at Evie, maybe trying to determine if she was being condescending. Evie hoped she hadn’t sounded too flippant, which wasn’t what she intended.

“I normally don’t acknowledge these…these flashbacks.” Blythe spoke quietly. “The roar of the storm combined with the whistling gusts of wind sounds like incoming mortars and distant canons. Quite eerie.”

“Glad you told me. Those of us who haven’t lived through something like that are clueless unless we learn about it from people who have.” Evie couldn’t get mushy and compliment Blythe on her obvious courage to put herself in harm’s way. Something made her certain Blythe would recoil at such praise, even if it was true.

“Well. I suppose.” Looking ill at ease, Blythe took a deep breath. “I usually don’t talk about this. I try to let my photos speak for themselves.”

“I can understand that. I think you’re as private as me. I’ve always hated giving interviews to those motorsport reporters who eventually end up asking me stupid, chauvinist questions. I thought that was the worst. Now I know different. It’s much worse when they want to know how I felt when I regained consciousness. How I felt when I learned of the deaths. How I felt when I knew I’d be scarred for life.” Evie lost her breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take that out on you.”

“You didn’t. I promise I won’t ask chauvinistic questions. And I was there. I don’t have to ask about the crash, or your injuries. I want to document your comeback, which in turn will be a story of how a young woman finds the strength to overcome adversity and work through pain, fear, and survivor guilt.” Blythe raised an eyebrow. “Right?”

“I—I guess so.” Evie was taken aback by Blythe’s sudden eloquence and her vision for the photo book. “I’ve seen a lot of your work. I know you can portray just about anything you want. Just don’t make me out to be some damn hero, okay? I’m not. I was lucky to live to drive another day. Several others weren’t.”

“I meant to ask your opinion about that.” Blythe scooted closer. “I thought it might be a good idea to either begin or end the book with pictures of the guys who didn’t make it. I already have permission from their families, but they also know that I need your input on this.”

Evie was stunned. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of the young men who lost their lives when hers changed forever. “I…I like that idea. I count on you to do it tastefully.”

“That’s up to you as well. I was thinking you should write the text for their pictures.”

“Me?”

“You knew them.” Blythe spoke firmly.

“I’m no writer. I’ll need you, or someone, to help me. Please?” A little panicky, Evie took Blythe’s hand and squeezed it hard. “All right?”

“Of course. I’ll help you. The editors will go over it with us as well, don’t worry.”

“That’s important. It’s my only chance to do them justice. You see?” Evie hadn’t been able to attend any of the funerals. Even if her team had represented her, it had bothered her that she was still unconscious and completely oblivious to what had happened. As much as the thought of expressing herself in writing intimidated her, this might be her chance to make up for her absence. Evie knew her reasoning was illogical. The crash wasn’t her fault. Being hurt and unconscious wasn’t her fault either, yet still she experienced this immense guilt. The therapist had explained it more than once. This was something she would need to work through in time. Perhaps by writing a tribute to the guys she could do that?

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Blythe now said. “You feel you owe them. You’re here and they’re not.”

“Yes.” Evie wiped furiously at some treacherous tears. “Yes.”

“I get it.” Blythe moved closer, strengthening her grasp of Evie’s hand. “I really do. If it wasn’t so trite, I’d say ‘been there, done that.’”

“Yeah?” Evie focused on the warmth of Blythe’s hand and the spot where their legs touched. This close, she could see fine lines around Blythe’s eyes, really the only evidence of her age. A band of freckles across her short, straight nose, the soft, pink, curvy lips, and the curly blond hair framing it all made Blythe seem at least fifteen years younger. Still, those fine lines kept Blythe from looking too…cute. Evie hadn’t realized that she clung to Blythe’s hand until a thumb caressed the back of her own.

“Yes. I’ve had some close calls where others died. Young men and women in their teens or early twenties. Horrible.”

“You helped by telling their stories.” The tables had turned. Evie now focused on the pain on Blythe’s face. “Because you lived to tell their story, they didn’t recede into anonymity.”

“I know. It’s just—I have these permanent images. Every time I close my eyes I see the severed limbs, the blood…” Flinching, Blythe looked mortified. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Hey. Yeah, you should. As I should, sometimes. To a friend.” Evie knew deep inside that it would be problematic for her to refer to Blythe as a friend only. She was far too conscious of how holding Blythe’s hand made her tremble, and how their legs pressing together made her want to edge closer. Her libido, which had been completely dormant since the crash, was waking up.

“All right. Thank you.” Blythe lowered her gaze and looked at their joined hands. She’d begun to pull hers away when deafening thunder hammered outside, rattling the house. The wind roared and growled. Her eyes grew huge. “Oh!”

“Shh. I’m here. You’re not alone.” Evie instinctively pulled Blythe in under her arm and wrapped it around Blythe’s shoulders. “Let’s just sit here under this nice cozy fleece blanket.” Evie wrapped the blanket around them.

The lights flickered and died.

Chapter Four

“Evie?” Blythe gasped her name before she could stop herself.

“The power’s gone. Let’s light more candles.” Evie shifted and let go of Blythe.

Blythe wanted to pull her back and press her face against that long neck. Hide.

Evie quickly lit a few more block candles. Huge, with three wicks in each, they helped illuminate the room. She sat down again, this time even closer to Blythe.

“See. Lights.” Evie smiled and lit up the room much more than any candle.

“Yes,” Blythe murmured, gazing at her. “Lights.” Entranced, she nearly forgot about the storm. If she could just stare at this stunning woman for the entire time the storm caused havoc along the New England coast…

“You comfortable?” Evie took the blanket and covered them again. “I usually stay here on the couch during a storm, since this is the center of the house. The guest room is on the—”

“No, I want to stay here.” Blythe couldn’t imagine being alone at the far end of a darkened house.

“You sure? The couch is big enough for us.”

“I’d say. It’s humongous.” Blythe couldn’t remember ever seeing such a plush couch. “We’ll be fine.”

“Sure we will.” Evie pulled her legs up and edged closer to Blythe. “Tell me if you’re hungry. I won’t be able to cook, but I can get us some sandwiches.”

“Maybe in a bit, if that’s all right?”

“It is.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the pounding rain and growling wind. Blythe still fought the nausea from her flashbacks, but her immediate fear had diminished while she talked to Evie. She stealthily glanced at her. Evie sat with her eyes half closed, her hands resting on top of the blanket. Her dark hair framed her high cheekbones and broad forehead, and the flickering candles created pretty shadows around her eyelashes. Evie was so beautiful in this moment, in this light, Blythe wanted to get her camera out again. A stronger part of her didn’t want to move and disturb the serenity on Evie’s face. She had seen many emotions depicted there, but this calm, reflective mood was new.

“What are you thinking?” Evie asked without turning her head. “Since you’re scrutinizing me?”

Caught. “I was trying to think of reasons not to pull Viktoria out and take pictures of you in this amazing light.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” A tinge of steel crept into Evie’s voice.

“That’s why I’m still huddled under the blanket.”

“Good thinking.” Evie turned her head, a slow smile forming on her lips. “Smart, even.”

“Glad you think I’m not a hopeless case.”

“Oh, I think a lot, Blythe, but never that.” Evie’s expression turned a little wicked.

Blythe muted a gasp at the last moment. Was Evie actually flirting with her? Blythe had never mastered that particular art, and it had been too long since she’d thought of a woman that way. Working too hard, all-consumed by looking at life through the lens of her camera, she had withdrawn. Apart from communicating with her agent and the people she worked with, she spent what little free time she had in her condo. Even then, she worked on her photos, using her computer to experiment on them. She was far more comfortable doing that than reading other people’s signals. Blythe returned Evie’s smile carefully. “Want to share what you do think?” she heard herself ask. To her surprise, and intrigue, Evie blushed faintly.

“Um. That I find you amazing. Admirable. Pretty.” Evie pulled her knees up, hugging them close.

“Admirable? Pretty? Huh.” Blythe cringed. She was never comfortable accepting compliments and always suspected ulterior motives behind them. Surely Evie was pulling her leg.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes. And unexpected.” Blythe took a deep breath. “What makes you say that? I’m not fishing for compliments or details, just your reason.”

Evie’s lips parted and she looked confused, a small frown appearing between her eyebrows. “You think I’d come up with a compliment that isn’t true? What would be the point?” She tilted her head, her eyes becoming like unwavering green searchlights, impossible to look away from.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Blythe murmured, withdrawing from the camaraderie they’d shared briefly. Looked like Evie was of the same make as many other people who’d enjoyed taunting her back when she allowed such remarks to bother her. Blythe had run her own race for many years, and one of the ways she did that was to close the door on that soft, vulnerable inner part of her that bled so easily. The shell became harder with each hurt, impenetrable, or at least, that’s how Blythe chose to see it.

Evie leaned closer. “Hey. Where did you go? You’re good at that, aren’t you? Shutting yourself in, like the shutter opening and closing in your camera.”

“Evie, please.” Blythe folded her arms over her chest.

“Ah. I see.” Evie scooted closer, startling her by finding and gently cradling one of her hands between hers. “I said something that hurt. It was a compliment and a very true one, but if you hate anyone calling you pretty, I won’t do it again. Okay?”

“I’m quite a bit older than you. I can handle whatever you choose to call me.” Blythe meant to sound indifferent, but her voice had a faint tremble. Naturally, as she was trying to get her emotions in check, the thunder and wind escalated and something, a branch perhaps, slammed against the wall close to where they sat. Mortified, she felt her body go rigid and could smell smoke, taste dust, and hear cries of pain in the distance. Trembling, she clung to Evie’s hand.

“Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. You’re fine.” Evie closed the last bit of distance between them and almost pulled Blythe onto her lap. Wrapping the blanket around them, she uttered hushing, comforting sounds. “I’ve got you. We’re in a storm, but we’re safe.”

“I—I can hear them. I can hear them cry out. I smell the…the blood.” Blythe had never had such a strong flashback in the company of another person, and to go through this in Evie’s presence embarrassed yet oddly comforted her.

“It must’ve been hell to witness what you’ve seen.”

“I saw you too, through the camera. The smoke, the flames. All I could do was keep pressing the shutter release. You were hurt. I kept taking pictures. Others were dismembered, gutted, and I took fucking pictures.” Tears of fury and frustration rose in her eyes. “I work on these pictures in Photoshop, you know—cropping, emphasizing with brightness, contrast, hues. I dissect them, I go over them, zoom in on each detail.”

“And relive it all. Over and over. Every horrible detail.” Evie was hoarse now too.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned your crash. I’m sorry.” Blythe tried to pull away, but was relieved when Evie pulled her close again.

“It really doesn’t matter. Not when it’s you talking about it. You were there. You saw everything up close. It’s different if someone wants to hear the gory details just to sensationalize it all. That hurts.”

Blythe inhaled Evie’s scent—musk and something fresh, soapy. She rested her head on Evie’s shoulder, feeling it shift to accommodate her. The fabric in Evie’s shirt was soft, worn, and Blythe turned her head, pressing her forehead against Evie’s neck.

“I apologize for acting like a child. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I believe I hit a nerve, right?”

“You did.” Blythe didn’t volunteer any explanations. Evie was smart. She would figure out that Blythe didn’t respond well to comments like that.

“Wish I hadn’t. I find you very attractive, but I didn’t mean to sound condescending.”

Attractive? Blythe’s heart began to race again, this time for completely different reasons. Logically, Evie had no reason to say that if it wasn’t true. Blythe was the driving force behind their project. Evie didn’t have to appease her. Scrambling to say something, anything, Blythe spoke quietly into Evie’s shirt. “You’re beautiful.”

“What? I can’t hear you.” Evie rubbed a hand along Blythe’s spine.

“Beautiful. You.”

Evie laughed, a bubbly full laugh that sent tingles up Blythe’s arms, around her shoulders, and straight into her chest. The happy, kind sound didn’t resemble the taunting, horrible ones from her past. As much as Blythe would like to deny it, she could still hear those voices if she allowed them to surface and gain entrance. Evie’s laugh trickled like a happy brook, and Blythe lifted her head, drawing courage from it.

“Beautiful? Thank you,” Evie said, still smiling.

“Stunning. You’ve adorned enough motorsport calendars to know that.”

“Oh, God, don’t remind me. I want to shoot my agent for talking me into that contract. Still, they’re for a good cause.”

“You’re not getting a cent for them, are you?”

“The proceeds go to charity,” Evie said lightly. “As it should. My team constantly teases me about the pictures. Amicably, of course.” Making quotation marks in the air around “amicably,” Evie made a production of rolling her eyes.

Blythe chuckled, amazed at how quickly, and adeptly, Evie had defused her flashbacks, war-zone and others. She attempted to sit up, only to change her mind quickly when another roar of the wind lashed the house.

“Stay here.” Evie held her closer. “I have more up my sleeve to distract you.”

Blythe’s mouth was suddenly dry. The sexual undertones of the words made it impossible for her to swallow. At a loss for words, Blythe dug her teeth into her lower lip and half hid her face against Evie’s shoulders again. She was safe here. It felt good to be wrapped in a blanket and held by this amazing woman. Evie was strong, clearly having worked hard at regaining the physical status required to make her comeback at the same racetrack where she nearly died.

*

Evie had overstepped a whole series of boundaries this evening. Normally not a person to be physically close to someone she didn’t know, not nowadays, she’d acted on instinct when she’d understood just how damaged Blythe was by her past. But the hellish places Blythe’s career had taken her to didn’t seem to be the only cause. As much as Blythe feared the sounds of the storm, the word “pretty” had set her off. Eager to know why, Evie feared if she put Blythe on the spot, the discussion would end. Storm or no storm, Blythe would remove herself.

Stroking Blythe’s back, Evie marveled at the juxtaposition between Blythe’s petite body, her strong presence, and the allure that came with it all. This woman had an amazing number of faces and personas. Evie had seen her as painfully shy, physically fearless, emotionally distraught, and brutally honest within just a few hours.

Evie knew she’d shocked Blythe by saying she had methods to further distract her. It was true. Evie would do just about anything to keep Blythe from remembering those horrible images of women and men hurting and dying around her. Still, it was ironic that Evie’s mere presence conjured up other images of death and disaster.

She ran soft fingertips along Blythe’s cheek. Studying her in the soft candlelight, she was greedy to see each freckle, the short, straight nose, the high cheekbones, and the full, pale, curvy lips. The latter stole her breath away, and she envisioned brushing her own mouth against those soft, very feminine lips. Trembling now, she held Blythe closer, shutting her eyes on the enticing view.

“Are you going to tell me?” Blythe murmured. “Or do I have to guess?”

“Um. Oh. Right.” Cursing her habit of speaking before she engaged her brain, she knew Blythe would recoil if she downright lied, and the fragile sense of trust between them would evaporate. “I figured if all else fails, I could shock the bejesus out of you by kissing you…or something.”

“Oh.” Blythe didn’t look appalled, which was a relief. In fact, she homed in on Evie’s mouth while she ran the tip of her tongue across her own lower lip.

“Kiss me? You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.” Evie had to fight to get the small word out.

“For therapeutic reasons, you mean?”

“Yes. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Blythe lifted her gaze to meet Evie’s. “And the part that isn’t therapeutic?”

“Blythe.” Evie tried to warn the woman in her arms. “Maybe we should leave it at that, for now?”

“You’re going to leave me hanging, when it comes to that last non-therapeutic part, aren’t you?” Blythe sounded exasperated, but her glittering eyes contradicted her tone.

“Just for the time being.”

“Unless I need distracting.”

“Yes. Unless.” She watched Blythe take a deep breath.

“Thank you.”

Not sure what Blythe had thanked her for, she kept holding Blythe until sleep claimed her. Oddly, her usual nightmares didn’t show up.

Chapter Five

Blythe stirred, blinking at the bright light. Not sure where she was, and with a kink in the back of her neck, she sat up, pushing mussed tresses out of her eyes.

“Good morning. It’s actually a very good morning,” Evie said from where she stood by the window. The shutters were open again and the morning sun lit up the room. “The old oak is still intact.”

“Told you it was fine.” Clearing her throat, Blythe stood on unsteady legs. “Is that coffee in your mug?”

“Tea, actually. I put on that and coffee. Something told me you weren’t a tea person.”

“Very astute.” Relieved that the storm was over, she followed Evie to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I take my coffee with me when I shower?”

“No, not at all. I’ll make us some breakfast in the meantime. I’ve already had my shower.”

Blythe could tell. Evie’s long hair lay like a black waterfall along her back, still damp and sleek. She smelled even more of that clean soapy scent, dewy fresh. Her mug in hand, she headed for the bathroom. The hot shower relaxed her marginally, but she kept mentally rewinding last night’s confessionals. She’d ended up telling Evie more than she’d shared with anyone in years, if ever. It unnerved her and she questioned if she’d made a huge mistake. Her collaboration with Evie was all about Evie, about the female angle in a predominately male world. It wouldn’t be about her, about her past, or even her previous work. Her focus should be here and now, with Evie at the center of her attention. In the upcoming months, she would make Evie’s life, her way back into the NASCAR limelight, her priority.

A small voice insisted that the observer always injects herself into what she’s studying and thus becomes part of the equation. Blythe acknowledged that people tended to do this, but surely she could keep the temptation to a minimum. Evie shouldn’t have to listen to what pained Blythe from her past; it had nothing to do with the book. Stepping out of the shower, she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a white golf shirt. Combing through her damp curls with her fingers, she took a few deep, cleansing breaths before returning to the kitchen.

Evie put scrambled eggs, bacon, and sliced tomato on a plate for Blythe. “I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine, thank you.” Blythe sat down and gazed out the window. “Amazing how fast things can change, isn’t it?”

Evie flinched and turned startled eyes toward her. “What do you mean?”

“The weather?” Curious about Evie’s reaction, Blythe watched her closely. “From that horrible storm to this.” She motioned with her fork toward the window.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Evie colored faintly. “Yeah, here on the coast we’re used to it.”

“I’m from the coast too. I know.”

“Yeah? Where from?”

“South Carolina.”

“Oh, really?” Evie looked relieved to change the subject. “I think I told you I have a beach house on Pawleys Island.”

“I’ve been on the island many times. I used to walk along the dunes to photograph wildlife and the beach. It wasn’t quite as posh then.”

“I love it. My house is the last one on the street. It’s also fairly close to Darlington Raceway. About two hours.”

“So that’s where you do a lot of your training?”

“Yup.” Evie chewed on a strip of bacon. “It’s where I do all my final preparation for the first race of the season. I love spending time down there. It’s far enough away from the rest of the clan to be liberating.”

“You’re talking about your father’s side, I assume.”

“I guess I’m talking about my father, period. He has a way of butting in and expressing his views when it’s least helpful and most inappropriate.” Evie looked wistful. Her gaze suddenly lost in the distance out the window behind Blythe, she sighed. “Once all I wanted was his approval. You know, for him to acknowledge me and what I’ve achieved.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Evie’s upper lip curled in disdain. “Now I’m happier if he doesn’t show up or talk to me at all. Nothing he’s said in the last ten years has been even remotely supportive or nice. If it begins to mimic anything nice, I know it’s a trap. He’ll do a one-eighty so fast it makes my head spin and strips the skin off my face. I swear sometimes he’s not stable.”

Horrified at the coldness in Evie’s voice, Blythe extended her hand, placing it on Evie’s arm, as if she could will the warm person of last night to reappear.

Flinching, Evie looked dazedly at Blythe. “Sorry. I get weird when the subject of Mad Mal comes up. You can imagine what I’m like when he’s actually around.” Smiling with self-deprecation, Evie turned her hand and slid her arm back, clasping Blythe’s hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I wasn’t startled.”

“Yeah, you were. I can see it. I promise I don’t have a split personality or anything. I just have a very complex relationship with one of my parents.”

“I hear you. If it’s any consolation, I can relate to that. Only to both my parents.”

“Yeah? We should compare notes one day.” Evie’s eyes glittered warmly at Blythe, who couldn’t resist the allure of this woman who could reach her more than anyone had in many years. She returned the smile, and Evie grinned broadly.

“You could melt what’s left of the polar ice cap.” Blythe shook her head. “And I should’ve known pointing that fact out would make you frown instantly.”

“Any cheesy comment would.”

“Aw, I thought it was pretty inventive.”

“Go figure.” Blythe tried to sound sarcastic, but the smile she hid was tugging at the corners of her lips. “We need to look over next week’s schedule before I return to New York.”

“All right. I imagine you want to shoot my training sessions at the New Hampshire Motor Speedway?”

“Absolutely.”

“I go there on Tuesday.” Something tensed around Evie’s eyes.

“Oh. Your first time at a track since the crash?”

“Yes.” Swallowing hard, she let go of Blythe’s hand and flung her hair behind her shoulders in a defiant gesture. “That’s going to be interesting. I guess it’s one of those ‘defining moments’ Oprah talks about.”

“How do you mean?”

“Either I can do it—or I can’t. If I can’t even make myself drive around the racetrack all by my lonesome, then…?” Evie raised her hands, palms up. “I’m done racing.”

“I have faith in you.”

Evie looked sternly at Blythe for several moments before her expression softened marginally. “Thank you. Actually, I totally appreciate your comment. My team manager means well, but his exuberant, gushing reassurances make me wonder if he’s trying to convince himself or me.”

Blythe finished her breakfast and found that she wasn’t at all eager to drive back to New York. “I wonder if my car’s all right.”

“I poked my head out earlier. Doesn’t look like anything hit it.”

“Good.” Blythe stood and carried her plate and coffee mug over to the sink. “Thank you. Your scrambled eggs were really good. I’m a horrible cook, so I appreciate those who aren’t.”

“I enjoy cooking when I have the time.”

Suddenly their small talk seemed formal and stiff. Blythe hadn’t felt self-conscious since last night and the disappointment rolled over her in waves. She didn’t understand why until she fetched her overnight bag and stood in the hallway to say good-bye. I don’t want to leave her. Stunned, she fidgeted with the strap to her camera bag.

“Drive safely, Blythe.” Evie moved closer. “Bound to be a lot of stuff on the roads. Branches, garden chairs, roof tiles, you name it.”

“I will. Thanks for having me.”

“Anytime.” As polite as the comment sounded, the way Evie emphasized the word made Blythe relax more.

Impulsively, and so utterly unlike herself, she stood on her toes and placed a gentle kiss on Evie’s cheek. “See you Tuesday. Text or call me when you know exactly what time.”

“I will.” Evie’s eyes darkened with unspoken emotions, but she smiled gently as she nodded. “Bye.”

As Blythe drove away from the house, her mind whirled with thoughts of the previous night and the revealing morning. Almost dizzy, she gripped the steering wheel harder. When had she opened up to someone else at all, let alone so quickly? Apart from her mentor, Pearl, Blythe couldn’t think of anyone who knew more than basic information about her. To think that she’d freely given Evie access to such private matters, and also that Evie had shared similar things about herself, rocked the very foundation on which Blythe built her life.

She made her life work by ensuring she was safe behind an imaginary, but very real, wall. If she didn’t let anyone in, then she didn’t give anyone any leverage against her. A hard-learned life lesson, but one that Evie’s survival instinct had provided her with. Until now. Their conversations might not seem like much, she mused, but it was as if the world’s axis had shifted. Everything seemed new.

Chapter Six

Evie viewed the sleek, red Dodge Viper with equal parts affection and terror. Brand-new, provided by her sponsors, it had just been backed out of the trailer by the team and sat there looking exactly like the car she’d driven into the pileup of burning cars and injured drivers.

“Oh, God,” she murmured, swallowing against the bitter taste in the back of her throat.

She tugged at the fastening of her inflammable suit. Surely her old suit wasn’t this tight?

“Isn’t it a beauty?” Ben Mason, her team manager of several years, grinned. With an impressive mustache, white hair, and slate gray eyes, he was ruggedly handsome, but mainly the one Evie trusted implicitly when it came to her racing career. “The paint job is nothing short of amazing. What do you think, Evie?” His face fell when she didn’t respond immediately. “Evie?”

“Gorgeous.” Her mouth dry, she found it hard to wrap her tongue around words. “She’s amazing.”

“You okay, kiddo?” His eyes darkened as he stepped closer and gently held her elbow. “Your time slot begins as soon as O’Brien’s off the track.”

“I’m fine.” Ignoring the chilling drops of sweat that slid down her spine, she slapped her gloves repeatedly against her thigh.

“There’s the photographer. Damn, you sure that’s a good idea?” Ben rubbed his neck, glaring at Blythe approaching with her equipment.

“What do you mean?”

“As if you’re not reminded enough of the crash.” He clearly wasn’t pleased.

“Having Blythe around won’t make it worse.” In fact, Evie was relieved to see her and walked over to her. “You made it.”

“It was a bitch to get out of New York, but yes. I did. Glad I planned for an extra hour, or you would’ve been finished.”

“That long on the road, huh?” Evie winced. “You going back to New York tonight?”

“No, just to New Haven. I’m staying there this week.” Blythe smiled, in a faint but so very charming way. “Just go about what you’re here to do. I’ll work around you. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

“Actually. Um. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got last-minute jitters.”

Blythe stopped unpacking her gear and looked closely at her. “You’re pale. I can understand that you’re apprehensive. I felt the tension just now, entering the racetrack, and I’m not the one driving.” Blythe took her hand briefly. “You’ve done this so many times. Just remember why you love driving and go make love to that stunning car.” Blythe’s cheekbones turned pink. “Hmm. You know what I mean.”

“Make love to the car?” She looked at Blythe and couldn’t believe what she’d just said. “You come up with the most unlikely comments sometimes.”

“Uh. Sorry?”

“No, no. I liked it.” Evie grinned. “Make love to the car,” she said to herself as she walked back to Ben. “That’s a first.”

“Well, now. Whatever she said, clearly she got through to you.”

“Yeah.” Shaking her hair back, she put it in a tight, low bun before donning her balaclava and her helmet. She made sure she could hear Ben through the intercom and put on her gloves. Without any hesitation she slid through the window opening, feet first.

Inside, some of the fear she’d battled for days returned. Reattaching the wheel, she looked around the sparse environment. A technical work of art, her new Viper was a monster under the hood. 650-plus horsepower thundered to life when she pressed the ignition button. How she’d missed it. How she’d feared it.

Shifting gears, she checked the gauges. The team had everything hooked up to a computer, checking everything for her, but she still needed to verify the car’s condition.

Ben’s calm voice came over the intercom. “You’re next. Take a few laps to get a feel for it.”

“All right.” Evie pulled out from the pit and began her first lap around the large oval. Her heart thundered and the iron taste in her mouth alerted her that she was clenching her teeth too hard. Her jaws hurt, but she didn’t know how to relax them just yet. Squinting, she pressed her foot against the accelerator, focusing on hitting the same spot during the curves. She took control of the car this way, by having it perform to perfection. There was something soothing in the repetition of guiding the vehicle, the powerful dragon she commanded, around the oval, one lap after another, faster and faster.

“Looking good, Evie,” Ben said over the intercom. “No need to go any faster. It’s like you drove yesterday.”

In a way that was true. Evie drove every single night. She went to bed, began to dream, and soon she was adding lap after lap, just like now. At first there’d be no other cars, just her and the Viper, happy, feeling invincible. Then smoke, flames, pain.

“What’s going on? Evie?”

The Viper swayed faintly, its rear beginning to pull toward the outer part of the oval.

“Slow down, Evie.”

Evie blinked. Familiar voice, just like in the dream. She pressed the accelerator. Go low. Go low!

“Evie, damn it. Slow down.”

“Too much smoke. I can’t see!” Evie blinked as the acrid smoke started to fill the car.

“Evie, snap out of it. Evie!”

*

“She’s losing it.” Ben tossed his baseball cap to the ground. “We were wrong. It was too soon. I can’t fucking reach her.”

Blythe ran up to the crew and set her camera down on the table behind them. “What’s going on?” She raised her hand to block out the sun, staring at the far end of the oval where the red Viper tore through the turn.

“She’s not listening to me.” Ben tried to call her again. “Talk to me, Evie.” His lips a tight line, he glanced at Blythe. “You try.” He handed his headset to her. “Just press the button.”

“Okay.” She could see the Viper accelerating further. Her stomach twitched as she donned the headset. “Evie? It’s Blythe. You’ve got to slow down!” The intercom crackled. “Please. Whatever you think is going on out there, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. Listen to me, and slow down.”

“Blythe?” Evie’s voice sounded raw over the headset. “I—there was smoke. I could’ve sworn there was smoke.”

“Tell her to pull over.” Ben picked up his baseball cap and put it back on.

She shook her head. “No. She has to work through this.”

“Hey, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ben said angrily.

“Regarding cars or racing, no. Regarding PTSD, I know more than most. If she pulls over now, before she gets any sense of normalcy out there, any chance of feeling in charge, you can forget about her comeback.” She calmly met Ben’s eyes. She’d never understood how it was easy to be eloquent and stand up for others when she was on a job, but not when she was personally involved.

“PTSD, huh?” Ben unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into his mouth, chewing energetically. “All right. Keep talking to her. Have her do five laps at the current pace. Then if I could have my headset back just for a wee moment, I’d be happy.”

“Sure thing.” She nodded regally and kept talking to Evie, merely to prove to her that she was still there. Thankfully, Evie’s voice sounded calm and steady. Willing her hands not to tremble, she picked up her camera and continued to work.

“Getting any good ones?” Evie asked in her ears.

“Yes. Focus on driving.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her finger busy on the release, Blythe went into the zone, documenting the speed of the beautiful car as it swept past them repeatedly.

“Time for her to come into the pit.” Ben extended his hand and Blythe handed him the headset without a word. “Good job there, Ms. Pierce.”

“Blythe. Please.”

“Blythe. I’m Ben.”

“I know.” She nodded, hoping she looked friendly. She still wasn’t sure about everyone on Evie’s team. She hadn’t worked long with any of them last year, and some of the faces this year were new. Ben had treated her with suspicion back then, but now he looked like he was warming up a bit. That would make her job a lot easier.

Ben ordered Evie to return, which she did. Blythe kept shooting, going in close as Blythe exited through the side window opening. Taking off her helmet and balaclava, she looked elated, almost a bit too much, which was yet another sign. Emerging from danger instilled all sorts of emotions, from emotional highs to sexual tension. She had seen it before, having been through hellish situations more times than she cared to remember. She suffered from lingering issues because she was way too good at compartmentalizing. She didn’t do too well the few times she tried therapy either. So much from her past was off-topic that professional help had been a complete waste of time and money.

Evie surprised her by running up to her and pulling her into a hard embrace. “You have no idea,” she murmured. “Absolutely no freaking idea.”

Rigid for a few moments, she saw the crew go slack-jawed at the display. Since she cared a great deal more about Evie’s well-being than what the racing team might think or not think, she returned the hug.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she said tightly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never had any flashbacks while driving before now.”

“Because driving a race car on a racetrack is a lot different than driving between New Haven and Plymouth.” Breaking the embrace, she looked solemnly at Evie. “I hadn’t realized I’d feel so…involved.”

“But you do.” Somehow this reassurance seemed to calm Evie. “I can’t promise not to scare you while competing, but at least now we know a good way to bring me out of flashbacks if they happen again.”

“What do you mean?” Blythe dreaded whatever conclusion Evie had drawn.

“You.” Evie beamed. “Your voice penetrated all that smoke and terror. When I heard you I knew what I was seeing wasn’t real. Your voice was the only variable that didn’t fit in. Even Ben’s voice fit in because he was right there in my ear last time. Before the crash.” She suddenly flinched and her eyes darkened to a frosty forest green. “Fuck. Not now. Fuck!”

*

Evie clasped her hands behind her back. This was exactly what she didn’t need. Not now, today, or ever. Pressing her lips together, she stared at the approaching man with a measured calm she didn’t feel.

“Hello, Malcolm,” she said, and Blythe gave a soft gasp. “What brings you here?”

“Evangeline,” Malcolm Marshall said politely. “Where should I be, if not here, where I can hopefully prevent my only child from making the biggest mistake in her life? A second time, I might add.”

“I refuse to have this discussion with you. I have the track for another hour, but—”

“A waste of resources.” Malcolm waved his hand dismissively at Ben and the rest of the team. “When you hear my news, you’ll be glad I stopped you from another redneck way of trying to kill yourself.”

“Please. Malcolm. Father.” It was pointless to try to reason with him when he was in this mood. He hated being contradicted, and if no witnesses were nearby, he could become quite abusive, verbally.

“I’ve been on the phone with several of the Formula One teams over the last weekend. If you play your cards right, they might just consider you. As a favor to me, naturally, but when they see how committed you are, you’ll gain their trust in your ability. I mean, you’re a Marshall. I’ve taught you everything, after all.”

In fact, Malcolm had taught Evie very little. She’d learned from him, firsthand, only how she was never good enough, how she was a constant failure and disappointment. Her emotions still surging from her close call during training, she began to tremble. “You’re just too much, Dad. I won’t be returning any calls from your F1 buddies, so you can stop calling in any so-called favors. I know you hate NASCAR. You’ve made that clear. I don’t know why you keep showing up when you know I won’t change my mind. I love this type of racing, even if you don’t.”

“You call this racing?” He stepped closer, sneering. “Compared to Formula One, this is like driving a damn tractor, cheered on by peasants. No offense, Benny.” He didn’t even look at Ben when he threw out his last comment.

“Mal, you need to leave.” Ben stepped close, flanking Evie on her left side.

She suddenly felt Blythe take position on her right.

“And who’s this?” Malcolm frowned, towering over Blythe. He made an ugly face at the camera. “The press?”

“No.” Blythe didn’t volunteer anything, merely raised her camera and kept snapping pictures of Evie’s apoplectic father.

“Hey. You have no right.”

“We’re in a public place. I have every right since I have a contract with Ms. Marshall.” Blythe spoke curtly. “I document everything regarding her return to the NASCAR circuit, and that includes anything, or anyone, aiding or trying to prevent it.” The camera kept clicking.

Malcolm reached for the camera, only to find Ben gripping his wrist mere inches from Blythe. “I wouldn’t do that, Mal. You’ve said what you came to say. If Evie wants to contact your F1 chums, she will. If not, she won’t. We’re all her friends. You better leave.”

“Oh, I’ll leave, all right. I’ll leave, and I’ll talk to your grandfather. He had such hopes after your crash. Once they said you’d live, he was so sure you’d understand. Two generations of Formula One champions and you break his heart with this hillbilly NASCAR shit.” Spitting as he talked, Mal clenched his hands. “Let me know when you’ve straightened yourself out.” He turned around and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket before stalking away.

“That’s my dad for you.” Evie took a deep breath. “He’s all heart, really.” Laughing hollowly, she felt Blythe’s arms around her waist.

“There’s one hearty person in every family. Even more in mine.” Blythe held up her camera. “If we forget just how he looked when he was being his most acidic, I have some great shots of him. For a moment I thought I’d have to wipe the lens. He was frothing, wasn’t he?” Her calm irony made Evie relax, which was unexpected, but a relief.

“Well, he wasn’t saying anything new.” She grabbed Blythe’s hand, which was still cupping her side. “Same ole, same ole.”

Ben had calmed down as well. “Yup, I’ve heard it all before too. What do you say? Take that lovely red Viper of yours and give Blythe here another angle to shoot from. Got to help her get the best pics, huh?”

Evie could’ve wept as their loyalty washed over her. She put on her balaclava and, helmet under her arm, hurried toward the car. “You might get a good angle from the bleachers, Blythe.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Blythe grinned.

“Anytime. Abso-freaking-lutely anytime.” Evie pushed herself into the Viper, and this time when she let the engine roar and took it out on the track, driving was all pleasure.

Chapter Seven

Blythe picked up her cell phone and promptly put it back down, exasperated for doing the same thing three times within the last few minutes. Tugging at her curls, she looked out the window of the Holiday Inn where she was staying. Branford looked lovely, yet another crisp autumn day when all the maple trees were on fire. Part of her wanted to take her camera and just go on an impromptu photo safari in the neighborhood, but she still had some work to do on the computer. But before she could really focus on that, she needed to figure things out.

Picking up her cell phone once more, she dialed Pearl’s private number.

“Blythe. What’s up?” She sounded busy and distracted.

“Am I disturbing your editing?” Blythe closed her eyes tight. She’d hoped to gain some courage by talking to her friend.

“No. Not really. I need a break from this abysmal article. Honestly, when will people learn what the spell-checker is for?” Pearl huffed and then her tone changed. “So, tell me what’s going on, Blythe.”

Pearl’s familiar opening rant helped ground Blythe. “You know I’m getting that award, right?”

“Yes. If you mean the National Photojournalist Award. I wish I could be there to cheer you on.”

“It’s all right. I planned to go alone, but I’ve met this woman, I mean through work, and…um…I thought I’d…but probably that’s a bad idea. What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About what I just asked.” Blythe sighed.

“Let me see what I got from your slightly disjointed sentence. You met a woman, but you’re adamant that I know it’s only a work-related relationship. Then you’re having second thoughts about asking her. Is that about it?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Blythe, honey, you called because you really want her to join you at the ceremony, but you can’t bring yourself to invite her. You’re hoping I’ll think this is a big mistake and talk you out of it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And still you know, after all we’ve been friends for almost twenty-five years, that I’m going to push you to take a leap of faith. Call this lovely friend of yours. Ask her. The worst she can say is no.” Pearl’s voice softened. “I have a hunch that she might just accept.”

“Why? Why would you have a hunch?” Blythe clutched the cell phone.

“I know you rather well. You wouldn’t even dare consider asking a woman if she hadn’t shown some sort of interest in you, as a friend or more.”

Blythe wanted to curse at Pearl for being so damn omniscient. She’d never been able to hide anything from Pearl. That was probably a good thing, but sometimes it could be unnerving. Still, Blythe knew she’d called Pearl because she needed reassurance and a push in the right direction.

“Thank you. I feel so incredibly immature because I can’t just figure these things out on my own. I guess I just don’t trust myself.”

“Hey, you’ve come a long way. You’re eons from the wounded sparrow that landed on my doorstep all those years ago. That’s why I know this woman means more to you than you realize right now. She makes you feel more, and that’s why you panic and don’t rely on yourself. And you know what? That’s how it is for most of us. We meet someone and they make us feel vulnerable. We question them, and we keep our inner debates to ourselves.”

“So you’re saying it’s not just me as a typically awkward person?”

“Oh, honey, you’re not awkward. You never were. I think your parents made you feel that way, but the way I see it, it was never true.”

Blythe smiled at the strong conviction in Pearl’s voice. Pearl had once and for all let Blythe know that she was in her corner, no matter what. “Thanks. I needed some sense beaten into me. I’ll ask her. I can use someone there who isn’t impressed with the hoopla since you’re not able to attend.”

“I’m sorry about that, I really am.” Pearl sighed. “If it wasn’t the opening night of Mike’s play—”

“Don’t even think about it. What kind of mother would you be if you dissed your own son when he’s got the lead role? You did say they’re taping the play, right?” Pearl’s oldest son, a senior in high school, was playing Romeo in his drama class’s production.

“Yes, they are. All the parents get a copy, so you’ll be able to see it with him next time we get together.”

“Tell him I can’t wait. I’ve arranged for flowers to be delivered onstage afterward.”

“He’ll be thrilled.” Pearl shared more details about her family, then they hung up, but not before Pearl urged her to call “the woman” right away. Blythe promised, but she had to take a moment to think about it or, rather, what to say. If she didn’t rehearse mentally before the call, she’d end up stuttering and sounding like a complete wreck.

She glanced at the e-mail she’d saved to her desktop and shuddered. Yet another award, something she truly disliked but grudgingly acknowledged the honor of receiving it. This award in particular, since it was for the photos she’d taken in Afghanistan. She’d risked her life carrying out her job there, but so did the soldiers, and even if they received the military’s version of awards, that wasn’t why they did it. Nor did any thought of recognition enter her mind when she crawled between muddy vehicles or became one with the wall in a field hospital, to photograph the faces of wounded soldiers and civilians.

Still, this was different. The award handed out Friday would help inspire young women and also shed light on her subject matter. With a little luck the audience would focus on those things rather than on her. After all, the individual behind the camera did the storytelling rather than basking in the limelight herself.

No matter how much of Friday’s event Blythe had chosen to block from her memory, the arrival of her evening dress at the hotel room pushed it to the front of her mind. Her assistant had made sure she wouldn’t forget and had also left a note with the dress containing information about the makeup artist she’d booked for her and urging Blythe to bring a date.

Having to bring a date was, if possible, even worse than the event itself. The ceremony and celebrity-laden event, being held at the Omni New Haven Hotel at Yale, would be televised nationally. Showing up alone when she was the guest of honor would be bad too. Groaning out loud, she grabbed her cell phone again and pressed Evie’s number on speed dial.

“Hello, Blythe. Don’t tell me you’re bailing on me tomorrow morning?”

“What? Oh, the morning’s run? No, no. I’ll be ready. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“No? What’s up?”

Blythe tried to figure out a good way to ask Evie, but words eluded her completely, internal rehearsal or not.

“Blythe? Are you all right?”

“Um. Well, you see, I’m…eh…” Wanting to thud her forehead against the laptop screen, Blythe bit down hard on her thumb. “You see, I have this thing on Friday evening. I totally understand if you can’t, and honestly, I don’t blame you, since it’s bound to be boring and tedious, and—”

“Hold on, hold on. I may be a bit on the slow side, but you, on the other hand, aren’t making one bit of sense. What’s happening Friday?”

“I have a function.”

“The way you say function, I can only surmise that you detest these shindigs as much as I do.”

“I do, and that’s why I understand that you don’t want to join me.” This made perfect sense to Blythe.

“Not that you actually asked me to join you, but why, just to humor me, don’t you tell me more about it?” Evie’s voice held a definite smile.

“Ah. Right. It’s an award thingy, and it’s very formal. You know, tuxedos and evening dresses.”

“Where is it?”

“Omni New Haven Hotel at Yale.”

“You’re kidding!” Evie began to cough. “Around here that’s the award this time of year. And you’re not just attending, are you? You’re it. You’re the recipient.”

“I suppose so.” Fidgeting, Blythe wished she hadn’t called, but that wasn’t really true either. No matter her reason for talking to Evie, the sound of her voice invigorated and soothed Blythe at the same time.

“And you’re asking me to go as your, um, date?” If it was possible to detect a blush via the phone, Blythe could see Evie going pink.

“Yes. It never dawned on me that I’d need one for Friday, but my assistant strongly urges me to find one, and you were my first, and only, choice.”

“Really?” Evie sounded genuinely excited. “I’d be happy to. What are you going to wear?”

“Oh, on Friday? A light blue evening dress. My assistant has connections in the fashion industry, and she gives my measurements to the latest new star whenever I need something to wear besides jeans or chinos.”

“I should have her do that for me as well. I’m not much better at shopping for clothes.”

“At least you don’t have to try for the preteen section of the store.” Blythe snorted.

“Ah, come on, you’re not that tiny.”

“Hmm. Don’t bet on it.”

“Anyway, since you’re in blue eveningwear, I know just what to wear. What time should I pick you up?”

“You don’t have to pick me up—”

“You’re the guest of honor. I’m your date. I pick you up. End of argument.”

“What argument? You just steamrolled right over me.” Blythe laughed. Suddenly much calmer about Friday, she tried to remember when she’d actually giggled with someone over the phone last, if ever. “Thanks, Evie. I know it was last-minute.”

“Hey, I was just planning to hang around in front of the TV by myself. You’re doing me a favor.”

Blythe doubted that but didn’t push the matter. “See you tomorrow morning for our jog, then.”

“Sleep well, Blythe.”

“’Night.”

Closing the connection, Blythe refocused on her computer. Perhaps now that she had no reason to fret about Friday anymore, she could get some work done in Photoshop.

*

Evie jogged just behind Blythe, mainly so she wouldn’t run too fast for her, but she had to admit that the sight of Blythe turned her on. Dressed in black leggings and an old sweatshirt, her hair in a curly ponytail, Blythe kept an even pace. Her firm bottom showed how fit she was, as did the fact that she wasn’t out of breath.

Evie had worked on getting into shape again ever since she got back on her feet, but scar tissue still inhibited her mobility in some areas. Despite her flameproof coverall, the heat from the burning vehicles had damaged her. The scars didn’t bother her while driving, but the largest of them, located on her left hip, made her limp a little. This was the reason she preferred to run behind Blythe. She wasn’t embarrassed, but she didn’t want Blythe to pity her.

“How about doing some stretches over there?” Blythe called over her shoulder, pointing at some picnic tables at the far end of the park.

“All right.” Evie jogged over to the closest bench, relieved to get a chance to soften the scar tissue and her calf muscles. Her left hip throbbed, and she couldn’t help but massage it as she performed the stretching exercises her physical therapist had showed her.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Blythe swayed from side to side, pulling at her hamstrings.

“Not recently. Old stuff.” Hoping Blythe would settle for this casual explanation, she stretched harder than advisable. A sharp, stabbing pain pierced the rigid skin tissue on her hip, and she moaned and grasped the picnic table to remain upright.

“Evie!” Moving close to her, Blythe put an arm around her waist, holding her close. “A cramp?”

“No. Just a bit overeager.” Inwardly cursing her carelessness, Evie rubbed at the stinging sensation. She really needed to check the area but didn’t want to pull her leggings down in public and with Blythe there.

“What happened?” Blythe stood between her and the cars passing the park. “You’re white as a ghost.” She looked up at Evie’s face, her eyes darkening.

“Just a scar that bothers me sometimes.” She took a deep breath. “I need to sit down and make sure I didn’t tear something.”

“All right.” Blythe helped her sit, then pulled off her own sweatshirt and held it up as a screen. “Go ahead.”

Evie pushed the leggings off her hips and halfway down her thighs. Leaning to her side, she felt along the scar, grimacing at the tenderness.

“Yes?” Blythe tilted her head. “You need to see a doctor?”

“What? No. No. Just sore. I didn’t actually tear anything. I can’t see toward the back, but—”

“Let me have a look.” Blythe knelt next to her and felt along it. “No visible tears. Geez, that’s some scar, Evie. You sure it’s safe to work out the way you do?”

If Blythe had sounded condescending, Evie would have withdrawn completely. “I know it’s ugly as hell,” she said. “And yes, I’m okay to work out as long as I don’t stretch too hard.”

“Okay.” Apparently Blythe took her words at face value. After glancing over her shoulder, she turned back to her with an impish grin. “Better get dressed, though. We have incoming geezers at nine o’clock.”

Two elderly men approached with their Labrador retrievers. “God. Thanks.” She tugged her leggings into place. “I don’t think my tarnished rep would survive being arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Not to mention the tabloids screaming that you were caught in a torrid tryst with another woman in a park, while indecently exposed.”

Evie snorted and thumped Blythe on the shoulder. “Get up from there. You’re not helping by kneeling in front of me.”

“Hey. For all they know I could be a really romantic person proposing to the love of my life.”

Evie stared at Blythe. She hadn’t expected such a comeback, but it was nice to know that the sometimes-so-shy Blythe had such a mischievous sense of humor.

“Now, that would be a gossip column worth reading.” Evie carefully stretched her throbbing leg. It felt better already.

“Oh, you bet. Picture this headline,” Blythe said, mimicking opening a newspaper. “‘NASCAR Star Thwarts Proposal from Glorified Paparazzi, Aided by Geriatric Canine Unit.’”

Evie broke into a fit of laughter, which startled them both. Holding her side, she laughed helplessly while she leaned against the picnic table. Blythe grinned back, and when the two men with their dogs had passed them, she started chuckling too.

“You’re crazy.” Evie hiccupped. “Geriatric canine unit?” She started laughing again.

“It’s the Southerner in me.” Blythe shrugged. “Feel like running the last part?”

“If I can stop laughing.” Evie fell into a slow jog next to Blythe. “So, ready for the award ceremony tomorrow?”

“God, you had to remind me, didn’t you?” Blythe glared at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, considering I’d rather do the dishes after the event.”

“That’s right. I read up on it. You conveniently forgot to mention that it’s a banquet.”

“I know. Food in public. Oh, joy.”

“You and I have more in common than you’d think.” Evie tapped her temple with the tip of her index finger as they turned to jog the last stretch. “Eating while televised. Not my thing.”

“You move with grace even when you’re injured. I’ll most likely have gravy from hem to neckline when I also have to give a thank-you speech.” Blythe groaned. “Oh, the damn speech.”

“You haven’t jotted down a single word yet, have you?”

“Uh. Nope. How did you know?”

“As I said. We’ve got things in common.” Warmth spread through her system when Blythe rewarded her with another smile. She remembered how rigid Blythe had been only weeks ago, and for her to joke and be silly had to be out of the ordinary. Strangely, the more time she spent with Blythe, the more similarities she discovered. Maybe that’s why Blythe had started to relax a little around her. “Are you expected to write something long-winded, or can you get away with ‘I’d like to thank the academy’?”

“Oh, trust me,” Blythe said, sounding determined. “It’ll be short and sweet. I have a few people to thank, and then I have to remind some of the guests present why we’re there in the first place.”

Intrigued by Blythe’s hardening tone, Evie considered her words. “The soldiers. The civilians in Afghanistan.”

“Yes.” Blythe looked relieved. “The people my lens found. This is about their lives, not my award.”

“I’d say so. Big difference. Pity that some need reminding.”

“Yes.”

They reached the hotel and stopped outside the entrance to stretch some more. This time, she knew Blythe was keeping an eye on her, so she made sure she didn’t overdo it again. “I should grab my car and head home to shower before I cool down too much.” She plucked her car keys from her wrist-pack.

“Good thinking.”

“Thanks for keeping me company. And thank you for not bringing out the camera when I had my pants around my knees.”

“You know, I’m probably the worst paparazzi-in-training you’ll ever meet. I could’ve sold that picture for a lot of money.” Blythe grinned.

“Yeah, you sure suck at this. Thank God.” Evie hadn’t planned it, but something so very endearing in Blythe’s expression when she wrinkled her nose while smiling made her lean forward and gently kiss Blythe’s cheek.

Blythe’s scent wrapped around her, a fruity and flowery perfume mixed with clean sweat—altogether appealing. She inhaled it greedily, only to quickly step back when the impulse to repeat the kiss startled her. “See you tomorrow, then.” Pivoting, she hurried toward her car, not daring to look back.

Chapter Eight

Blythe couldn’t get Evie’s unexpected caress out of her mind. She worked all Friday, participated in online video conferences with her business associates, edited photos, reviewed photos taken by her employees, and reluctantly wrote down some points for her acceptance speech. Still, even being this occupied, a small part of her mind skittishly recalled the feel of soft lips.

Why had Evie kissed her cheek like that? Gratitude for helping her in the park? Hardly. And it hadn’t been a polite air-kiss either. She had definitely felt the satiny texture of Evie’s full, curvy lips. Nothing polite about it. Unless she was imagining things, Evie had surprised herself as well. Blythe had heard the soft gasp before Evie had said good-bye and taken off toward her car like wolves were chasing her.

Checking the time, she winced. Time to get ready. The makeup artist and hair stylist waited in the connected hotel room. Blythe had tried to convince her assistant that she could get ready on her own, but that didn’t fly with any of them.

She showered and wrapped a towel around her hair before opening the connecting door. Then she merely closed her eyes and zoned out while the two women worked on her nails, face, and hair. It wasn’t like she’d have any viable input or offer any expertise.

“All done. What do you think?” one of the women said after what felt like hours.

Slowly Blythe opened her eyes and turned to the mirror over the desk.

“God.” She stared at the ethereal creature for several moments, quite certain that the reflection would shatter if she moved. They had used neutral colors to enhance her own, and somehow her eyes shone a piercing, porcelain blue. Her normally light eyelashes were darker and so were her eyebrows. She could still make out her freckles, but they were subdued, and her lips looked soft, raspberry pink, and shiny.

Her hair was piled high on her head in an elaborate updo, with curly little tresses caressing her cheeks and neck. “Wow,” she said, and nodded appreciatively. “You did a fantastic job. Thank you.” She made a mental note to tip them generously, since they were clearly miracle workers.

The women helped her into her dress before they left, zipping her up and making sure her appearance was flawless. The empire-cut, ice blue dress elongated her body, and the four-inch silver Louboutin sling-backs added some sorely needed height. A sheer silver knitted wrap and a matching clutch would complete the outfit. Blythe sighed at the alien sight of herself in the mirror. Not bad. At least she wouldn’t embarrass any of her staff or associates. It was ironic that the people whom the award really was about could care less about physical appearance.

The sound of fingertips rapping on the door made her jump. She sent one last glance toward the mirror, then grabbed the shawl and clutch before she opened the door.

Evie stood there looking more beautiful than ever. Her dark hair was swept up in a loose twist. Contrasting with Blythe’s feminine dress, Evie’s tuxedo suited her well. Blythe glanced down and saw why they still differed significantly in height; Evie was wearing black stilettos.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. You look amazing,” Evie said, sounding breathless.

“I never would’ve guessed you’d wear a tux,” Blythe said. “And I couldn’t have imagined how stunning it would look on you. I won’t have to worry about any cameras being directed at me. I can sit back and relax and let you take the heat.”

“As if.” Evie snorted. “You all set?”

“Yes. Let’s get this over with.” She hesitated when Evie actually offered her arm, but then took it. Not one to risk her life in four-inch heels, she was grateful to have a strong arm to hold.

*

Outside, another surprise waited. A driver held open the door to a long, sleek, black limousine.

“Oh, my.” Blythe stopped and looked up at Evie, her eyes huge. “How did you manage this at such short notice? I would imagine all the limo services around here are booked weeks in advance when there’s such an event.”

“Connections. All about knowing the right people.” Evie winked at the driver as she helped Blythe inside, being careful with the long dress. She’d made some calls and one of the guys on her team had an uncle who was a limo driver. It hadn’t taken any more than season tickets to the New Hampshire Motor Speedway to make this happen. Blythe’s surprised expression made it all worth it.

The ride to the university district in New Haven took about half an hour, during which Blythe seemed lost in thought most of the time. Evie didn’t mind that, knowing full well what Blythe was thinking about. She had been to enough functions like these in her life, and she guessed Blythe was worried about presenting herself well on the red carpet, eating gracefully in public, being on national TV, and graciously receiving the award and delivering a speech without making a fool of herself. It didn’t matter that she knew Blythe would do great. Blythe was probably quite sure she’d mess up. It had to be hell for a person so private and shy to deal with this. Yet she did.

“We’ll be at the Omni in five minutes, ma’am,” the driver said. “I can see the lights from here.”

“God.” Blythe looked pale. “I truly hate this.”

“Hey.” Evie thought fast. “You know you look good, right?”

“So?” Blythe glared at Evie, clearly annoyed.

“Well, that’s one thing less to worry about.”

“All right.”

“I look pretty okay too, don’t you think?”

“You look fabulous. I told you.”

“So, two hot chicks on the runway. Don’t you see? All we have to do is grin, wave, and tell the press who we’re wearing.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s a start. The rest will fall into place.” She scooted closer to Blythe. “Just remember. You’re not alone. You had my back at the track when Mal showed up. I have your back now.” She placed a hand on Blythe’s shoulder, aware that Blythe wasn’t entirely convinced. Okay, emergency measures.

Nearing slowly, she saw Blythe’s eyes grow darker. She pressed her lips gently to Blythe’s. She meant the kiss as a distraction, something to take Blythe’s mind off her fears, but she hadn’t counted on how the soft kiss would affect her. The moment she let go of Blythe’s soft lips, carefully checking for signs of smudged lipstick, she wanted to repeat it. Not only that, she felt desperate to repeat it, to verify that she hadn’t somehow conjured up the sound of her thundering heart, the blood singing in her veins, or the dampness of her palms.

“Evie,” Blythe whispered, her head falling against the backrest.

She ran her trembling fingertips against Blythe’s neck, reveling in the smoothness.

“We’re here,” the driver stated.

“Thank you.” Snapping back to reality, she straightened and looked out the window. Camera crews, news vans, and paparazzi. “Here we go. Ready?”

“Yes.” Blythe sounded a little less dazed.

The limousine stopped and the door opened toward the red carpet. Evie stepped outside and extended her hand into the limo for Blythe.

Blythe exited the vehicle with more grace than Evie would’ve thought possible. She looked ethereal in the harsh light, like a displaced forest creature. The only sign of her insecurity was the way she clasped Evie’s hand and wouldn’t let go. She didn’t mind. Instead she fired off her own grin, and it didn’t take the paparazzi long to recognize her.

“Blythe! Over here. Blythe! Evie! Look over here.” The demanding voices of the photographers rained over them as they slowly made their way along the red carpet to the hotel entrance.

“Evie.” A slight, barely noticeable tone of panic laced Blythe’s voice.

“Just keep smiling. You’re doing fine.” She knew how to speak without moving her lips. “Nearly there.”

Gloria Banks, a famous TV personality, stood ready with a microphone when they reached the door.

“Blythe Pierce, our guest of honor, is here,” Gloria said cheerfully. “Welcome. You must be excited about tonight’s banquet in your honor, Blythe?”

“This isn’t just about me—” Blythe said.

“And you’ve brought a, hmm, friend, and not just any friend, but NASCAR’s own superwoman, Evangeline Marshall.”

“Hello,” Evie said politely. She allowed the steel in her voice to show, and Gloria blinked and seemed to search for her next question.

“Um. That’s a beautiful dress, Blythe,” Gloria managed to say. “Who are you wearing?”

“Fernanda Cruz.”

Evie could tell that Gloria hadn’t heard of this particular designer. A petty part of her found this fact rather funny. She could tell her smile was widening exponentially. This expression didn’t elude Gloria, who now mimicked the grin of a shark.

“What about you, Evangeline? Who are you wearing?”

“Armani.”

“Ah. Stunning.” Gloria made a production of returning her attention to Blythe. “Blythe, you’re the recipient of tonight’s most prestigious award. What is it about your photos that captivates the viewer, do you think?”

“I shoot what I see.” Blythe didn’t elaborate.

“And what you see is heartbreaking, isn’t it? Our boys risking their lives.” Gloria pressed a hand against her chest in a way Evie assumed was meant to portray empathy.

“And our girls. And the civilian people.”

“Civilians?” Gloria frowned. “Yes. Of course.”

“If you get a chance to look at the book, you’ll see that fifty percent of my subjects are the civilian Afghans and their daily life.” Blythe spoke quietly, but in a surprisingly authoritative manner that had Gloria leaning in to hear her.

Evie was ready to applaud Blythe for standing her ground with such class.

“Enjoy the evening. Both of you.” Gloria’s shark-like expression flashed at them as they resumed walking their gauntlet.

“Don’t let go.” Blythe muttered the words as they passed a horde of photographers.

“Nearly there.” She felt Blythe relax marginally as they entered the hotel lobby, leaving the press behind. “Whoa, Nellie.” She had to laugh at the relief on Blythe’s face. “That was quite the red carpet.”

“Any more of that, I’ll be a nervous wreck.” Blythe carefully let go of Evie’s hand. “Any fractured fingers?”

“Nah, I’m sturdier than that.” Wiggling her fingers to regain some blood flow, Evie looked around. “As your date, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Just some club soda, please. I better stay very sober, at least until after the damn speech.”

“Be right back.” As Evie made her way toward one of the waiters carrying trays of champagne and other drinks, she glanced over her shoulder. She half expected Blythe to revert to the uncomfortable, shy person she had first seemed to be. Instead, she appeared to converse with a couple of people that had approached her.

Evie took two glasses of club soda from the waiter’s tray and began to stroll back toward Blythe. She took her time, weaving through the crowd consisting of celebrities and media people, all the while keeping her gaze locked on Blythe.

Chapter Nine

“…for her sensitive and insightful documentation through photography, as well as for showing the courage required to go into enemy territory to carry out her work. Add to this the artistic manner in which she tells the story of our soldiers, the native population of Afghanistan, and the non-government organization employees she worked beside. Few other people have been able to bring us the experience that Blythe Pierce has with her latest book.” The chairman of the award committee spread his arms in a wide gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen, this year’s recipient of the National Photojournalist Award—Blythe Pierce.”

Evie couldn’t take her eyes off Blythe as she rose from her chair, her cheeks pale rather than pink, but looking collected. She casually walked among the circular tables until she reached the stage, where she accepted a glass sculpture in the form of a camera, boasting a gold-rimmed lens. She turned to give her acceptance speech, but the microphone was more than a foot too high, and one of the presenters hurried forward and lowered it. She thanked him and then faced the audience.

“Thank you, everybody. I’m grateful for being shortlisted and for being awarded this prestigious prize. I could not do this job and stay in business without my staff and associates. That said, there are some wonderful photographers out there, and being chosen this year is completely surreal. I love doing what I do. Photography has been my passion for so many years, and normally it’s just my camera and I, making our way among interesting, courageous people while trying to immortalize them for others to see. I’ve been fortunate to visit places and meet people that have exceptional stories to tell. I prefer to regard myself and my beloved camera as a catalyst. Simply by observing and documenting, we change the reality we’re in. So, I don’t know how or to what extent, but I know that my presence in Afghanistan did alter lives. I was a Western woman directing my camera toward my countrymen, the Afghans, and others, and some things happened—so I just kept pressing the release and trying to bring them home with me the only way I knew how. And…” Blythe swallowed hard, her eyes searching the tables. “And s-some of them…some of them…” Gripping the podium tight, Blythe took a deep, trembling breath.

Evie pushed away from the table and stood. Her movements caught Blythe’s eyes and Evie nodded. The spotlight directed at Blythe made the rest of the room seem darker. Evie didn’t think too many people wondered why she was on her feet. Several others stood too.

“Some of them will never come home any other way than through these photos. Precious lives of young men and women. Of children.” Blythe’s voice became steady again, her eyes steadfastly looking into Evie’s. “I’m honored that the committee has chosen to recognize my work, but the only way for that to make sense is for us to continue to acknowledge the ones who will live on only in these images. We must also remember the people who loved them and who are left with nothing but their memories. If we don’t…then the pictures in this book are only pixels on paper. This is the true significance of this award. It acknowledges not so much the person behind the camera, but the individuals seen through the lens.” Blythe stopped talking when thunderous applause echoed throughout the ballroom. Now her cheeks colored faintly in the stark light. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She took the glass sculpture and the envelope from the podium and walked off the stage.

Evie moved closer to escort Blythe back to the table of honor. Blythe gripped her hand so tight with her ice-cold hands, Evie’s bones ground together. “You did a marvelous job. Very eloquent.”

“I panicked,” she whispered.

“You choked up on a sensitive subject that every single person here can relate to. You didn’t screw up. You just showed that you truly care about your work, about the people you photographed.”

They sat down and Blythe had to suffer through the praise from the people who shared the table with them. As Blythe’s award had been the most prestigious one, the ceremony was coming to an end, and people began to migrate toward the bar and the dance floor.

“Now that you’ve endured that part, can I get you a real drink?” Evie winked at Blythe, who pursed her lips.

“Why not? I usually don’t drink, but tonight’s special. A cosmo would be nice.”

“Coming right up. Hey, there’s a guy looking like he wants something.”

Blythe glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, that’s the nice young man who’ll make sure my award gets shipped to the right address so I can drink, dance, and enjoy myself without having to worry that it gets stolen.”

“Okay. Do your thing and then I’ll be back with the first part of that plan.” She moved toward the bar area, realizing she would have to stand in line since a lot of other people had the same idea. She kept looking at Blythe, who was handing over her award to the young man.

“You’re Evie Marshall, aren’t you?” a male voice said from behind, interrupting her thoughts.

She gazed behind her where a handsome man in his forties leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. He smiled, displaying white teeth that contrasted against a deep tan, which Evie suspected was sprayed on.

“Yes. Nice to meet you,” she said politely, and turned to move forward toward the bar.

“What can you possibly be doing at a geeky event like this?” The man laughed at his own so-called joke. “I’m Gary Niles.” No doubt he figured Evie had heard of him. She hadn’t.

“If that’s the case, what brings you here?” She didn’t bother to conceal the chill in her voice.

Gary didn’t look entirely pleased about not being recognized. “I’m sure you’ve seen my show on the Weather Channel, if you think about it.”

“The Weather Channel?” Evie felt impolite giggles begin as tremors in her stomach. Readjusting her features, she looked at him over her shoulder. “You’re really a weather boy? Sounds like fun.” Not. She looked around for Blythe, but couldn’t see her anywhere.

“I saw you when you arrived.” Gary didn’t give up easily. “With the guest of honor, no less. Perhaps I should give you a heads-up.” He moved unpleasantly close to Evie. “A gorgeous girl like you should mind your step around the famous photographer. A friend of mine on the Military Channel did a whole segment on her, and when they were researching her background, they couldn’t find shit about her before she magically appeared in New York as a teenaged prodigy photographer.”

Furious at Gary’s conspiratorial tone, which was a joke since everybody around them could hear him, she said, “I really don’t care what you have to say about Blythe.”

“You have a reputation to protect, don’t you? I mean, you’ve been accused of stuff after your spectacular crash.”

How could anybody possibly consider this guy charming? His ugly sneer combined with his malicious tone heated her blood to a volcanic temperature.

“You can say what you wish about me, since I don’t give a fuck,” Evie said, her voice a low, reverberating hiss. “But for you to degrade the woman who’s the reason for everybody who’s anybody on the East Coast when it comes to journalism, TV, and publishing to be here tonight? That’s not only stupid, it’s career suicide. If you were trying to get into my pants by badmouthing my date, well, let me tell you, buddy. That doesn’t show much intelligence either.”

“Evie.” Blythe suddenly stood next to her, taking her hand. Her blue eyes were dark gray, and she looked back and forth between Gary and Evie with disdain.

“I’m sorry, Blythe,” she said, swallowing tears of fury and disappointment. This situation was getting out of hand and destroying Blythe’s big night. “He’s a jerk. I shouldn’t have let him—”

“Ms. Marshall, we heard everything,” a woman said from behind her. “So did a lot of people at the bar. People who admire Ms. Pierce greatly, and yourself as well. We don’t, however, care much for people like Gary Niles. Common courtesy would be enough, but envy is ugly no matter what form it takes.” The tall, blond woman stepped closer and extended her hand to Blythe and then to Evie. “My name is Annelie Peterson.” Evie knew instantly who the woman was—a wealthy publisher and successful Hollywood producer that nobody in the business would want to rub the wrong way.

Annelie Peterson effectively excluded Gary Niles by turning her back to him. “Congratulations on your well-deserved award, Blythe. I’m on the committee and, trust me, you’re in a class all your own.”

“Thank you.” Blythe clung to Evie’s hand.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your evening and not let any nuisance destroy it for you. Have fun now.”

“Thanks, Ms. Peterson. We’ll do just that.” Evie nodded approvingly at Annelie. “Come on, Blythe. Let’s go dance. We can have a drink later.” She tugged at Blythe’s hand, pulling her gently toward the dance floor.

“Dance?” Looking slightly panic-stricken, Blythe followed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

*

Blythe was sure Evie meant her suggestion as a joke, or a reason for them to escape all the unwanted attention. She’d overheard the last part of Gary Niles’s venomous words and was concerned what Evie might think. It surprised her that Gary hadn’t added the rumor of Blythe being a lesbian to the mix.

“Sure. Oh, look, it’s Noelle Laurent. Wow. For real.” Evie sounded positively in awe.

The famous singer-songwriter sat at the piano, singing a soft ballad, her warm, husky voice easily recognizable. Before Blythe could stop her, Evie shifted her grip of Blythe’s hand and wrapped her other arm around her waist. Gently, she guided Blythe across the floor, keeping pace with the love song.

“Evie.” Her heart hammered. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not.” Evie stroked her back gently in soothing circles. “I’m many things, but I promise you I’m quite sane. Just enjoy the music.”

“But…” She didn’t know what to say. People were staring, they had to be. It was impossible to relax at first. She tried to think of what to say to Evie to convince her that they needed to leave the dance floor, but nothing came to mind. Instead Evie’s hand slid softly along her arm and then around her waist again. Evie skillfully steered them away from some overzealous guests who were trying some unorthodox dance moves.

“See?” Evie murmured in her ear. “Everybody’s looking at those fools. Nobody cares about us.”

“All right.” Actually, Evie could be right. She forced the hand that rested on Evie’s shoulder to relax. Slowly she slid it farther up, gently cupping the back of Evie’s neck under her hair. “Better?”

“God. Um. Yes.” Evie ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. “Yeah.”

It was good to know that she could still keep Evie on her toes. Evie was bolder and braver than her, especially considering her occupation, but every now and then Blythe felt like evening the score.

“You were wonderful tonight.” Evie bent her head and whispered in her ear. “I’m so glad you asked me to be your date.”

“Date. Yes.” Now Blythe fumbled for the right words. “You were the first person who came to mind. I’m glad you’re here. I really am.” She looked up at Evie and allowed herself to take the opportunity to drown in her eyes. It wasn’t just Evie’s good looks that pulled her in, even if Evie was easily the most stunning woman at the event. She couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps a combination of physical attraction and loyalty? Since Evie had suggested that they dance, Evie might just find her a little bit appealing too. She hadn’t heard anything about Evie being gay, but then again, she hadn’t seen anything in the rags about her dating any men either. Granted, she stayed busy with her career, but even the most hardworking people had significant others occasionally.

Blythe suddenly realized that she was dancing so close to Evie that their thighs were brushing together. Her skin buzzed and she was afraid she might start to pant.

“Maybe we need to sit down, Evie? I mean, we should consider your leg. Right?”

“Aw, Blythe, and we’re having such a good time.” Evie bent down and spoke quietly into her ear, her lips sliding against Blythe’s temple and sending tremors through her upper body. “You sure? My leg is fine. Really.”

“I’m sure.”

“How about that drink?”

“Or you could call for that limo buddy and have him drive us home.”

Evie sighed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She pressed closer for a wonderful, short moment. “Too bad. Still, I understand that this was a lot for someone who doesn’t like crowds or being center stage.”

Of course Evie would understand. Feeling guilty, Blythe held on around Evie’s neck as they danced toward the exit. “For what it’s worth, I loved being here with you, and the dance was the best part.”

“I agree.” Evie magically produced a cell phone and pressed the speed dial. After a few murmured words, she looked regretfully at Blythe. “Car will be here in five minutes. At least there’s no line at the curb.”

“Good.” Blythe reluctantly let go of her with one hand, but decided not to let the chance to keep holding her hand slip by. Dancing so close to Evie, inhaling her scent and feeling the warmth of her against her fingertips…she had felt so safe. She still did, clinging to Evie’s hand. Sooner or later she’d have to let go, but she chose not to think of that just yet.

The limousine glided up to the curb within a few minutes. Valets assisted them with the door, and once she and Evie were inside, a strange mix of nervous calm settled between them. Blythe sat quietly watching the streetlights of New Haven that they passed by. She wasn’t looking forward to the impersonal hotel room, but at least she was in the same town as Evie.

Furtively glancing at Evie, she found her sitting with her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the neck rest. Their hands had lost their connection when they entered the limo, and taking Evie’s hand now would have a completely different meaning. Before, it had half showed they were at the function together, yet kept people guessing, a little tongue in cheek. Now, when they were alone, with no spectators to either impress or confuse, holding Evie’s hand would be like a come-on.

Being honest with herself, Blythe wanted nothing more than to take Evie’s hand, for all the right reasons, the obvious reasons. She wanted to bury her head against that strong, warm neck and just feel secure. To kiss those full lips and feel Evie kiss her back. As wonderful as that would be, could be, it was a dream she couldn’t dwell on.

Still, it broke her heart to know that wouldn’t happen.

Chapter Ten

The acrid smoke filled Evie’s throat and nostrils. Unavoidable, it began to choke her, made her gag and cough uncontrollably. She was in the car, with it careening and tumbling among flames of fire. Around her voices screamed and tearing, buckling metal screeched. Her harness kept her in place, and the cage inside the Viper kept its body from collapsing on top of her.

“Oh, God.” She sobbed loudly. “Please. Make it stop. Please.”

Instead, the car halted, but the flames rose higher around her. The sickening smell of burning flesh hit before the pain did when the fire gnawed through her suit. Crying out, Evie tried to reach the hands that grabbed for her. Sometimes the hands were those of gloved firefighters, sometimes they were small, slender woman’s hands, holding on to a camera. The light of the flash hit her eyes again and again.

“Blythe. Help me.” Evie tried to grab the camera strap that dangled unscathed among the flames, but it stayed just beyond her reach.

The flames had now incinerated her suit and her skin turned black and bloody. “No. No!”

Evie sat up in bed, almost toppling over the side. Hardly able to catch her breath, she tugged at her soaked T-shirt. She fumbled for the switch for the bedside lamp, gasping for air. The soft light helped her figure out where she was. Her Branford condo. Her bed.

Trembling, she yanked her sweaty T-shirt off. Then she hurried into her ensuite bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped inside, keeping it as cold as possible and trying to eradicate the haunting memories of the flames licking her body. The water usually helped, but nothing shut out the noise and the voices crying out in pain.

Out of the shower, Evie wrapped herself in an enormous bath towel and returned to the bedroom. She looked indecisively at her bed and then the alarm clock next to it. Four in the morning. After padding over to the La-Z-Boy rocking chair by the window, she curled up and tried to drown out the echoes of the ones in the nightmare. This happened almost every night, unless she’d worked out so strenuously she was more unconscious than asleep. She’d even tried alcohol before bedtime, but it exacerbated the horrifying dream-sequences.

She couldn’t stop trembling. The cold shower hadn’t helped much, but the thought of going back in for a hot one was worse yet. She knew, or could guess, why her nights were worse than usual. Tomorrow, she, Blythe, and her team would start training on Darlington Raceway. She’d put in enough training sessions to move farther south. At least she could stay at her beloved beach house, her true sanctuary where she was far enough away from her family and less reminded of how she’d failed to live up to their expectations. Something about the view from Pawleys Island, and the privacy her own house gave her, carried her through difficult times. This would be her first time back after the crash, and perhaps she was dreading that it could have lost its allure.

Evie glanced over at her cell phone. It was too early to call someone on a Sunday morning. Two weeks had passed since the award ceremony where she and Blythe had danced. They’d spent time together twice since then, but rather briefly and with a camera as a shield between them. Now she hadn’t talked to Blythe in five days, and she couldn’t think about anything but dialing her number. Why it was so important to talk to Blythe right now she didn’t know, only that it was. She just knew that if anyone would understand, it was Blythe.

“To hell with it.” She grabbed her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Blythe’s number. Three rings went through before a sleepy, but concerned, voice answered.

“Evie? Something wrong?” Blythe cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up.” Clinging to the phone with both hands, Evie could hear the slight tone of hysteria in her own voice.

“Of course you should. I’m awake now. Sitting up in bed. Talk to me.” Blythe still sounded husky, but indeed instantly wide-awake. Perhaps a journalist trait.

“I’m having a bit of a rough night. I can’t get the noise to stop.” Not sure how she could possibly be honest with Blythe, she pulled the damp towel closer around her and curled up in the chair.

“What noise?”

“I can hear the other guys. Burning. Crying out and then the flames…the flames.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. She nearly always got a headache after the worst of these nightmares. “And then the voices stop. That’s the worst part.”

“Why is that?” Blythe’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but also impossibly soft.

“That’s when I know it’s too late for them. They’re gone. They burned to death, and I lived.”

“The survivor guilt really does a number on you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hot tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m so scared this will haunt me forever. I just don’t sleep well. Ever. I can’t complain about it either since the guys that died…” She tried to speak, to explain, but her throat was one big knot.

“It won’t. Just the fact that you called me, that you let someone in, proves that you’re working through this. Just so you know, suffering from survivor guilt and actually being guilty aren’t the same thing. You didn’t cause the crash, you didn’t have anywhere to go without running into another car, and you reacted by the book to the situation. And fast too. I’m sure people have told you this many times.”

“No. Not really. Not in so many words.” It was true. Ben had discussed it with her, and perhaps that had been his message, but nobody had put it like Blythe just had. “Nobody has probably dared since I get so defensive. I shoot them down way before they ever get to the point.”

“Don’t start berating yourself for that too. It’s not hard to tell someone ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ Didn’t you have counseling at the clinic?”

“I hated it. They went way back to my childhood, to my relationship with my parents. To their divorce. Their divorce! I was fucking five years old when they split.”

“Ambitious therapist, but since they knew you were only going to be there a few months, they might have been more successful if they’d been a little less meticulous. Did you even get past your teens before you left?”

Evie chuckled, which stopped her from shaking. “No. I was about at that stage when I started to think about sex.”

“Really?” Blythe snorted. “And which age are we talking about in your case? Early developed or a late bloomer?”

“Early developed physically. Late bloomer before getting the full picture.” Evie knew she was blushing and hid her face, even if she was alone.

“Huh. What does that mean?” Blythe sounded genuinely puzzled.

“I developed early. I’m not very curvy, but the curves I have, I had already at thirteen. I was tall and looked older.”

“And the second part?”

“It took me a while to understand why the other girls were so into boys and swooned over celebrities like boy bands and so on.”

“So when did the penny drop for you?” Blythe seemed more than mildly interested. Was she actually holding her breath?

“Late. I was seventeen before I realized why boys didn’t have a particular appeal for me.” Her heart now pounding for a completely different reason, she waited for Blythe to catch on. This would definitely make her view their dancing together in a whole new light.

“Really.” Blythe’s voice was a whisper. “I was eighteen.”

Was Blythe talking about the same thing she was? Her palms were so sweaty now she nearly dropped the phone, but she had to make sure. “No high-school sweethearts before then?”

“Don’t get me started on high school. So, no. No sweethearts. Just the opposite.”

Confused now, Evie knew they were getting away from what she wanted to know. “And later?”

“At eighteen I fell in love for the first time. She didn’t reciprocate, but for the first time I felt like I had it in me to love someone. Naturally I was crushed to learn she didn’t feel the same.”

She! Evie clasped the phone with both hands. She had thought, hoped, after the dancing, the kiss, and holding hands, but that wasn’t the same as hearing it like this. “I’m sorry about that. I had a girlfriend when I was eighteen. Mal caught us at one point, and, well, you’ve met him. You can imagine what he was like. I wasn’t strong enough to defy him, even if I’d wanted to. My girlfriend reacted badly, since he totally freaked her out. Can’t say I blame her.”

“What happened?”

“Well, when I say Mal caught us, I meant, caught us, caught us.”

“Ah. As in making out.”

“Yeah.” Evie cringed at the memory even though it had been twelve years ago. The panicky feeling of scrambling for clothes while her father was tapping his foot outside the barely closed door was so damn humiliating. “How did your folks react?”

“To what?” Blythe sounded puzzled again.

“Coming out?”

“Oh. You mean that. They don’t know.”

“You—you’re still in the closet?” That didn’t seem right. Blythe was perhaps shy and uncomfortable at times, but she was also matter-of-fact and direct.

“No. Not in the closet. Just not in touch with my family. I left home when I was barely eighteen. Haven’t been back since.”

“Oh. I see.” She really didn’t see, but something tickled her memory, something Blythe had said a while back. “Didn’t you say you were from South Carolina and knew the area around Pawleys Island?”

“Yes.” Blythe sighed. “I lived most of my childhood in Myrtle Beach. As far as I know, my family’s still there.”

“And you haven’t been home, I mean visited, there?”

“No.”

“I don’t mean to pry. Really. Just tell me to shut up if I make you feel unsettled. I just figure…well, we’ll be there this week, right there in your old neighborhood. Will this be a problem for you? Your work may suffer, and I’d hate that. We’re depending on each other to succeed.”

“I promise I’ll hold it together.” Blythe now sounded decidedly cooler. “You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“I just feel it might be a mistake to stay at Pawleys Island, if that’s going to bring back bad memories for you.”

“If you’re that concerned about the finished product, I can certainly stay at a hotel instead of your house. I wouldn’t want to impose.” Blythe sounded stiff now. Evie could picture the light blue eyes being icier than ever before. This wasn’t how she’d meant for Blythe to take her words, not at all.

“I’m not worried about any product. I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

“You realize I’ve been to almost every hellhole known to man? Returning to South Carolina will hardly be a bleep on the radar.”

“Something far more personal hurt you there.”

“You want out of the contract?”

“Please, Blythe. Don’t be like that.” Her heart thundering again, she hated the way their conversation was going. “Fuck. I knew it was a mistake to wake you up. I shouldn’t have.” The connection she’d felt only moments ago was gone because she was so damn weak and couldn’t keep herself together.

“Evie.” Blythe sounded tired, but marginally less rigid. “Listen. You were right to call me. You may actually have a point about my being closer to my family adding pressure. However, I won’t let it affect our work. We’ll both succeed. Just wait and see.”

Grateful for Blythe’s attempt to regain the warmth between them, she nodded to herself. Perhaps she was being too sensitive, or even childish. No matter what, she wished she could say something to rekindle the warmth their sharing had created. She didn’t want Blythe to feel bad, so she produced the best casual tone she could.

“Sure we will. Absolutely. You know what? I think I can get back to bed now. Get a few more hours in. Okay?”

“Evie?” There it was again, Blythe’s concerned tone. Evie felt even worse.

“Hope you can sleep some more too. See you Tuesday.”

Evie wasn’t ready to spend time on the road to Pawleys Island with Blythe, but perhaps she’d get her act together by then. “Fine. See you Tuesday morning. Bye.”

She disconnected the phone and pressed it against her forehead. Well, that was one way to get rid of a nightmare. You call the woman you have a business arrangement with, harass her at an ungodly hour, more or less force her to out herself, and then get all weepy and emotional because she has the audacity to not respond the way you want. Really mature.

Evie wasn’t sure why she was weepy and emotional around Blythe. When had she handed over that type of power to her? She left the towel on the chair and crawled naked back into bed. Even after tugging the covers over her, she was cold to the bone. Her father had once lectured her at length after she lost a race at age sixteen, saying she was her own worst enemy. She hadn’t understood or agreed with him then, and she’d be damned if she’d start agreeing with him now.

*

Blythe put her cell phone down and wrapped her arms around her pulled-up knees. What the hell had just happened?

She and Evie had connected, and Blythe had curled up in bed, feeling like they’d actually been in the same room, exchanging secrets. Her being a lesbian was hardly a secret, but she didn’t announce it either. If she had been involved with someone, she could imagine being totally out, despite her being somewhat well-known. She could also see why Evie wasn’t out to the general public, since she was famous in a whole other way. As one of the very few women in racing, anything Evie did attracted attention. If it became common knowledge she was a lesbian, she would have to contend with everything from leering straight guys, to Bible Belt reactionaries, to people wanting her to become a spokesperson, to…just about anything.

Moved by how Evie had dared to reach out to her when she needed someone to listen, Blythe squeezed her legs tight. When had it gone so wrong? Their conversation had been amicable, nice. Warm. Even coming out to Evie had been okay, since both of them had dealt with weird experiences. Evie’s was even worse than her own. After loving Pearl for several years, Blythe was still friends with the woman who once broke her heart. She was also friends with Pearl’s husband of twenty-three years and unofficial godmother to their two children. She sighed. Without Pearl and her family, she wouldn’t have much of a social circle.

She returned to the point in the conversation with Evie when they crashed and burned. Myrtle Beach and Pawleys Island. Evie had sensed that returning to the place where she’d been the ultimate outsider, and a constant disappointment to her parents, would be a problem.

“And I got all defensive and huffy, didn’t I?” She groaned into her knees, pressing her forehead so hard against them that it hurt. Evie had called because she needed someone, and Blythe, being her usual idiotic self, couldn’t step far enough away from her frail ego to show she could be trusted. If they had any problem finishing the book, Blythe would have nobody but herself to blame.

Something else hit her and made her sit ramrod straight. She couldn’t possibly have any long-term impact on Evie. But what if this lack of trust had short-term effects on her? If it made her not pay attention while training…that could be fatal.

Not even stopping to think, she pressed the speed-dial number for Evie. Surely she wasn’t back asleep already?

“Blythe?” Evie’s voice, raw and sort of atonal, sounded anything but sleepy.

“I’m sorry. Whatever just happened? I’m sorry.” She realized she sounded really uncomfortable, but what else was new?

“What?” Her voice came alive again, thank God.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. I just want to say I’m sorry I snapped at you when you were just starting to feel better. I’m not good at this but, with you, I…I want to be.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m so glad you called back.” Evie sniffed, which made Blythe want to smack herself over the head with the cell phone. “Thank you.”

“We’re good?” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yes. Yes, of course we are. You know, I think we both stumbled onto one of those things I refer to as Pandora’s Boxes that we all have. The way I see it, we carry these boxes with us, filled with old hurt, misunderstandings, bad events, and so on. We manage to keep a tight lid on them most of the time. Then I’m thinking, maybe they’re inevitable, these boxes? And since they might be, perhaps we should have those Tupperware boxes instead to keep such things in. You know, the type you squeeze the lid and let air out of every now and then. To keep the pressure off?”

Blythe felt her mouth fall open. “Evie. How did I ever go through life without having you to explain things to me? Nothing anybody else has ever said has made more sense than that. I’m not joking.”

“Yeah? I thought it sounded a bit weird when I said it out loud.” Evie chuckled. “Now I really feel like we’re back on track.”

Blythe was so relieved she wanted to cry. “Me too. Let’s get some more sleep.”

“Yes. See you Tuesday.”

“Good night. Um. Morning.” She disconnected the call and relaxed back into bed, then tucked the cell phone under her pillow with her hand still around it. She felt closer to Evie like this.

Chapter Eleven

The Pawleys Island beach house was nothing like Blythe expected. She had envisioned some modern structure with panoramic windows overlooking the ocean, but this was the direct opposite. Built on tall stilts to accommodate potential flooding during storms, pale blue exterior with white trim and shutters, it looked like all the other houses. No extensive luxury set it apart whatsoever.

“Come on, let me show you.” Evie bounced out of the car and waved impatiently for Blythe to follow her. She opened the door with a code lock and they bounded up the stairs to the first floor.

“Oh, look at that view!” Blythe gazed out the living room window. “I think I said the exact same thing at your place in Plymouth.”

“Well, it’s the same ocean, so that figures.” Evie crinkled her nose as she smiled. “Let me show you your room.” She tugged at Blythe’s arm. “It’s the prettiest room in the house. I put up the wallpaper and painted it myself.”

“Really?” Impressed, Blythe stepped into the small guest room located down the small corridor off the far end of the living room. Light green and yellow pastels gave the room a serene, spring feeling. White, airy curtains reached all the way to the floor. A French door led to the balcony, which was really a large deck built on the stilts. “I love it.”

“You’ll have only a twin bed, since the rooms are small. Is that okay?”

“Remember who you’re talking to.” Blythe chuckled and gestured at herself.

“Oh, right. You’ll be fine. Now, my next pride and joy.” She took Blythe’s hand and guided her across the narrow hallway and into a room perhaps thirty percent larger than the guest room. “My bedroom.” It sported a queen-size bed, and the colors were deeper, more saturated. Maroon, navy, and gold told an entirely different story of this room and its occupant.

“This is gorgeous. Did you do this room too?” Blythe noticed that it had a partial view of the sea.

“Yeah, it was fun. I bought this place with some of the first money I made, and everybody told me to remodel and extend it. I didn’t want that. I just wanted this house for me. If I wanted a visitor, like I do you, then I have one guest room. This way I can be here alone, and nobody expects or can possibly be offended that I don’t ask them to join me.” Evie tangled her fingers into the hem of her white T-shirt. “I know that probably sounds pretty conceited.”

“No. It sounds honest. And it clearly comes from a woman smart enough to draw the line in the sand very clearly. This is your home, with the emphasis on yours. I’m very glad that I get to stay here with you. It’ll make my work infinitely easier.” She glanced out the window. “And as long as you don’t expect me to brave the waves out there, I’m really going to like it.”

“Brave the waves? Wouldn’t dream of it. I mean, I love sailing, waterskiing, swimming, and such, but not everybody is an aquatic life form.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Then again, I’d never climb a tree during a hurricane.” Evie looked pointedly at her before she chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not so sure we should start comparing notes about our daredevil records.”

“Better not.” Evie turned around. “Let me show you the kitchen and the library, and then we can carry our stuff inside.”

Blythe tagged along, admiring the rooms that had clearly been modernized—the L-shaped kitchen with a breakfast nook, and the bathroom that held both a soaking tub and a shower stall.

“It’s okay to share a bathroom, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Some women are a bit funny that way. I didn’t think you’d be one of them, considering how you’ve been used to roughing it. Still thought I’d ask.”

“As you say, compared to last year’s accommodation, which was pretty much a roll of paper and a shovel, this is heavenly.”

“A shovel?” Evie winced visibly. “Really? That sounds horrible.”

“Trust me, after a while, that was the easy part. Didn’t even think about it toward the last part of my assignment.”

“I’d love to hear more about your experiences.” Evie looked serious. “I have several of your books, and I’ve looked at other photos on the Internet that you’ve taken, but even if they tell their own story, I want to hear yours.”

Tugging at her locks, an old habit, Blythe looked curiously at Evie, who in turn gazed back with completely guileless eyes. She had no idea what it was about Evie’s eyes that allowed her to see so much of her—maybe because Evie’s eyes in a strange way reflected some of herself.

“Okay. I’m glad we’re here in more ways than one,” Evie said as they returned to the car to get their luggage. “I don’t know about you, but that bed at the hotel outside Fredericksburg was horrible. What had they stuffed in the mattress? Bricks?”

She chuckled. “Actually, I was ready to bet on some leftover junk from a mining enterprise.”

“Sounds about right. Both the beds here are Tempur-Pedic, so I promise we’ll sleep better.” Something ghosted over her face, a paleness that came and went so quickly Blythe nearly missed it. She didn’t miss why, though. Recurring nightmares.

“I’m sure we’ll snooze like babies. Just listen to those waves rolling in. That’ll be soothing.” That probably wouldn’t be the case, but Evie looked self-conscious enough as it was.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

They carried their bags up, and Blythe found she actually loved the sound of the waves while unpacking. She’d forgotten how the ocean sounded down here. She’d grown up in a similar house, only slighter farther from the beach. Myrtle Beach was a tourist paradise, and her family had moved there from Raleigh when she was three. So many things in her life had sucked, but the sound of the ocean wasn’t one of them.

Evie poked her head through the doorway. “Want to go out to dinner or go grocery shopping?”

“How about both? Eat out, then shop for some stuff?” She shoved the empty suitcase under the bed. “That way I can make you breakfast before we head to Darlington tomorrow.”

“How domestic.” Evie grinned. “You said you’re a horrible cook, remember?”

“I know. And I am. But—that said—I make some mean blueberry pancakes.” She pushed herself up from the floor. “Just don’t ask me to do something elaborate.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do some of the cooking, I’ll wash all the dishes and clean up the kitchen.”

“Sounds fair to me.” Evie jangled the car keys. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

On their way to the car, Blythe wondered if she should rent a car after all. It didn’t seem necessary since she was here to shadow Evie. She took her small point-and-shoot Canon with her in case an opportunity for a photo showed up when she least expected it.

*

“Evie! Over here! Evie. Ms. Marshall. Who’s the gorgeous blonde with you? Can you girls pose? Aw, come on, just once.”

“This was clearly a mistake,” Blythe muttered under her breath as they exited the restaurant. “We should’ve dined closer to Pawleys Island.”

“Nothing there was open, unless you were in the mood for super-greasy burgers. It’s not high season anymore, except for the vultures who track the NASCAR drivers.” Evie knew Blythe wasn’t used to this. She hated it too, but it was even more embarrassing when the paparazzi included Blythe. “I wonder who the hell called them. Honestly, I’m usually treated with respect down here. It’s not like New York or California, where paparazzi come up through the cracks in the sidewalks.”

“Well, with the tip we left, I’m prepared to go back inside and demand our money back.”

“Oh, boy, you’re really miffed.” She studied Blythe, whose blue eyes looked dark gray by now.

“I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I’m just…I guess I’m disappointed.” Opening the door of the car, Blythe got into the passenger seat. “Better hurry. They’re crossing the street.”

“Buckle up.” Evie turned the ignition and let her beloved Chrysler 300 station wagon sweep by the vultures with cameras. “Let’s lose them.”

“You sound gleeful,” Blythe said suspiciously.

“Me? Nah.” Shifting gears, she passed two cars and slalomed back and forth until she nearly ran a red light. Checking the rearview mirror, she saw that some paparazzi had access to scooters, and fast ones, from what she could tell. Smiling broadly, she appreciated the challenge. It was one thing to outrun another car, but for a large vehicle like hers to get away from motorcycles or scooters would take some serious driving. “Hold on, Blythe.”

“All right.”

She saw Blythe grip the door handle, and then she focused on turning the car left into a one-way street. Before the scooters appeared in her mirror again, she turned right. Two intersections later she spotted two scooters, but that was at least five less than before. Speeding up, she took the next left turn so fast, Blythe gasped and placed a hand on the dashboard.

“Let go. Never hold on to the dashboard. Airbag.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Next right again. Ready?” Turning the wheel and gearing down, she took the curve so close to the sidewalk the front wheel on that side touched it. “Next right again.”

“You sure? Won’t that take us back to them?”

“Nope. Large mall coming up.”

“Mall? Why…oh.”

“That’s right. We need eggs. I was promised pancakes.” She enjoyed Blythe’s surprised guffaw. She made the right and saw the large, quite full parking lot coming up on her left. No scooters had caught up yet when she turned into the parking lot and pulled into a spot between two SUVs. “And this is one of the reasons I drive a regular car. What if I had that Porsche my father thought was the least I should go for? Or, heaven forbid, a Maserati, or a Ferrari?”

“I’m kind of glad you’re driving this car too. For two reasons, mainly.” Blythe unbuckled her seat belt with slightly unsteady hands.

“What reasons are those?” She unfastened her own belt and turned to Blythe.

“First, I don’t want to think about how fast you’d be driving through Myrtle Beach in a Ferrari. My heart’s still somewhere in my throat area, I think.” Blythe swallowed as if it were true. “And second, how would I have been able to spend time on the road here with you, with all our bags and stuff, in a car that can barely hold more than a toothbrush?”

She laughed. “Come on, oh brave soul. Let’s get those eggs and the rest of the groceries before they close.”

“On one condition.” Blythe placed her hands on her hips.

“Condition?” She blinked.

“You let me push the shopping cart. I’ve had enough of your kamikaze driving for a little while.”

She laughed again, placing her arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Sure thing. Anything for those pancakes.” Blythe leaned into the touch, which made it her turn to gasp. She felt oddly protective, something that was redundant because Blythe certainly didn’t need sheltering, but even so, she still felt that way. She reminded herself sternly that they were going grocery shopping, for heaven’s sake. Hardly traveling through enemy territory. Unless the paparazzi had spotted them and found it thrilling to sell pictures of her buying milk and apples.

Blythe grabbed a shopping cart and they stepped inside Walmart’s grocery section. Nobody paid any attention to them, and she relaxed. Placing her hand on the shopping cart handlebar next to Blythe’s, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Twelve

Flipping open her laptop, Blythe drummed her fingers impatiently against her thigh as it booted. She started up Photoshop and inserted the flashcard from the camera into its slot, eager to see today’s photos. She never got tired of seeing the images for the first time. It was like reliving and rediscovering life, and now, to watch Evie in every situation throughout the day, private and public, added a delicious dimension. Then she performed the all-important routine of saving the photos to the laptop, but also to the external hard drive and to a virtual hard drive in the cloud online. She refused to lose any photos because she was too lazy or naïve to back them up.

Blythe began to review the morning’s pictures first, deciding to proceed chronologically even if that wasn’t always how she worked. She simply made herself inconspicuous behind the camera and let life unfold for her subject, whether it was a high-ranking U.S. Army officer, a peasant Afghan woman, or, as in this case, an amazing, brilliant, and gorgeous NASCAR driver.

This morning, Evie had seemed conscious about Blythe’s presence at first, but after a while, she managed to tune her out and kept going about her day. The picture of Evie eating blueberry pancakes while reading a thumbed, tattered copy of The Hours was a keeper and might just make part of the cover. Her dark hair hung around her face, and in one photo, Blythe had managed to capture how Evie raised both hands, an impatient look on her face, wrapping a scrunchie around her hair. The gesture was so sensuous yet personal, especially with her half-annoyed expression. Blythe shortlisted this photo for the book.

The next photo that struck a chord showed Evie stepping out of the house, glancing at the beach and the rising sun. Again, her expression gave Blythe goose bumps. Soft, full of awe, her eyes so brightly green in the light, her mouth barely open, Evie seemed goddess-like. Her lips, curvy and full, and damp from just sipping her coffee-to-go, formed a faint smile. Did Evie meet each day with such wonder, each sunset like it was the first she’d ever laid eyes on? Somehow, Blythe didn’t think that notion was entirely impossible. Evie was a strange mix of worldly, seasoned, even cynical, but also childlike and innocent. Blythe found this contradiction hard to capture but thought she was well on her way to doing it.

She browsed through more of the photos, and soon she reached the ones where they approached the track. Blythe sat facing Evie with the camera as she drove to Darlington, and the closer they came, the more impeccable Evie’s posture became. Back straight, shoulders back, chin out, lips tense. Viewing the photo of Evie carrying her sports bag across the parking lot toward the racetrack, you would think she was off to do battle. And maybe she was.

A series of photos of how Evie donned her inflammable undergarments and the coverall would go into the book, for informative reasons, but also because Evie’s expressive face gave her away. The more pieces of her outfit that she added, the more her persona altered. Any softness around her lips or any wondrous expression in her eyes disappeared. Blythe frowned. Was Evie having fun at all? Was she doing this for herself? Or was she back in the NASCAR circuit to prove something, and in that case, to whom? Herself, her father, her fans, or her sponsors? Whatever her reasons, this woman of steel was the direct opposite of the woman who’d read The Hours and loved a beautiful sunrise earlier. Then again, Blythe surmised, that was how it had to be, perhaps. A person had to adjust and be different personas during different situations.

Evie in the Viper, gripping the wheel, only her eyes visible before she slammed down the visor. Only a few photos of the Viper passing them at different distances. Training had gone well, according to Ben. Another photo showed Evie stepping out of the car, tearing off her helmet and balaclava, her hair flying in a wide-fanned angle. Static electricity made it crackle as the wind whipped it, and looking at this photo, Blythe relived the moment, heard it.

“May I see?” Evie asked quietly from the door.

“Sure. Come in.” Blythe noticed that Evie carried two mugs. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you’re thinking about hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, then yes.” Evie handed her a mug and pulled out a chair next to her at the small dining room table.

Blythe sipped the hot chocolate and hummed in pure pleasure. Not too sweet and very chocolaty. Just the way she liked it. Glancing over at Evie, she saw that the soft expression was almost back in place. Something about coming back to her sanctuary, her house by the sea, had settled Evie again, she surmised.

“Wow, I sure look miffed.” Evie studied the photo Blythe pulled up. “I wasn’t happy with how the Viper handled.”

“Why is that? Ben seemed pleased.”

“He wasn’t behind the wheel. He didn’t feel how I had to struggle to hit the same mark in the corner every time. It should be more effortless. They need to fine-tune the coils and dampers. Steering too.”

“I’m sure they will.” Ben would walk on a tightrope for Evie. He was gruff and ran the team with the proverbial iron fist, but he adored Evie. The next photo Blythe pulled up showed just that. Evie stood with her back to the crew, calming down after the training session, her hands on her hips and her head tipped back. Ben stood closer to the camera, rubbing his neck, his eyes concerned and soft as he gazed at Evie.

“He’s aged.” Evie spoke quietly. “Look at his temples. I hadn’t noticed that until now. Look.” She pointed at the graying hair on his temples. “He didn’t have that last year.”

“He really cares about you.” Blythe pulled up the next picture. Here Ben had placed a gentle hand on Evie’s shoulder and she turned her face to him, smiling in a self-deprecating manner.

“I know.” Evie mimicked the same expression as the one she had in the photo. “I’ve known him since I was ten years old. He used to work for Mal, but when I started competing as a teenager, he said that if Mal didn’t make sure I learned the ropes, he would. Mal more or less broke off any type of friendship with Ben when he refused to be my father’s mole and do his bidding.”

“What do you mean, do his bidding?” Blythe drank some chocolate. Evie’s eyes darkened again.

“Ben refused to be coerced or bribed into influencing me. On the contrary, he kept me apprised of what my father and grandfather said and did.”

“I have photos of him from when you crashed,” Blythe said hesitantly. “The look on his face as he’s running toward the pileup of burning cars…It impacted me as much as the thought of you being stuck.” Blythe knew she shouldn’t emphasize the crash now that Evie was trying to work past it, so she didn’t go into further detail. She didn’t tell Evie how she eventually had dropped the camera right where she stood and run after Ben. Rescue workers and first responders held them both back while they worked to get Evie and the others in the crashed race cars out. She would never forget Ben moaning Evie’s name, calling her his little girl. “He’s more of a dad to you than Mal is, isn’t he? Emotionally?”

“Oh, yes.” Evie ran gentle fingers across Ben’s face on the screen. “Mal will never understand how I see Ben as a true parent figure, someone who loves unconditionally and does it while knowing every unflattering thing about me.”

Blythe gripped the mouse harder. She had no reason to be envious. She’d walked away from her family and the increasingly hardening climate among them, but hearing about someone else’s parents—real or substitutes didn’t matter—would always spark a twitch of remorse and pain. Remorse for leaving, pain for not having any other choice.

Blythe browsed more photos, and a couple actually made them laugh helplessly. One featured Evie drinking from a water hose and getting completely soaked when one of the team members accidentally bumped into her. The next one showed Evie with a transparent white T-shirt, her nipples clearly visible.

“God almighty, you’re not putting that one in the book.” Evie snapped her head around, looking pointedly at her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she deadpanned. “Perhaps we could sell it to that calendar producer who’s been bugging you for hot pictures so you could be Ms. July.”

“Blythe!” After looking completely scandalized for a fraction of a second, Evie laughed and swatted her arm. “Brat. Very funny.”

“And lucrative.” Blythe nodded in agreement. “Just imagine.”

“Let’s not imagine that.” Shaking her head, Evie covered her eyes. “Please. Next.”

Chuckling, she switched to the next photo, but not before she flagged the previous one as “private” and “keep.”

*

Evie turned off the bedside lamp, then thought better of it and switched it back on. For some reason, she didn’t want complete darkness on this cloudy night. Usually the moon lit up with the stars, but not tonight. She left the window open about an inch, to let the sound of the waves soothe her. She was on edge tonight. Did it have anything to do with being dissatisfied with her—and the car’s—performance? Jittery and restless, she debated whether to take one of the sleeping pills she rarely used. Deciding against it, since the drowsiness stayed with her far too long, which would prevent her from going out to Darlington, she curled up and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly. Eventually sleepiness blanketed her.

*

Blythe sat up in bed, listening. She was a very light sleeper, a habit that had developed automatically because she’d stayed in dangerous places so many times. Now she’d heard something while sleeping, and her heart hammered.

At first, she could distinguish only the waves, but after a few seconds, a faint murmur, or perhaps a moan, came from the hallway. She sat up, her feet on the cool hardwood floor. She listened again while holding her breath. Nothing. Opening the door fully to the hallway, she stood indecisively in the doorway, shivering a little in her boxers and tank top.

“No. No!” A tormented voice whimpered. Evie. Was she dreaming?

She padded over to Evie’s door and pushed it open a small crack. “Evie?”

“Open it. No. Open it, open.” Evie’s voice was filled with pain and Blythe could see her in the dim light from the bedside lamp, twisting and turning in her rumpled bed.

“Oh, God.” Blythe hurried over to Evie, kneeling next to the bed. “Wake up, Evie. Evie?” She tried to capture the flailing hands. “Evie it’s me. It’s Blythe. You’re dreaming.”

“No. No. Let me out. Let me out.” Barely audible, the pain in her voice made Blythe want to cry in sympathy. Evie fought while still caught in her nightmare. Her skin was damp and cold, and she’d obviously been crying; her hair was tousled and stuck to her wet cheeks.

“I’m here. I have you.” She wouldn’t be able to wake Evie like this from the horrible dream she was so caught up in. It seemed impossible to break through her panic and torment. Climbing up on the bed, she wrapped both arms around Evie, not bothering with her own safety. Evie was bigger and stronger, but all Blythe could think of was her anguish. Her heart broke when she understood that this must happen frequently.

Struggling to hold on to Evie, who trembled violently beneath her, she kept trying to rouse her. “Evie. Evie. Wake up.” She pressed her lips against Evie’s ear. “Please, Evie. It’s Blythe. You’re dreaming. You’re all right. It’s just a bad dream. You’re not in the car.”

“Fire. Everywhere.” Evie still sounded terrified, but her voice sounded different. Blythe hoped this meant she was waking up.

“Hey, there. You awake?” Carefully, she gazed down at Evie, mindful not to let go of her. “Evie?”

“What—what are you doing? Blythe?” Evie opened her eyes and blinked repeatedly.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yes. Oh, God…again. So much smoke. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see.” Evie suddenly flung her arms around Blythe’s neck. “Thank God you woke me up.” Trembling, she buried her face against Blythe. “So much pain and they were screaming. Endless, piercing screams. And I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get out, and the fire…the fire ate through my suit, into my skin. It hurt so much. I tried to scream. I tried.”

“Yes. You’re okay now. I’m not going anywhere.” Blythe didn’t know why those words made her cheeks go warm. “Just hold on to me. You’re fine now.”

“When will the dreams stop? I can’t take it anymore. I’m afraid to fall asleep.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her heart contracted painfully again. “I wish I knew. I wish I could do something—”

An idea formed, but it was so audacious and presumptuous, it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Was it? She argued with herself. What if she slept next to Evie, to be able to hear her sooner?

“What? You were saying something?” Evie moved sideways so they were facing each other on the bed.

“Well, I was just thinking, what if I manage to hear you and wake you up before the dreams get this bad? I’m a light sleeper.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Evie wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve dealt with this until now. Some nights I’ve worked out for the rest of the night, or read book after book. That’s not possible now. I need my sleep in order to carry on with my training, and later it’s even more important, when the races start.” Evie pushed herself up on her elbow, hovering over her. “Do you think you’d be okay with sleeping in here?”

She gasped. Was Evie a mind reader? “Sure. I mean, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Really?” Evie sniffed and blinked away tears. “You know I’d never, I mean, I wouldn’t like take advantage of the, um, situation.”

“I know.” She cupped Evie’s damp cheek carefully. “If you think it will help you sleep, and therefore helps keep you safe on the track, I’ll sleep in here and keep vigil. I won’t let the dreams screw things up for you.”

“You’re amazing. You also keep on surprising me.”

“Listen, Evie,” she said. She had to be honest. “The day you agreed to do this project with me, to let me document your return to the racetrack, to NASCAR, it meant so much to me. I don’t have nightmares like you, but I live with the mental images of what I witnessed that day. All the photos I took, all the fear, it’s there with me. So our collaboration means we’re still in this together. Maybe we can heal together too.” She took a deep breath, brushing her thumb along Evie’s jaw. “What do you think?”

“You have a very good point.” Evie caught her hand and kissed it briefly. “I can’t blow this chance to regain my career, which will happen if I don’t sleep. Thank you.”

“Hey. No time like the present. Scoot over a little more. We can still get a few hours in.”

“Bossy.” Evie moved over to the other pillow, seemed to think better of it, and exchanged it with her used one. “Here. Fresh and not slept on.”

“Thanks.” She settled down next to Evie, close enough to hear her breathe, but without actually brushing against her. Part of her wanted nothing more than to wrap Evie in a protective embrace. But if she did, Evie would know just how much she wanted her. Evie needed her help to stay safe and survive this comeback of hers, nothing else.

Blythe closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep. A faint touch made her jump.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Evie looked worried as her hand rested on Blythe’s shoulder. “This okay? Just need to know that you’re there.”

“Anything.” She cleared her throat. “Anything’s okay. I’m here.”

“Yes.” Evie closed her eyes, rubbing Blythe’s shoulder. “Yes.”

Chapter Thirteen

Evie tore through the tenth lap around the Darlington Raceway. The Viper still didn’t handle the way she expected it to. Needed it to. The car kept vibrating when she reached the first turn. When she immediately hit the second turn, it felt even more unstable, as if the front tires wobbled. How was she supposed to trust her vehicle when they couldn’t even make it perform as well as a fucking Volvo? She turned into the pit, the tires screaming.

“What the hell’s going on?” Ben shouted in her headset.

The tires made a whole different sound as Evie slammed on the brakes next to the crew. She yanked off the steering wheel and slithered out through the window. Ben hurried toward her, his face red.

“How about having the courtesy of answering me when I ask you something?”

“I might just do that if you, one, do your fucking job and fix the car, and two, quit cursing at me!” She pushed her gloves off and tossed them on the ground before unclasping her helmet.

“Cursing? You’re the one with the foul mouth.” He turned his baseball cap backward, something he did when he was angry. “What’s your problem now?”

“Same as before. The car your crew supposedly worked all night on vibrates more than it did yesterday. I nearly hit the wall in the last curve because of it.”

“Or it could’ve been because of how you drove.” He squinted, chewing his gum energetically, another sign he was upset.

She saw Blythe approach, camera half raised. That was the last thing she needed right now, a camera shoved in her face. She put up her hand, palm first, toward Blythe. “Not now.” Snapping her head back at Ben, she glared at him. “You know I drove perfectly. Or would have, if the car had handled like it should.”

“As the driver, you should be able to compensate during training. That’s why we call it training, so we can work together to fine-tune the car. If you insist on doing your best to drive it to the ground—” He stopped talking for a moment, his face falling. “So that’s what this is about? You’re setting yourself, or the car, up for failure even before Daytona?”

“How dare you? How can you even say something like that to me?” She gasped for air, shocked. Ben, her friend, her knight against her father. “I can’t believe you said that…” She saw Blythe stepping closer. “I said not now. What about that don’t you get, paparazzi?”

“Evie!” Ben sounded shocked. “Don’t take it out on Blythe. She’s only doing her job, just like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, of course. Of course she is. I’m the only one in the wrong here. Isn’t that always the case? I just had no idea that you agreed with Mal and Harrison. How did I miss that? I must be totally stupid.”

“Evie. Please.” He wasn’t angry anymore, Evie could see that. Instead he looked concerned. Glancing to her left, she could see that Blythe mimicked his expression.

Evie knew she was about to start crying, to have a complete meltdown and make a fool of herself. She was so angry at them, and she had every right to be. She pushed off the balaclava and began to walk toward the trailer. There she merely grabbed her keys out of her jacket and ran toward the parking lot. She heard Blythe call her name but kept running, not about to stop and talk to anyone, least of all someone whose main objective was to point a lens her way, even when she was at her most vulnerable.

She jumped into the Chrysler and drove off, wiping at her cheeks and blinking furiously as she tried to rid herself of the tears. She wasn’t sure where to go, only that she needed distance from the team, the track, and Blythe. From all the things and the people that made her feel so much.

Too much.

*

Blythe ran, trying to catch up with Evie, but she was simply too fast. She slowed to a stop when she saw Evie leap into her car and drive off.

“Jesus, Evie.” Ben’s voice reached Blythe from behind. She turned to face him.

“What just happened?” She couldn’t help but feel this might be her fault.

“Mainly Evie’s fear getting the better of her.” He looked sad as he pushed his baseball cap and adjusted it with jerky movements. “God, that woman can drive me right up the wall, but it used to be for other reasons. She may be right about the car, but she was never this skinless or upset before the crash. There were times when the car needed major work, and she was totally cool about it, even joking. I’ve never seen her this…panicked.”

“I didn’t help.” She fiddled unhappily with her camera. “I should’ve backed off much sooner.”

“No. No, you shouldn’t. When Evie calms down, she’ll tell you that herself. You’re here to document the truth about her comeback. And the truth is the truth is the truth.”

“Huh. Some would argue that there’s no such thing as truth. Only perception.”

“Bullshit. They’re confusing the ‘whys’ with the ‘whats.’” He gestured behind him with his thumb. “Since we don’t know how long it’ll take her to blow off steam, why don’t we go put some more coffee on?”

“Coffee sounds great, but shouldn’t we try to find her?” She wasn’t happy with the fact that Evie was out driving while in that turbulent frame of mind.

“No. She’ll be okay.” He started back toward the pit.

She hesitated, but then decided that she couldn’t very well pursue Evie on foot. “How can you be so sure? Is this her usual MO, running off when things go wrong?”

“Having a temper? Yes. A minor tantrum? Sure. Running off in tears in sheer panic? Not so much.” He gazed around at the team members in the pit. “You guys can take a break. Evie needed to cool off a bit. She’ll be back later. Then I want you to go over the car, especially the steering and the dampers. If it vibrates the way she says, we need to fix it.”

“The guys and I’ll be right on it, boss,” a young woman said calmly. “We can work in shifts until it’s fixed. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Thanks, but make sure y’all eat something, all right?”

The woman nodded and left them.

Blythe went inside the trailer with Ben and watched him start the coffee machine but couldn’t eat since her stomach was in knots. Intellectually speaking, Evie’s state of mind had nothing, or at least very little, to do with her. Evie struggled with flashbacks, nightmares, and self-doubt. This was partly what her training sessions were supposed to highlight so she could deal with them together with her team.

Blythe’s part in this process was to document everything—the good, the bad, the vulnerable, the joy, and the meltdowns. She had allowed Evie to startle her, and Blythe would have to figure this out. She wouldn’t be able to capture the true image of what Evie had put herself through to return to the track and to her fans if she allowed Evie to intimidate her. Calling her a paparazzi was malicious and clearly well devised, in order to get her to back off. Still, Ben was right. It was Evie’s fear talking. Loud and clear.

“She likes you.” Ben interrupted Blythe’s musings and put a mug of steaming black coffee in front of her. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Today? Neither. I hope it’s strong.”

“Strong enough for a spoon to stand up on its own, I think.” He sat down across from her, sipping his own coffee before he bit into a chocolate doughnut.

“So, she’s afraid. And angry. At herself, mainly?” She rested her chin in her free hand while warming her other one around the mug.

“Yes. I think she figured she would be further into the healing process. Apart from the brief flashback that first time she was back on a racetrack, she’s done really well. Withdrawal symptoms may have tipped the scale for her.”

“Withdrawal?” She had just sipped her coffee and now lowered her mug carefully.

“She’s been on quite the cocktail of pain medication while in rehab and going to appointments at the burn unit. On top of that, she’s been talking to young people who just suffered burns at different East Coast hospitals. She’d never volunteer that information, and she might actually have my head—again—when she learns I told you, but it’s one of the things that’s taken a toll on her. Sure, it’s been rewarding for her to be able to encourage these kids, but she called me a lot of times afterward, in tears, heartbroken over kids that were badly hurt.”

“Perhaps that was too much for her, having been through it and not quite processed it.”

“She was adamant about doing it. As soon as she saw the kids at the ward she was admitted to, she started making inquiries if she could do anything for them.”

Blythe cupped her hands around the mug and thought of the fiercely beautiful Evie, how her hair had erupted around her head in the wind when she tore off her balaclava earlier. Like a force of nature, so overwrought with emotions she was ready to burst. “Guilt,” she said.

“What?” Ben looked up from his half-eaten doughnut.

“This is more than fear. The whole thing. It’s guilt.”

“Like survivor guilt?”

“Yes.”

“You seem very sure.”

“Well, we sort of touched on the subject that first weekend at her house in Plymouth.”

“I’m sure they went over that in therapy.” He seemed ill at ease.

“I’m sure. That doesn’t mean she’s over it. It takes a long time.”

“You have experience with this sort of thing?” His eyebrows met in the center above his nose.

“Yes. Firsthand.” She met his gaze without blinking. Some people, sometimes people you least expected, had issues with anything psychological. As if PTSD was a character flaw.

“You handle it well. I wouldn’t have guessed.” He surprised her by taking her hand. “And I think you’re good for Evie. She needs someone who understands her. The way you acted around her when Mad Mal showed up at the track that first time—I liked that.”

“Evie’s special. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like her. I mean, besides being so beautiful, she’s so alive.” She quieted, her cheeks growing hot. Damn her transparent skin.

“She is. With every fiber of her being.” He grinned. “She can also be a total pain in the ass. You won’t find a more loyal friend once she gives you her seal of approval. I can see she’s done that with you.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that.” Blythe laced her fingers tight together. “She was very angry.”

“As I said, not at you. Not even at me or the crew. I know her better than my own kids in many ways. Right now she’s sitting in the car somewhere, going over what happened, and she’s about to start blaming herself for everything. That’s how the pendulum swings with her. First everything is everybody else’s fault, and then it’s all hers.”

“Will it balance out? That’s what needs to happen when she gets back into the Viper.”

He nodded. “Exactly. She’ll need us as sounding boards, but no pity or anything like that.”

“Got it. Sounding board. No pity.” Blythe checked her cell phone for the hundredth time. Evie had been gone over an hour. “How long do we stay and wait for her here?”

“We have, um, another hour, then we’ve got to clear out.”

“If she doesn’t come back here today, I don’t have a ride.” She looked carefully at Ben.

“Yeah, you do, Blythe. I’ll drive you back myself.”

She smiled, really starting to like the burly man on the other side of the table. He was Evie’s friend and father figure. He might just become her friend as well.

*

I behaved like an idiot, Evie thought. Worse. Like a stupid idiot, drained after her emotional outburst, which was more than an outburst. It was like Mount St. Helens times ten, at least that’s how it had felt. She drove into the parking lot she’d sped out of hours ago. It was getting dark now, and of course, nobody was there. She had stranded Blythe, after insulting her—which in fact had been a really below-the-belt insult.

Turning the car around, she took the smaller roads to Pawleys Island. She stayed tuned to a loud rock music station all the way, trying to keep her thoughts from overwhelming her. The closer she got to her house, the harder her heart pounded. What if Blythe had decided to stay somewhere else? Why would she want to stay with a moron who insulted her?

What if Blythe had packed her bags and gone back to New York?

She parked underneath the house between the stilts. The house had a few lights on so Blythe was there, or had been, at least. She unlocked the door and walked up the stairs.

“Blythe? You here?”

No one answered. She went into Blythe’s room and saw her laptop and some clothes on the bed. Relieved, she walked over to the balcony door. Some garden lights and the bright moonlight lit up the beach below. At first, the area belonging to her house seemed empty. She opened the door and stepped outside. Only a slight evening breeze. She checked her watch: almost nine. It had taken her longer to drive home than usual.

A movement close to the water caught her attention, a small figure huddling below. The moon cast a shimmer in her hair—Blythe’s blond, curly hair. Relieved, she hurried down the steps. Below was a gate, which was open, and she walked rapidly, even running the last bit before reaching Blythe. Mindful not to startle her, she called out.

“Blythe?”

The huddled figure moved and it was Blythe, wrapped in a fleece blanket. She looked apprehensive and Evie didn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Blythe.” She sank down on her knees next to her. “It was unforgivable to speak to you like that. How can I make you believe that I won’t do this again? What can I tell you?” She didn’t know what else to say, to make Blythe understand how sorry she was. “Please?”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. Really. I’ve…I’ve heard worse.” Blythe’s snort sounded hollow. “I know better than to take it personally.”

“God, Blythe. I didn’t intend to sound so mean. I lashed out at everybody. I was so freaked out, it’s ridiculous. That’s no excuse. Just an explanation.”

“I know that too.” Blythe’s voice was a little softer.

“You’ve been so wonderful. I’d hate it if you left. Or if you even decided to stay somewhere else around here while working on the book. Please, don’t do that. Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I like it here.” Blythe smiled faintly for a second. “No, that’s not true. The truth is, I like you, but I hate it here. I thoroughly hate it. I sat here waiting for you to come home, hoping you hadn’t had an accident or something, and I realized that nothing’s changed. I still hate it here.”

“Still? You mean since you lived here as a kid?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean to sound totally self-absorbed, which of course I will by asking this, but did you just say that you like me?” Evie felt a small, hard and cold lump in her chest start to defrost just a little.

“I did.” Blythe unfolded the blanket and extended an arm. “Want to join me?”

“You bet.” She couldn’t believe how easily Blythe had accepted her apology. She remembered begging for her father’s forgiveness for transgressions she couldn’t even understand he could have a problem with, begging him for days without any response. Now she’d offered Blythe a heartfelt apology with every cell in her body and Blythe had accepted it. Taken it at face value.

She wrapped her arm around Blythe under the blanket and helped tuck it in around them. Their shared body warmth dissolved even more of the frozen nucleus of her heart.

“Tell me about why you hate it here, please, Blythe.” She laid her cheek against Blythe’s temple. “I really want to know. You know it stays with me.”

“All right.” Blythe shuddered. “It’s not very exciting, but it’s certainly had an impact on me.”

“Then all the more reason to share it with me.”

Chapter Fourteen

Blythe was amazed to feel so safe inside the blanket with Evie, yet so vulnerable and nervous. Stalling for time, she tried to redirect their attention back to Evie.

“Where did you go?”

“Driving around. Parked by a lake and stared at the water and felt like a prize jerk.”

“You’re trying to deal with stuff. Work your way back.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to call people names and act out the way I did. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Just so you know. I understand.”

“Thank you.” Evie sounded so relieved. “Now, enough of me. Your turn.”

Blythe didn’t want to revisit ghosts from the past. She hated the feelings these spirits of her youth instilled in her; they were never constructive. To summon courage, she leaned her head on Evie’s shoulder. Perhaps some of Evie’s undeniable courage would rub off on her. She inhaled, suddenly greedy for Evie’s scent. Realizing that Evie was still dressed in her racing coverall, Blythe grinned. She looked very good in it.

“You might have guessed that I’m pretty shy.” Blythe waited for an ironic “Nah, you don’t say,” which never came. A little more relaxed, she placed a hand on Evie’s thigh. “If you consider how I am now, then think about a scrawny, freckled kid ten times as shy. I couldn’t speak in front of others in school. One time when I had to read my essay out loud in class, my teacher tried to be nice and sat with her arm around me. Probably because she was afraid I’d fall and break my neck if I fainted from sheer nerves.”

“Which emphasized the shyness in front of your classmates.”

“Exactly. I learned to become invisible, one with the wall. I could tell that it really worked, because when people did notice me, they seemed surprised that I was still around. One time, my teacher scared my mother half to death by calling our house and asking why I wasn’t in school, when it turned out I’d been in class, actually was in class, right when she made the call. It takes skill to be that inconspicuous.”

“Something tells me that might have come in handy in your profession, while in dangerous territory.”

Blythe chuckled. Trust Evie to see something good in this, but she had to agree. She’d used the method more than a few times. “True. I learned some unexpected lessons in school, that’s for sure.”

“What did your parents say about your situation?”

Blythe went rigid, her muscles tensing merely from thinking about the house in Myrtle Beach, populated by the people who were her family. “Depends if you mean my father the ‘snap out of it, already’ dentist, or my mother the ‘shyness is a character flaw that will keep you from getting ahead’ teacher.”

“God. Let me see if I got that right. Your dad wants you to pull yourself together, and your mom thinks you need fixing to get ahead in life?”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“So, what did happen?”

Blythe gripped Evie’s legs tighter, since their tongue-in-cheek way of approaching her past only worked so far. “My mother believed she would find a method to deal with my shyness. She had me seeing therapists, one after another. She brought home books from the library on a weekly basis and collected clippings from weekly and monthly magazines in a binder, all of them touting different methods. She even sent me to a hypnotist once. That really freaked me out. I was afraid to sleep for weeks after that.” Blythe exhaled loudly as Evie pulled her closer. “Mom fed me all sorts of vitamins and supplements, which was a new and unusual thing back then. They just gave me an ulcer. She was convinced that I gave myself the ulcer, but our pediatrician claimed that the cocktail of stuff she forced on me did it. Even temporarily damaged my liver.”

“Oh, my God.” Evie slid her fingers up in Blythe’s hair. Goose bumps erupted all over her arms in a very pleasant way.

Grateful for the distraction, Blythe continued. “So, I battled my shyness and lack of friends in school, and my ambitious mother and no-nonsense dad at home.”

“Any siblings?”

“An older brother, Trevor, and a younger sister, Susie. He was a popular jock, and Susie was into ballet, which gave her a ready-made clique to hang with. They weren’t mean to me or anything, they were fine. Just busy with their own lives like normal kids.” Blythe tried to shrug, but her body was still so tense, she couldn’t.

“Am I too far off the mark if I suggest that your folks probably fell into the trap of comparing you to Trevor the Jock and Susie the Ballerina?”

“No.” This was ridiculous. Blythe knew she was over and done with her childhood, and still this conversation made her tremble and caused a burning sensation behind her eyelids.

“When did you find photography?”

“Oh, that?” Blythe managed to relax somewhat and leaned closer yet to Evie. “I joined some different extracurricular activities to please my mom, and one of them was the photography club. Turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to me. The first time I held a SLR camera, it felt so right in my hands. I knew instinctively about composition, lighting, subjects, and the technique. By then I was being bullied, something I hadn’t told my parents, so the photography club was my safe haven.”

“What about your brother and sister? Didn’t they know?”

“Trevor tried to protect me from the worst of it, but Susie was younger. Nobody actually hit me, the bullying was strictly verbal. Until…until that last time.” Blythe exhaled and then her lungs seemed to lock. It was impossible to inhale again.

“Blythe? Hey, what’s going on?” Evie began to rub her back. “Please. Tell me.”

Evie’s caresses apparently cleared the obstruction. Air flowed down Blythe’s windpipe and she closed her eyes in relief. “I’d saved for almost two years and finally bought a used SLR camera. I don’t know if you can imagine how I loved that camera. It represented so much to me, creatively speaking, but also my future. I wanted to work as a photographer, to capture people and life, and this camera was the beginning.” Blythe chuckled. “I even took it to bed with me.”

Evie laughed softly. “Somehow I can picture this.”

“I’d started to think everything would be all right. Sure, the kids that targeted me were still at it, but I was beginning to feel a little at ease in the photography club. We spoke the same language, and I think even my parents saw this. I was a sophomore when I planned to go on an overnight photo trip to a nature reserve not far from here. My siblings had often been away like this, but it was the first time I was doing something just for myself. You know?”

Blythe swallowed against the memories that suddenly clogged her throat. “I was on my way to the schoolyard where the chartered bus was supposed to pick us up, when a bunch of kids from school showed up. They pulled my hair, which was even curlier then, and started the same taunts as usual. ‘You sure you’re more than twelve, Blythe?’ ‘Grown any tits the last few weeks?’ ‘Have you ever dared open your mouth and speak?’ They kept on and on. I figured if I could only make it to the schoolyard, Mr. Fowler would be there and they’d take off.” Blythe’s voice sank to a whisper. “That’s when one of the guys got hold of the strap of my camera bag. I panicked and pulled at it, and I suppose that threw them at first, since I rarely spoke up, let alone fought back.” A tear crept down Blythe’s cheek. “I pulled at my bag and yelled at the guy to let go, and that was the signal for the others to join in. One girl took my backpack and held it upside down, spilling my stuff everywhere. I didn’t care. All I could think about was my camera.”

“God, sweetie.” Evie held Blythe harder, and she was grateful, because every cell in her body seemed to be erupting.

“Then I heard a familiar voice calling out, telling the gang of bullies to let go of my camera and get lost. It was Trevor, on his way home from football practice, and I was so relieved. So much that I relaxed my grip on the camera bag. One of the bullies started swinging the bag over his head by the strap like a lasso, and then he let it fly. It landed with a horrible sound on the other side of the street.

“Trevor took one look at my tears and threw himself after the guy. What he didn’t see was the baseball bat one of the other boys in this gang pulled out. He swung at me first, nearly breaking my left upper arm. Then he went for Trevor. If I’d thought the sound of my crashing camera was bad, the sound that bat made when it hit Trevor’s head…I’ll never forget it. I can still hear that sickening crack. He fell to the ground. So very still.”

*

“Oh, God.” Evie rocked Blythe, who was slumped in her arms, trembling. “What happened then?”

“A large crowd formed. Police came. Paramedics too. They took Trevor and me to the hospital. My parents and Susie came to the ER. I had severe contusions, but no fractures. They’d pulled my hair hard enough to leave bare patches. Trevor…Trevor had a cracked skull and a massive concussion. That first night we stayed at the hospital, waiting for him to wake up. The police came to take my statement, and when my father learned how it all happened, I knew I’d reached a fork in the road.

“I was barely eighteen, and I stood there, listening to my father rant and rave, not shying away from any words as he made it clear that because of my shortcomings, my inability to get a grip and just get on with things, Trevor was fighting for his life. If I’d showed the least bit of courage through the years, he yelled, Trevor wouldn’t have had to step in. Of all his children, I was the least successful, the one he was least proud of, and it made perfect sense to him that I’d cause the disaster.”

Evie filled with rage so white-edged, she could hardly speak. “How could he?”

“His son was seriously wounded.” Blythe spoke tonelessly, as if she recounted something she’d gone over so many times in her life that it no longer meant anything. Evie knew this wasn’t the case, but the opposite. This still hurt Blythe badly and defined how she lived her life.

“You were hurt. You were a teenage girl, small for her age, and under attack by a gang of bullies. Your brother did what brothers should do. Nobody was to blame except the idiot with a bat.”

“Yes, of course.” Blythe still sounded detached. “I knew then that I no longer belonged. Not with a father who regarded me as his biggest failure, not with a mother who nearly poisoned me because she needed to fix me. I figured if I left, they’d have a chance to be the perfect family and I’d be free. I could start over somewhere else.”

“Blythe, I want to hear the rest of this, but you’re so cold. We’ve got to go inside.”

“Sure.” Blythe stood on wobbly legs.

“Whoops. Easy.” Evie held on to Blythe and supported her as they walked back to the house. Climbing the stairs, she made sure Blythe didn’t fall since she still seemed unsteady. “What do you say? Hot chocolate? Tea?”

“Tea sounds good. With honey, if you have some.”

“Sure thing. Let’s start a fire.” She placed Blythe on the couch in the living room and started a fire in the large fireplace, then quickly made two steaming mugs of Lady Grey tea and carried them back to Blythe, handing one over. The sight of how she curled up around the hot tea, clinging to the mug, made Evie’s throat ache. She sat down close to Blythe and made sure the blanket covered them both.

“Okay. Go on.”

“I made matters worse by stealing all the cash my father had in his wallet, a hundred and fifty-five dollars. I packed light, some clothes and my birth certificate, and left in the middle of the night. I went by the hospital, snuck into the ward where they kept Trevor for observation. He was conscious and doing better. I didn’t say good-bye, that would’ve worried him, but I’m sure he wondered if he was going to die, or something, since I hugged him so hard. Then I walked to the bus depot and left on the first bus. I kept going, bus after bus, until I reached New York. I never went back. I never called.” Blythe sipped her tea. “I did send the money I stole back with interest six months later, and I’ve written my mother once a year to let her know that I’m doing fine.”

“Didn’t they come looking for you?”

“I believe they did. By that time I’d changed my last name. I hoped to sell my photos, and if I did, I knew I’d have to have a byline with name and photo. I needed a new identity.”

“What was your old name?”

Blythe snapped her head up, her red-rimmed eyes suddenly sharp and penetrating. “Why are you asking?”

“It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. Forget I asked.”

Slowly, Blythe relaxed against the backrest. She kept looking at Evie, searching for something, perhaps traces of potential disloyalty. “It doesn’t matter. Common enough name. I used to be Blythe Murphy. Pierce is another name common in my mother’s family. I changed it a year after I came to New York.”

Evie wasn’t sure which was the hardest to witness, Blythe’s pained expression when she recollected her brother being attacked or the distant, indifferent expression she now wore. Remembering how Blythe had crawled into her bed to help protect her from the nightmares, she impulsively placed her mug on the coffee table and pulled Blythe onto her lap. “Sip more tea. You’re still cold.”

Blythe drank from her mug and then placed it next to hers. “I’m so much fun to have around, aren’t I?” She slumped sideways and rested her head against Evie’s shoulder. “I should know better than to bring up the past. Nothing good ever comes of it.”

“Regrets about telling me already?”

“Only regrets for boring you with stuff you can’t do anything about.”

“That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?” Blythe flinched and Evie tightened her grip.

“I mean, just by telling me and knowing that I understand, that I sympathize, you might feel a tiny bit better.”

Blythe pressed her face into Evie’s neck. “Perhaps a tiny bit better.” Her words were so unexpected that Evie held her breath for a moment.

“There, see? I share your reluctance for, hmm, I guess, sharing, but this is different. I mean, it feels different.” Evie tried to explain. “One thing is to not share with just anybody, for self-preservation. I get that. Hey, I subscribe to that myself. But to talk to a friend or, you know, someone who cares. That’s good. It should be, at least.”

“You’re a little confusing, but that’s probably because I’m exhausted.” Blythe curled up and pressed her face closer into Evie’s neck. Close enough for her to feel Blythe’s lips move against her skin when she spoke.

“Confusing? Yes, probably. Right? Definitely.” She smiled and kissed the top of Blythe’s head. “Are you hungry? Want to grab something before we go to bed?”

“No, thank you. Ben and the gang took me to a great hamburger place.”

“Oh, God. Ben. I have to text him that I’m okay.”

“Yes. I promised I’d call if you weren’t back by bedtime.”

She dug in her pocket for her cell phone but realized she was still wearing her coverall. “Damn. My cell is still—”

“It’s actually on your bed with your clothes.” Blythe’s voice started to sound slurred.

“Okay. Let’s go to bed. You’re half asleep, sweetie.” The term of endearment left her lips before she could stop it, and she frowned as it felt like she had used it earlier as well. Had she? Well, Blythe didn’t seem to object. Hearing Blythe’s breathing grow even, she sighed ruefully. Blythe didn’t object to anything because she was almost out cold. “Come on. Let’s go.” She nudged Blythe into a standing position and guided her toward the guest room by putting a hand on the small of her back.

There, she more or less pushed Blythe toward the bathroom. “Go do your thing and I’ll do mine. See you in my room. If—if our arrangement still stands?”

“Arrangement? Oh.” Blythe colored faintly. “You mean the nightmare-prevention detail. Absolutely.”

“Good.” She was relieved. She needed to collect her thoughts and get herself together. She feared for her own sanity after her meltdown today, and if she didn’t get enough sleep, she’d fail. After sending a quick text to Ben, she peeled off her coverall and jumped into the shower for a rinse. While the hot water pounded her body, she thought of Blythe. To grow up feeling like a failure because of something she couldn’t help was heartbreaking, and just wrong.

Evie had always known her mother loved her, even though she hated her parents’ power games, trying to outsmart each other through her. She didn’t think Blythe ever had felt loved and validated by her parents. What the hell was wrong with the, what was their name again, oh yeah, the Murphys? They had a great kid who happened to be shy, which was hardly a crime. Then they had two other great kids who sounded outgoing and competitive. The difference had to be staggering and really put the pressure on Blythe.

Evie stepped out and dried herself vigorously, then pulled on a tank top and boxers before tiptoeing back into the kitchen. She needed something to make up for missing dinner. After quickly devouring two cartons of yogurt, she returned to her room. Blythe wasn’t there yet, and she brushed her teeth, still preoccupied with Blythe’s story.

When she entered the bedroom, she found Blythe sitting on the bed, looking tired and a little forlorn.

“God, I’m bushed,” Evie said, yawning. “Can’t wait to snuggle down.” She walked around the bed and pulled the covers back. “You liked that side best, right?” She motioned to Blythe’s side.

“Yes. This is fine.” Blythe crawled into bed and curled up facing Evie. “Evie?”

“Yes?”

“Are we getting too close, I mean, too personal? Too fast?”

“Too fast? You mean, in order to stay on course with our respective jobs?”

“No. Well. Yes, that too. It’s just that I feel we haven’t known each other very long.”

Evie thought about it. “I disagree,” she said lightly. “I kind of see what you mean, but remember, we’ve known each other more than eighteen months. We’ve been through hell, I in the midst of it, and you witnessing it up close. Then you had the guts to come up with this new project, instead of washing your hands of me and my weird livelihood. The fact that you believe in me, and that you’re still interested in working with me, means more than you can possibly know.”

“Because you doubt yourself. Isn’t that what happened today? All the little things that were wrong with the Viper. Wasn’t that your fear augmenting them, making them insurmountable?” Blythe spoke so softly, almost tenderly. “What do you think, Evie?” She cupped Evie’s cheek with a hand as gentle as her voice.

“I’d say you hit the nail on the head with that accurate hammer of yours.” She held Blythe’s hand captive against her cheek. She didn’t want her to let go. Her heart thundered, and suddenly she became hot, way too hot for such an innocent caress.

“I do care, Evie,” Blythe whispered.

“Me too.” Evie wanted to cover Blythe’s lips with her own but, fearful of destroying this vulnerable connection between them, she didn’t. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You too.”

She held Blythe’s hand for a little longer, but then she had to let go. To her surprise, Blythe let her hand stay in place for a few moments longer. She couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so good.

Chapter Fifteen

Blythe stirred and slowly opened her eyes. The sun was rising over the ocean, and the room was bright. Not sure what time it was, she tried to turn over on her side. Smooth legs tangled with hers prevented her. Blinking in confusion, she slowly remembered that it was Saturday morning. No training today. The racetrack had other events scheduled during the afternoon. Her mind returned to the fact that she couldn’t move. Evie’s legs were wrapped around one of hers, and now she also noticed Evie’s arm draped across her waist.

Evie shifted and smiled in her sleep. How wonderful to see her do that and know her dream was nice and made her happy. Not the horrible, smoke- and fire-filled ones that had plagued her twice this week alone. The days had passed so fast after their big, revealing talk, and now their second week had already ended.

Their routine hadn’t changed. Up early, drive to the racetrack, utilize the allotted hours, head for the gym, back to the house, and make dinner. After dinner, Evie usually read or watched TV while Blythe reviewed and backed up the photos she’d taken during the day. The previous weekend, they’d mainly rested and she had shot some photos of Evie at the empty beach. She didn’t know what Evie had planned for this weekend. She was just grateful to get to sleep in a bit.

Turning her head, she gazed at Evie’s dark hair spread over her pillow like luxurious chocolate sauce. Her dark lashes formed perfect semicircles above her cheeks. Full lips, barely parted, looked so tempting, Blythe closed her hands into tight fists. Her breathing became rapid, shallow, as she tried to slow the heat rushing alongside her blood.

Apart from her obvious physical beauty, something else about Evie, something indefinable made Blythe react differently to her than to any of the other beautiful women she’d encountered. The way Evie moved, perhaps, and the way she tilted her head as she listened. She made Blythe feel like she was the most important person on earth when she focused on her. Those green eyes probed her when Evie wanted an answer; they sparkled when she laughed, and they shot such bolts of lightning when she was angry that Blythe almost ducked.

She should wake Evie and disentangle her legs, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to remain in this make-believe embrace, where Evie’s warmth seeped over to her body and made her feel cared for. She did think Evie cared; to what degree, she had no idea. Afraid to even dream of anything more than casual friendship, she could only tell her bruised heart not to hope.

She remembered how it felt to be in love. She had loved Pearl all those years ago when she was barely in her twenties. Of course, it was a long time ago. All the more reason to safeguard her heart. You love differently at different ages, or so she thought. You’re more head-over-heels when you’re young and filled with hope. You’re more careful when you’re older and know what a broken heart can do to you.

“You awake?” Evie whispered, startling her.

“Yes.”

“I seem to have done my best impression of an octopus here.” Evie lifted her arm and let it hover before moving it. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“I don’t mind.” That wasn’t what she meant to say. “It didn’t bother me.” Nor was that. She wanted to groan at her willful tongue that seemed to have tapped into her innermost feelings.

“Oh, good.” Evie pushed herself up on her elbow, sliding her legs along Blythe’s in the process. Her eyes gazed curiously down at Blythe. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. Thank you. And you?” She could’ve sworn Evie’s arm was still around her waist. Evie slept in boxers and a tank top, just like she did. Their legs were bare, and when they touched each other, small fires seemed to erupt along her nerve endings. It was such a delicious feeling, and so forbidden. She was ultimately here to do a job, but that didn’t stop her body from responding or her mind from becoming feverish when Evie stretched languidly.

Her breath stuck in her throat. Pressing her palm against her stomach, she managed to draw a deep, trembling breath.

“Blythe?” Evie bent closer, looking concerned. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She was probably very pink right now. Cursing her fair skin, she tried to free her legs. The sensation of Evie’s skin against hers, especially where she slid along the inside of her thigh, sent shivers through her.

“Oh.” Evie looked like she suddenly understood, and then her eyes seemed to darken. “So not just me, then.”

What? She was sure she’d misheard. Or misunderstood.

*

Evie had never seen anyone as alluring as a thoroughly disheveled Blythe Pierce in the morning. The sun ignited sparkles in her blond curls, and her blue eyes were so transparent she thought she should be able to read her mind through them. Blythe’s pale skin, so charmingly dusted with freckles, was velvety soft and so feminine she ached to run her hands along the slender limbs.

This close, she detected tiny fine lines that proved Blythe was a seasoned woman, someone who had lived and seen the world. Still, she saw something else, as if their close proximity created something wondrous, even startling, within Blythe. Knowing how Blythe had struggled with her painful shyness, she could only deduce that Blythe wasn’t used to letting anyone close—physically or emotionally.

She easily recognized the mix of confusion and desire in Blythe. After all, they mirrored her own. When she woke up, slowly realizing just how intimately she’d turned to Blythe in the night, she had first felt mortified. When Blythe hadn’t seemed too panicky, the embarrassment had quickly died and changed to arousal and affection.

Now, Blythe looked up at her with darkening eyes. She trembled enough for Evie to feel her move against her.

“You’re not alone in feeling this closeness.” She dug for courage, knowing how easy it would be to scare Blythe away for good. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to jump your bones.”

“Honestly. The way you put things.” Blythe squeezed her eyes shut. “This…this isn’t very smart.”

“I see what you mean, but I have to disagree. Feelings are feelings.” Serious now, she waited for Blythe to look at her again.

Pale eyelashes slowly lifted and Blythe steadily observed her. “I can’t do my job if I’m, um, in too deep. Evie. Please.”

Something twitched painfully in her chest, perhaps her heart doing a series of fast contractions, and she forced herself to speak calmly. “What do you mean by ‘in too deep’?”

“I’m documenting your comeback, how you retake your position, your life. If I insert myself into that mix, meddle with it, I won’t present an unbiased picture.” Blythe cupped her cheek. “You see?”

“Hmm. No. Not really.”

Looking startled, she lowered her hand. “Surely it’s obvious—”

“It’s not. You have it all wrong. You’re normally the smarter of the two of us, at least I think so, but right now, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Then enlighten me.” Blythe’s lips drew into a thin line, and she suspected this was to keep them from trembling.

“You say your assignment is to capture my life, my way back into racing. I don’t argue with that. That’s exactly it.” She chose her words carefully. “Then you state that since you’re the one documenting, you have to detach yourself from the equation that makes up Evangeline Marshall’s life and comeback. Don’t you see how impossible that is?”

“What do you mean?” Blythe relaxed her hand between them and somehow it ended up cupping her bare shoulder.

“You are here. Documenting. Following me every waking moment. As a parenthesis, you’re also present when I sleep. You are here. How can you possibly cut yourself out, like you’re editing a photo or pruning a plant? No matter what, your presence affects me. It shows in how I act, how I drive, and how I feel. Nobody can be invisible among us. You may have tried to live your life inconspicuously, but that doesn’t work here, because I see you. You’re already here.” Hoping she wasn’t pushing too hard, she placed her hand on Blythe’s chest. “You’re here.”

“Evie.” Blythe didn’t object in dismay or exclaim in shock. She simply spoke her name.

“In a way I’ve felt I’ve known you for a long time, and in another I feel like I’ve known you for only a few weeks. I suspect the latter’s the most correct. Still, I feel so close to you. Perhaps because you help fight my demons at night.”

“I’m happy to do that.” Blythe’s lips softened into an unusual fullness. “You know I am.”

“Yes.”

“And I concede that as an observer, I have to realize that I alter something merely by being present. Any anthropologist would confirm that fact. I just don’t want my presence to be too disruptive.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s way too late to think of damage control.” She chuckled. “Damn. I haven’t woken up next to a woman in your state of undress in a long time. I don’t sleep around, both because I’m quite picky and also it gets in the way of my job. Until now, our sleeping together has been chaste, but that doesn’t take away from our intimacy even if we haven’t been sexual.” She was right. Sleeping together was intimate, just in another way.

“I see what you mean.” Blythe closed her eyes again. Suddenly she rolled to the side and pressed her face into Evie’s chest. “I do. I do see it. I’m just not sure I can handle it. I haven’t allowed myself to get close to anyone in years.”

“Aw, sweetie.”

“You’ve called me that three times.”

“I have?” She wasn’t the type to sprinkle terms of endearment around aimlessly. “Guess I have.”

“Yes.” Blythe wrapped one arm around her, and pulled back enough to place two fingers under her chin and tip it back.

“Blythe? Kiss me.”

*

Uncertain where her courage to tempt fate came from, Blythe met Evie’s glance, trying to judge the many different emotions mirrored there. Deep inside her, molten heat spread, created more goose bumps, and sent dampness down the inside of her legs. Praying Evie didn’t notice her response, she couldn’t help but squirm. Evie’s eyes darkened further, the green almost black. This seemed impossible in the light of the sunrise, but it happened.

Blythe slid her tongue across her own, dry lips. Immediately, Evie’s eyes shifted, and her tongue mimicked the movement. So, she wanted a kiss? She couldn’t possibly deny her. Not this woman, this amazing, strong, stunning creature.

She tugged at Evie and pressed her lips against her mouth. Pounding wildly, her heart seemed to try to escape via her throat. Her chest burned, and another gush of moisture made her very aware of how wet she was becoming. She merely pressed closer to Evie, as if hiding against her.

“Oh, mmm. God, Blythe,” Evie murmured into her mouth. “You feel so good.” Evie caressed her back, then wrapped one arm around her shoulders and slipped a hand into her hair.

The satiny feel of Evie’s full lips intoxicated her, lips that now parted to let her in if she wanted, dared to. She had no defenses against Evie. She allowed her tongue to caress Evie’s lips, and when its counterpart beckoned, she responded. Caressing Evie’s tongue with hers, in long, slow movements, was like slowly sinking into the sea below the sun. Warmth engulfed her as she held on to Evie, granting her full access to her mouth. Evie moaned, and Blythe gasped.

“You’re so hot. Like fire.” She barely recognized her own voice, so husky and intense, like someone else’s. Someone passionate and greedy for the woman in her arms. “Open your mouth again, Evie.”

“Oh, God. Oh.” Evie rolled over on her back, taking Blythe with her. Evie offered her lips and she pounced on them, forgetting any shyness. Never had she felt like this from a mere kiss, or for any reason. Evie did things to her senses that she’d never even dreamed of.

She lifted her head, uncertain how long she’d been kissing Evie. Evie, in turn, gasped for air and touched her lips with her fingertips, almost reverent.

“I got swept away,” Blythe murmured. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I could probably tell you, but you’d think I was crude.” Her eyes bright, Evie gazed longingly at her. “I love how you kiss, Blythe.”

“Really?” She asked even if she could tell. Evie’s eyes shone brightly, and her clear happiness made Blythe’s throat clench. She pushed some escaped tresses of hair out of Evie’s face. “We need to stop. For now.”

“We do?” The glow faded slightly from Evie’s eyes. “You regret it.”

“No. The opposite.” She tried to explain. “Listen. I’m not used to letting anyone close. Don’t you see how I’ve lowered my guard?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sharing your bed. I’ve told you about my past. We’ve kissed.” She ran a gentle finger along one of Evie’s eyebrows. “In many ways, those are a lot of firsts.”

“You’re right.” Evie turned her head and kissed Blythe’s finger. “I’m being selfish. I suppose I could blame you for that as well. You’re too delicious. No wonder a girl gets all selfish.”

Laughing, she pushed Evie off, trying not to listen to the voice inside her that wanted to make her nervous about the next time they were in the same bed.

“What should we do today?” She tried to sound casual as she got up.

“I actually had an idea. I haven’t been to any of the variety shows in Myrtle Beach in ages. Did you ever see any of them?”

“That’s a touristy thing.” She forced her tone to sound non-committal, and definitely not snobbish. “Not a lot of the people who live here take the time.”

“Ah.” Evie rolled onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. “So, now that you don’t live here, and we can do the touristy thing if we like, what do you think?”

“Why not? Which show? As I recall it, there are a few different ones.”

“Carolina Opry is allegedly the one.” Evie sat up, her eyes sparkling. “It sounds like fun.”

Fun wasn’t what Blythe would’ve called it, but that had more to do about the location than the show. Looking at Evie’s exuberant expression, she would never want to be the one to willingly extinguish it. “Let’s get some breakfast and then call for tickets. It’s off season still, so I don’t think we should have a problem there.”

“Oh, good.” Bouncing out of bed, Evie hurried toward the kitchen. “This is going to be a great day.”

Blythe sighed. Walking up to the window, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the wind had picked up, and far in the distance, a kite was climbing. A great day, yes, but not because of any variety show in Myrtle Beach. In spite of it.

Chapter Sixteen

Had it been a mistake to go into Myrtle Beach early to have dinner before the show? They should’ve dined somewhere else, perhaps even at the house, and then gone on directly to the Carolina Opry. Strolling along the water at the new shopping area called Barefoot Landing was only slightly better than driving through the older parts. At least it hadn’t been around when Blythe lived in Myrtle Beach.

So far no one had recognized her, in her baseball cap, ponytail pulled through the back of it, and sunglasses. This was NASCAR-loving territory, and her face had been in the media quite a bit the past year. Next to her, dressed in tan chinos and a blue shirt, Blythe stopped every now and then to browse the windows of the shops along the boardwalk. Blythe probably wasn’t in the market for a new watch, some custom jewelry, or homemade fudge, but she played along, hoping the shopping would help relax her.

Blythe glanced at her, and maybe Blythe saw how concerned she was, because her expression became reassuring. “Oh, to hell with it,” Blythe said, winking at her. “I’m walking on eggshells and making you do it too. Let’s just find, what was it, Dino’s? I’m certainly in the mood for some carpaccio. And maybe some angel-hair pasta.”

Gushing with relief, she grinned. “That’s the spirit. You’re a carpaccio lover too? I always have that if I can.”

Blythe surprised her by taking her arm as they strolled to the restaurant. Inside, the welcoming maître d’ clearly recognized her as soon as she removed her cap and sunglasses, even if they had made reservations in Blythe’s name. Cordial, he didn’t let on, but quickly altered something on the computerized chart. “Ms. Pierce, a much better table, more out of the way as it were, has become available. Follow me, please.” He guided them to a corner table in the far room. Pulling out their chairs, he then handed over the menus and the wine list.

“I don’t think I should have any alcohol since I’m in training. I know it’s the weekend, but, anyway.” She placed the wine list between them. “Don’t let that keep you from enjoying a glass though.”

“That’s all right, thank you.” Blythe nodded to a young man pouring ice water. “I’m fine with the water.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” The menu was mainly for show and to hide behind. She wasn’t certain if she was concealing her face so the other patrons wouldn’t recognize her or because Blythe looked so beautiful in her blue shirt that it made her blush. Maybe both.

A middle-aged woman approached and took their orders. She listed the specials, but they knew what they wanted. Soon two large plates of carpaccio appeared before them.

She closed her eyes in total bliss. “This is one of the best carpaccios I’ve ever tasted. You happy with it?”

“Yes.” Blythe sipped her water. “This is the second time we’ve eaten out, and so far we’ve stuck to Italian food. Pasta Cosi, remember? And now Dino’s.”

“Next time we should branch out.”

Blythe swallowed and looked up. “Next time?”

“I eat out all the time during racing season. So often that I’m ready to shoot someone for a home-cooked meal.”

“I know from last year that you prefer to live in your RV, moving from racetrack to racetrack. I suppose the lack of a kitchen makes cooking limited.”

“Not just that. I mean, the kitchenette in my trailer is okay, but if I were to start cooking something, guess what? The guys would start ‘passing by’ and ‘being in the neighborhood,’ and soon I’d end up feeding everybody just to avoid playing favorites. So I don’t cook for anyone, and they certainly don’t, unless you consider hotdogs and burgers with cold beer cooking.”

Blythe’s laughter was a thoroughly pleasant sound that created a hot sensation of happiness in the center of Evie’s belly.

“I wouldn’t knock a burger every now and then, but I don’t want to live solely on them.”

Suddenly, a loud male voice behind her caused Blythe to frown and shift in her seat. “Hell, yeah! It is!”

“Trouble.” Blythe pressed her lips together and, to Evie’s shock, she shifted her grip on her steak knife. Did she intend to stab someone?

“You’re trippin’,” another male voice said. “Evangeline Marshall? Here?”

“Yeah. Over there. With that blond chick.”

“God almighty.” Evie looked at her food with regret. “And we haven’t even reached the main course yet.”

“He doesn’t sound like he’s a fan. And he’s big.” Her upper lip pulled back, Blythe watched someone’s movements. “Don’t turn around and face him.”

“Come back, Pete. Sit down. That bitch ain’t worth it.” The voice of the second man calling out seemed to quiet the voices around them.

“Fuck she is. She needs to hear what she did. That we know.” The first man, Pete, sounded infuriated and a bit drunk.

She’d had enough. No matter what Blythe said, she wouldn’t hide. She rose from the chair and whirled around. A few yards away stood a stocky man in his forties, looking like a typical tourist. Tan shorts, Myrtle Beach T-shirt, a half-open hoodie, and sandals. His wispy thin hair looked like he’d shoved his hands through it several times.

“I’m Evie Marshall. What can I do for you?”

“Not a fucking thing.” Pete was clearly not sober.

“Then I suggest that you go back to your friend and stop bothering everyone in here who just wants to enjoy the food.” She motioned to the other patrons, not taking her eyes off the man.

“You just don’t want them to hear about how you caused the biggest pileup in years, killing—” He stopped talking suddenly, his eyes shifting to something at her side.

“You were saying?” Blythe asked, and raised her camera. Flipping out the small screen, she looked intently at Pete. “I want to make sure I don’t miss anything. Isn’t today’s technology amazing? You can take stills and film with the same camera.”

“She…this woman…” He hesitated. “She…”

“Come on, Pete. Let’s go.” His companion waved frenetically. “Just drop it.”

“Really, Pete? And here I was about to document and record your slander so we’d have firsthand proof when Ms. Marshall sues you for defamation.” Blythe’s eyes sparkled.

“You heard her. Come on!” Not waiting for Pete, the other man tossed some cash on their table and headed for the door.

“May I suggest you follow suit, sir, since you seem to be outgunned, in a manner of speaking?” The maître d’ placed a hand on Pete’s arm and nudged him toward the entrance. “It’s either this, or I call the police. I’m sure you understand.”

Pete muttered something inaudible and stomped out.

Evie blinked repeatedly. What the hell had just happened? She’d been prepared to leave the restaurant for everybody else’s sake, but then Blythe suddenly stood by her side, and the management of Dino’s clearly backed her as well.

“I’m so sorry about this,” she said when the maître d’ came back. “I really am.”

“Please, Ms. Marshall, we’re the ones who are sorry. I hope you will consider having the rest of your meal now that order is restored.”

Conscious about the glances from the other dinner guests, she hesitated and glanced at Blythe, who shrugged, clearly leaving it up to her to decide.

“Hey, Evie Marshall, you got to eat. I plan to bet on you at Daytona this year.” A young man and his three friends grinned at her from across the restaurant. “You have to show them the Queen of NASCAR is back.”

The other guests yelled and applauded. Encouraging words rained on them until she relented and took her seat. Blythe sat down as well, placing her camera and the steak knife next to her plate.

She stared at Blythe. “So that’s why he looked so damn scared. You had the knife as well.”

“A nifty grip I learned in Afghanistan. A way to hold a knife alongside my camera, ready to use both, if I need to. Came in handy. No pun intended.”

“What if the police had come?”

“They would’ve had to arrest almost everyone in here. Nothing illegal about holding on to a steak knife at a restaurant that sells steaks and provides the knives.” She winked at Evie.

The dynamic had shifted between them again. Yesterday had started out with Evie losing her cool, and then Blythe had a rough time because of remembering her youth. Now the focus was back on her.

Feeling she could relax again, she finished her meal and even shared a piece of key lime pie with Blythe before asking for the check. Several of the other guests smiled warmly at them when they walked among the tables toward the entrance. The maître d’ fawned over them until they were out the door.

“What’s next?” she asked, shaking her head. “That was the weirdest thing. You were great, though. Except we have to discuss that knife thing.”

Blythe answered with mock haughtiness. “We do not have to do anything of the sort.”

“Seriously? We do. If you’re going to keep wielding swords around me—”

“Swords?” Blythe snorted. “A steak knife. You make it sound like I pulled out my favorite katana.”

“I don’t sound like anything. I saw you threaten that guy.”

“I may have pointed it at him. Very subtly. Like an intimidation.”

“I’ll say.” She put her arm around Blythe’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Hell, you intimidated me. It wasn’t the first time. There’s something reckless about you.”

“What?” Blythe stopped walking so abruptly, Evie nearly toppled over. “I’m not reckless.”

“Unless you count climbing up into old oak trees during a hurricane.” She looked pointedly at Blythe.

“That was nothing.”

“It was too.” She couldn’t keep from laughing. They started walking again and headed for the car. The Carolina Opry wasn’t far away, and she found herself looking forward to some touristy entertainment.

*

Blythe was pleasantly surprised. Some of her more snobbish acquaintances would frown upon the variety show they’d just seen, but she’d actually enjoyed it. The performers had great voices, the chorus line had some amazing dancers, and the orchestra was well rehearsed and played like they truly loved it. The stunning costumes were the icing on the cake, but most of all, she had enjoyed Evie’s enthusiasm.

Evie looked less than pleased only once. Toward the end, the host of the show called for men and women who had been or were active in the armed forces to stand up to be applauded.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered as they clapped.

“I know it’s tradition and I truly think our men and women in service deserve this, but so do you. Your profession put you in harm’s way, to a degree where you’re still suffering the consequences.”

“For what it’s worth. Thank you.” She knew Evie meant what she said, and appreciated that she understood her assignments had taken a toll.

The performers stood in the lobby to sign autographs and say good-bye. When Evie bought a CD and had one of the leading ladies sign it, her cheeks went pink when the woman clasped her arm and pursed her lips seductively.

“Gorgeous woman,” she said casually as they strolled back to the car.

“Yes. Very nice.”

“She flirted with you.” She was acting ridiculous even bringing it up.

“Who? The singer? She was?” Evie seemed to search her memory.

“Yes. Alice something.”

“Alicia D’Angelo. I didn’t notice. She was friendly.”

“I’m sure.”

“What’s wrong, Blythe?” Evie had begun to turn the key in the ignition, but let go of it and leaned back.

“Nothing.” She couldn’t believe she’d let any sort of jealousy surface. A few heated kisses didn’t warrant this reaction. Nothing did. “I’m sorry, Evie. Ignore me.”

“All right. For now. I’m nothing if not stubborn, Blythe. I’m determined to find out more about the new things I learned about you today. From kissing, to knives, to strange bouts of jealousy. Trust me.”

She didn’t doubt Evie for a second. This woman she was documenting hadn’t reached her success in a man’s world by backing down from a challenge. If Evie wanted to grill her, she would find a way. Close to panicking, she cursed herself all the way back to the beach house.

An hour later, she knew she’d procrastinated enough. Tugging at her fingers she stood by the window in the living room gazing out into the darkness. She could barely make out the waves crashing onto the beach, but she heard them.

Evie hadn’t said much after they got home. She’d withdrawn to her bedroom where she’d immersed herself in paperwork. Apparently NASCAR required quite the red tape to go through. Evie had a lawyer, but eventually she was the one who signed on the dotted line. She should’ve taken a few pictures of Evie doing this. Perhaps she might still be able to.

After dashing into the guest room, she grabbed her small Canon and checked the battery. Outside Evie’s room, she rapped her fingertips against the door frame. The door wasn’t entirely closed, but she didn’t feel right just stepping in.

“Yes?”

“You still going through paperwork?”

“Yes.”

Oy. She winced. Evie sounded very standoffish. Not that she could blame her. Of all the foolish things to say. She flirted with you. And even if this Alicia person had prostrated herself in front of Evie, it would hardly have been Evie’s fault. “Um. Okay if I take a few pictures of that? Don’t have any of you doing paperwork.”

“By all means.”

Finding it a bit odd that Evie sounded so frosty yet still gave her permission, she pushed the door open and came to a full stop right inside. Small mood-light lamps cast a cozy glow around the room. Only the bedside lamp provided enough light for Evie to read through the documents spread out around her. She sat among binders and papers, which shouldn’t have been remarkable, but she didn’t wear her usual attire. Instead she wore navy-blue satin briefs and a matching chemise, and her hair hung in newly brushed waves around her face. Evie smelled of the soft lotion she had come to associate with her.

“Camera? Photos?” Evie looked up, impatient.

“What? Dressed like that? Hardly.” She tucked the camera behind her back for emphasis. No way was she was sharing this Evie with the world.

“What’s wrong with this outfit?” Evie looked down at herself. “It’s La Perla. Cost a damn fortune.”

“I’m sure it did. It’s lovely. You look amazing.”

“So?”

“It’s kind of revealing.”

“You didn’t mind my swimsuit, even if it was more close-fitting.”

“Ah, come on. There’s a difference between swimwear and underwear.” She was treading water now. Any moment, Evie would connect her response to the perceived jealousy from earlier and she would’ve dug her own grave, metaphorically speaking.

“So…you think this is too much. For the public.” Evie quickly gathered the papers and binders and tucked them on the shelf in her nightstand. Kneeling on the bed, Evie studied her closely. “But you think it’s a nice outfit?”

“You look incredible. Why are you teasing me? To prove a point?”

“Which point would that be?” Evie tilted her head, appraising her. Her expression wasn’t scornful or angry. If anything, it was enigmatic.

“I managed to destroy the evening. We had a great time, and I said something I shouldn’t. And I’m sorry.” She held on hard to her camera with sweaty fingers.

“You’re forgiven. Please tell me why you said that? About her flirting.”

This was her chance. Evie would know if she stalled or tried to sweep this under the rug with a lie.

“You were right. I saw her touch you. Flirt. She actually did. It was pretty obvious. Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I—I was jealous.” She looked down at her feet and saw her toes curl, her whole body just as tense. “We kissed this morning. Made out, really. I haven’t let anyone close like that in a very long time. I suppose the fact that I lowered my guard made me too, um, presumptuous.”

“Sweetie. She may have been flirting, but I honestly didn’t notice. If I had, it still wouldn’t have mattered to me one little bit. Do you believe me?” Evie’s voice, suddenly so familiar in its warmth, caressed her ears.

“Yes.” She refused to make a complete fool of herself by bursting into tears. Hot tears crowded behind her eyelids, but she’d be damned before she let them fall.

“Good. Now, why don’t you put your camera to use?”

“No. I told you—”

“Just for me. For us. Please?” Evie winked and slid down in a relaxed position. Her back was flat on the bed, hands next to her head, and hips turned, one leg over the other. It was by far the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

Moving in a dreamlike way, she raised her camera and began to photograph the wonderful woman on the bed. Suddenly a natural model, Evie turned into a new pose every third second or so. Nothing sleazy, just a sensual, stunning manner that hit her right in her chest.

Eventually, the Canon beeped that it needed batteries, which made her lower it and Evie stop posing. She was kneeling on the bed again. “Get any good ones?”

“Several.” Breathless, she kept gazing at Evie.

“Come closer. Please.” Evie extended a hand. “Blythe.”

Nobody said her name like Evie did. She made it sound soft and very feminine despite its androgynous connotation. Blythe walked up to the bed, and Evie took the camera from her and placed it on the nightstand.

“God.” Evie breathed shallowly. “Do you have any idea how it felt to pose for you like that?”

She laughed incredulously, ending in a half sob. “Any idea? How do you think I felt watching you, snapping one photo after the other when all I wanted was…was…”

“Yes?” Evie whispered. “Yes? What did you want?”

“You know what I want. What I want, and what is possible, are rarely the same thing.”

“Yet here I am. Only inches from you. Available.” Evie trailed a hand down her arm, from where the short sleeve of her T-shirt ended to her fingertips. “So, come sit down. At least tell me what you want.”

She sat down, her face going increasingly warmer. “If I could just do what I want, without considering the consequences, I’d spend a very long time removing that pricy La Perla lingerie. I’d kiss every part of you that I uncovered. You’d know how beautiful and sexy I find you. You would have no doubt that you mean a lot to me and that I find you so incredibly sensual.”

She knew she sounded longing and forlorn at the same time. She had in many ways found herself since she began to know Evie, but she had also in a way lost something, even before she had it.

Chapter Seventeen

Evie could hardly speak. Blythe’s words, uttered with such conviction, were so unlike anything she would have expected from the shy woman she’d first known. Gone was the apprehensive persona, and in its place sat a quietly confident woman with passion in her eyes. She was afraid to say something to scare away this person, the woman she suspected was the true Blythe.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Blythe laced her fingers on her lap.

“No! No.” She couldn’t take her eyes off Blythe’s face. “Please. Keep going.”

Blythe’s eyes narrowed and her gaze wandered from Evie’s face, along her body all the way down to her naked feet. “It’s more than skin deep, you know. You’re naturally stunning, and the fact that your images have sold more calendars for charity than most testifies to that. But that’s just one aspect. It’s how you respond, you know. How you gasp and moan, and arch into a caress. This morning, when we kissed, I truly felt you wanted me. You were so in the moment, and I’m seldom that way. You were very seductive. I could barely let go of you.”

“Yet you did.”

“One of us has to stay strong.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned forward.

“You’re so passionate.” Blythe sounded yearning. “You go full force, damn the torpedoes, and you draw me in. You make me forget there’ll be a tomorrow.”

“Of course there’s a tomorrow. There is now. Here.” She shifted closer and touched Blythe’s arm again. Blythe twitched under her hand. “And there is tomorrow. The future. Why can’t they go together, you mean?”

“They rarely do. You have people in your life. Or you think you do. Then you don’t. You leave. They leave.” Though Blythe’s voice had been full of sultry passion, now a contradictory mix of cynicism and pain prevailed.

“You left your family. They hurt you so badly, and you left. It was an act of self-preservation.”

“Or cowardice.” Blythe’s lips tensed.

“Sweetie. A lot of words come to mind when I try to describe you. As you know, reckless is one of them, but coward? Never.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, Evangeline.” Blythe suddenly doubled over and pressed her lips against Evie’s arm. She said her full name with such pain, such desire, it sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

“Are you afraid I’ll leave? Or that you will?” She curled around Blythe’s upper body.

“If I allow myself this, you, I might screw everything up. That’s unthinkable.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter who leaves.” Blythe pushed at her to sit up. “Someone will. And it will kill me.”

“Kill you.” She stared at Blythe, who would have looked entirely unaffected except for the tears turning her eyes into shimmering blue diamonds. “How?”

“Break me. Crush my heart.” Blythe spat the words as her body temperature actually seemed to decrease where Evie was touching her arm.

“I never would’ve thought I’d have that power when it came to you.” She was dying to pull Blythe into her arms and warm her, cradle her, kiss her into a hot, happy mess.

“Well. You do. There.”

“I have a question,” she whispered.

“Yes?” Blythe looked at her, and it was a miracle that none of her tears had fallen yet.

“How do you think you affect me?”

Blythe seemed at a loss for words. “You? I—I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. Think back to this morning. Think back on everything we’ve been through. No matter the misunderstandings, the hurdles, we’ve solved them, haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve made every effort. When I’ve been at my lowest point, who did I turn to?”

Blythe didn’t answer at first. She stared down at Evie’s hand, making her wonder what she really saw.

“To me.” Blythe spoke almost inaudibly, and as she lifted her gaze, a tear dislodged and splashed down on Evie’s hand. “You came to me.”

“Yes. I did. What does that tell you?” she asked softly.

“You care.”

“Logically this means you have the power to hurt me too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Blythe moved so fast, she didn’t see it coming. Suddenly she had her arms full of a trembling Blythe, who in turn clung to her, her teeth practically clattering.

“Shh. It’s okay.” If she let go of Blythe now, she wouldn’t have a second chance. This was it, the pivotal moment that would launch or incinerate their relationship. Despite her own doubts, she was the one who had to be strong. Blythe wasn’t the most trusting woman, to put it bluntly, and she recoiled faster than anyone she had ever known. Also her own struggles, her own lack of trust when it came to family, had the potential to wreck everything in a heartbeat.

“Evie. Evangeline.” Blythe pulled back a few inches and looked at her. “You’ve turned everything upside down for me. I had it all figured out. I thought. Work was all I needed, and work was the reason I approached you. I told myself that anyway. Quite good at fooling myself, as it turns out.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve been to so many different danger zones on this planet I can’t distinguish between some of them in my mind. They all mesh into a big blur of heat, mud, sand, death, blood, and severed limbs.” Blythe made a face. “Lovely bedside manners are also something I lack.”

“Go on.”

“Anyway, if it weren’t for my photos, I don’t think I could’ve told you what happened where. It’s all jumbled. Only one thing has been engraved on my mind. I close my eyes, and unless I deliberately force the image away, I see your car, that beautiful red Viper, so powerful, like you, drive into the flames and smoke. It then comes out on the other side, making a perfect spiral where it rolls through the air, engulfed with the most beautiful flames licking its body.” Blythe’s eyes lost themselves in the distance, and she knew she saw it right there and then. “I see this, and I know you’re in there. Hurt. Bleeding. Burned. And I can do nothing but repeatedly press the release on my camera. I look through it, see it all happening through the viewfinder.

“When more than eighteen months had passed and the vision was still with me, I knew I had to contact you. Not only to finish the job with the hope of shaking the images, but because the fact that I remembered this like I suddenly had an eidetic memory was a sign.”

“A sign?” Her heart pumped steadfast and quick. Reliving the horrific events of last year through Blythe’s words was almost more than she could bear.

“You meant more to me than I could explain. Than I knew.”

“And now?” Not sure why it was so hard to speak, why she could only manage single syllables all of sudden, she stroked Blythe’s back. The touch soothed her, calmed her.

“I’m at a crossroads, aren’t I?” Blythe smiled wryly. “I’m trying to remember that I’m a mature middle-aged woman—capable, independent, and answering only to myself. I’m trying very hard to hang on to that, because right now, for many reasons, I feel transported in time back to when I wasn’t.”

“That’s got more to do with where we are, rather than with us.” She was certain of this. “Perhaps also the unexpected attraction has something to do with it.”

“Not so unexpected. Just look at you. Do you think I’m made of stone?” Blythe pursed her lips. “You dressed like this knowing I’d be in here sooner or later. You trying to seduce me or punish me?”

“How could this punish you?” She looked at Blythe’s pale lips. Slowly she was forgetting what they were talking about, her mind focusing on kissing them, feeling them open beneath her own mouth.

“Haven’t you been listening? I want you. That’s hardly a secret anymore. I could sacrifice a lot to have you, but it will break me, Evangeline.”

She snapped her gaze up to meet Blythe’s. Somehow it registered that Blythe tended to use her full name when she was emotionally distraught or affected. “I don’t want to break you. Nothing could be further from my mind. I want a lot of things, but I’m not callous. I’m not reckless.” She tried not to become discouraged by the frown that appeared on Blythe’s face. “Please. Give me a chance to prove this.”

“Prove what?”

“I don’t say this easily. Let me prove I’m not all that you fear.”

“How?” Blythe moved closer. Her hands, impossibly small and tender, cupped Evie’s shoulders. “How can you prove any such thing?”

“With time.” That was the only thing she could say and be truthful. How the hell could anyone possibly promise more than that?

“I suppose.” Blythe slid one of her hands up Evie’s neck to touch her cheek, then continued up into her hair, gently scratching her scalp with blunt nails. She shivered at the sensation, closing her eyes briefly.

“That—that feels good.”

“Yes?” Blythe moved again, now sitting so close on the bed, they were practically chest to chest. “At times like this, it’s like I can do anything I want.”

“You can. Anything. Please. Just don’t let go.”

“Why not?”

“It will hurt if you let go.” She wasn’t exaggerating. If Blythe stopped touching her now, when they’d just reconnected and spoken so openly, it would be like ripping off a limb.

“I’m too warm. So hot in here.” Blythe lowered her hands but remained close.

“Take off your shirt.”

“All right.” Blythe pulled off her T-shirt and sat there in only her boxers and a sports bra. Her breasts were fuller than expected, her waist narrow, and the curve of her hips mind-blowing.

A gush of wind hit the windows and made a whistling noise that startled Blythe. She moved farther up on the bed, her eyes wild now. “I hate when it does that.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around Blythe and held her tight. “That’s another thing. I’m not just totally hooked on your hot body. I also want to hold you when you need me to chase the demons away.”

“Evangeline.” Blythe’s damp lips caught hers in a smoldering kiss. Blythe brushed against them, traced the outline of her mouth, and took her lower lip gently between her teeth.

Whimpering, she let Blythe lead, sensing the urgency but also how important this was right now. She was quite content to hand herself over to Blythe’s hands and lips. Blythe’s fingers were back in her hair, tugging lightly to tilt her head while she adjusted their angle for access. She groaned and willingly parted her lips. She wanted to taste Blythe again, immerse herself in everything about her. The fruity, flowery scent, combined with the clean hint of soap, overwhelmed her senses.

Scooting back toward the multitude of pillows at the head of the bed, she pulled Blythe with her. She leaned back with Blythe draped over her. Unable to resist, she managed to get one hand in between them to cup Blythe’s left breast.

*

Blythe moaned when Evie touched her breast. She opened her mouth against Evie’s, slipping her tongue inside. She couldn’t keep from deepening the kiss. Exploring Evie’s mouth, her tongue, her teeth, the inside of her lips, she reveled in Evie’s taste. Sweet, with a tinge of chocolate and mint.

“Touch me, Blythe. Please.” Evie spoke breathlessly.

Nervous and turned on, she rested on her elbow and used her other hand to push in under Evie’s loose chemise. The silky fabric easily gave way. Evie’s stomach was smooth, slightly damp and very, very hot. Evie apparently hadn’t counted on her touching naked skin like this, perhaps afraid of her reaction to the scarring in some places. It only bothered her because Evie had been hurt; it didn’t impact the arousal surging within her. So hot, so passionate, it wasn’t difficult to muster enough courage to cup Evie’s breast. She wasn’t wearing anything under the chemise, and Evie’s hard nipple prodded her palm. Squeezing gently, she was taken aback by how Evie whimpered and arched into her hands.

“Blythe!”

“That good?” She forgot about herself, just wanted to please Evie. “Like this?” She rubbed her thumb over Evie’s nipple, slowly, slowly.

“Blythe, oh God, you’re driving me crazy. You’re—oh, yes. There. Right there. Oh, yes. Yes.” Evie murmured incoherently, her hands all over Blythe’s shoulders and waist, tugging her closer. “Mmm, that feels so damn good. Blythe. Yes.”

She lost herself in the passion on Evie’s face. Her eyes were hooded, her lips parted and with the tip of her tongue barely visible between her teeth, and her cheeks flushed. “I need to see more.” She tugged at Evie’s chemise. “May I?”

“Sure.” Sitting up, Evie grabbed the hem of the garment and let her pull it over her head. Static electricity sparkled in her hair before it settled against her shoulders. Evie’s small breasts fit her body perfectly. High on her chest, with dark, hard nipples, they made her mouth water. She cupped the left one and when Evie gasped, she couldn’t resist. Taking it in her mouth, she closed her eyes, savoring the texture, the puckered skin, so satiny, so delicious.

“Blythe. More. More.” Evie arched beneath her, pressing her breast farther into her mouth. She used her tongue, lavishing the nipple with so much attention, Evie began to hum and undulate. “You’re like fire. Your mouth, your lips. Blythe. I need to feel you too. Please?”

She sat up, gazing down at Evie greedily. Not about to deny her anything, she pulled the sports bra over her head. Aware that her breasts were fuller and that she was twelve years older than Evie, she held her breath, telling herself she was ridiculous. Superficial and utterly silly.

“Oh, wow.” Evie sat too, staring at her with bright eyes. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous.” Evie sounded so in awe, and so breathless, she had to smile. Evie was spontaneous in a way she never would be, but that was one of the things she love—

Stopping that train of thought instantly, she was grateful for the distraction when Evie cupped her breasts, then rolled her aching nipples between her fingers. Moisture flooded her boxers so much she became self-conscious and hoped Evie wouldn’t notice. It had been so long since she’d been in this situation, and she certainly couldn’t remember ever being this turned on.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. Evie immediately took her lips and caressed her tongue eagerly with hers, and soon they were moaning into each other’s mouths. Evie tugged and rolled her nipples. Eventually Evie shifted position, moving her lips from her mouth to her breasts. Evie pushed her hands, now free, down her stomach and into her boxers.

She stiffened and pushed her legs together where she was kneeling. “Please?”

“You don’t want me to?” Evie kissed a trail up to her ear. “I want to touch you. I’ll make you feel so good. If you want to.”

“I want to. It’s not that. I really do. I just…it’s been a while, and I’m so wet.” Oh, God, she couldn’t believe she’d said something like that. She wasn’t very comfortable sharing such intimate things, but this was Evie.

“I don’t mind. It’s a great compliment.” Evie wrapped her arms around her and hugged her. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t we turn off most of the lamps, get naked, and go to bed? That way it won’t be so weird with underwear in the way, and it won’t be just in the heat of the moment. You’ll get a few moments to consider, um, stuff.”

She held on to Evie a few moments longer. “Why not?”

Soon, they’d switched off all the little lamps but one at the far end of the room. She pushed off her boxers and quickly slid into bed, hugging the duvet close to her chest. Maybe a break hadn’t been so clever? Her insecurities manifested themselves too easily. When Evie stood naked next to the bed, smiling broadly at her, it didn’t matter how insecure she was. She didn’t intend to let this night go to waste.

*

Evie climbed into bed and took Blythe in her arms. So petite, yet so curvy, she was like a secret little bombshell. Now without her masculine boxers, Blythe was definitely all woman. All feminine beauty. She reached around Blythe and cupped her bottom. Blythe gasped and pressed her face into her neck.

“You feel so good. You all right?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” Blythe shivered against her.

“Mmm. Good.” She pulled Blythe’s leg up over her hip. This made Blythe more accessible and she couldn’t wait to touch her. When she reached Blythe’s thighs the copious wetness surprised her in many ways. She pushed gentle fingers between the drenched folds, mindful of sensitive tissue. It was the most amazing feeling to slide her fingertips back and forth through the heat and the moisture. She pushed herself up on her elbow and gazed down at Blythe. “This good, sweetie?”

“Oh, yes. Please. Don’t stop.”

Don’t stop? She smiled widely and hid her face against Blythe’s neck. She wanted to make this good for Blythe. Wanted her to feel it all the way to her toes and back up again.

Blythe flung her arms tight around her. Her breath came in short, raspy bursts. “Evangeline. What are. You. Doing to. Me?” Her hips moved against Evie’s hand. “It’s like fire. Fire, Evie.”

“Then let me help you. Let me in, Blythe. Tell me it’s okay.” She murmured into Blythe’s ear. “Tell me.”

“Oh, God, yes. Go inside. I need you. Please, I need you.” Blythe’s words became incoherent and she pulled her legs up, and out.

Evie made sure she positioned her fingers carefully and pushed inside. Slick, wet walls grasped her, pulling her farther in. “You’re so hot. You feel wonderful.” Moving slowly, she curled her fingers, searching for that spot that would make Blythe feel even better. Blythe suddenly jerked, curling up. She drew new air through her clenched teeth. “Mmm. That good, huh?” Her own thighs became wetter by the second, her folds grew swollen, and her clit ached to be touched. With that in mind, she pressed the pad of her thumb against Blythe’s clitoris in the same rhythm that she moved her fingers.

It was enough. Within seconds, Blythe arched, her inner muscles massaging Evie’s fingers in hard contractions.

“What about you? You, Evangeline?” Blythe gasped, her body shaking.

“You won’t have to do much,” she said, sounding just as breathless. “Just your hand.”

Blythe cupped Evie’s sex gently. Too gentle. She placed her hand over Blythe’s and pressed harder. “Like this. Hard.”

Blythe moved her palm in hard circles, spreading her folds in the process. When Blythe reached her swollen clit, she sobbed and cried out. Flashes of pleasure bordering on pain fired along her abdomen and down her legs. “Blythe. Blythe!” Digging her hands into Blythe’s hair, she pulled her in for a deep, deep kiss. If it ever ended it would be too soon.

Eventually they both needed to breathe and lay still, gasping, while the room’s air began to feel too cold. She pulled the duvet over them and held Blythe close. “Mmm. You okay, sweetie?”

“Yes.”

The short answer would normally have worried her, but she was too tired for any long-winded declarations of appreciation. Instead she ran one hand up and down Blythe’s back, the other still lodged in her hair. Holding Blythe close like this, feeling her breathing and heartbeat slow down to normal, made her feel secure. She kissed the top of Blythe’s hair. There’d be no nightmares tonight.

Chapter Eighteen

Pulling up to the beach house, Evie turned to wake Blythe, who had fallen asleep shortly after they left Darlington. They’d been up since six in the morning, and today’s training and workout had been intense. After last night’s lovemaking, no wonder Blythe was exhausted. Evie was beat now. The two-hour ride from the racetrack had taken the last of her strength.

“Hey, Blythe? We’re home.”

“Hmm? Oh. Right.” Blythe winced and rubbed the side of her neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. What if we throw a couple of steaks on the…what the hell?” She glanced in the rearview mirror as a car pulled up behind them. “Oh, please. No, no, no. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mal. And oh, sweet Jesus, it’s Harrison too.” She groaned and thudded her forehead on the wheel, the slight pain actually helping. “The fun never stops around here.” She jumped out of the car and sauntered over toward the rental car that had parked behind them. Mal stepped out and so did her grandfather.

“Mal. Harrison. What brings you here?” She stopped as she reached their vehicle, folding her arms across her chest and propping her hip against the car.

“Is that a way to greet your grandfather?” Harrison said grumpily. In his late seventies, he was still a handsome man. She and Mal had inherited their coloring from him, but that’s where the similarities began to wane.

“Excuse me, Harrison. Hello. I don’t think you’ve met Blythe. Blythe, this is my grandfather, Harrison Marshall. Harrison, this is Blythe Pierce. My father you’ve met, right?”

“I certainly have. Nice to meet you, Mr. Marshall. And Mr. Marshall.”

“You better call us by our first names,” Harrison said. He didn’t extend his hand but raked his eyes up and down Blythe’s form. “You can’t be much of a driver or do much good in the pit.”

“She’s a reporter,” Mal said, pulling his upper lip up in a sneer.

“Actually, I’m a photojournalist,” Blythe said firmly.

Evie didn’t want to invite the men into her house. They’d never been here before, and she wasn’t about to change that now. This was her sanctuary, not a family-owned property.

“Are you going to keep us standing here?” Mal asked. “Where’s your manners, girl?”

“Where are yours?” She placed her hands on her hips. “You come unannounced, scold me immediately, and have the gall to—”

“Ah, for heaven’s sake. We flew down in Harrison’s plane and rented a car. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.” Mal gestured dismissively. “You should have enough room in this cottage of yours to put us up for the night.”

She heard Blythe take a deep breath and understood exactly what was going through Blythe’s mind. She couldn’t agree more. It was staggering that someone could be so presumptuous.

“No. I only have one guest room and that’s where Blythe’s staying.”

“So this girl isn’t your latest dalliance?” Harrison huffed. “I assumed since she was shacking up with you, then—”

“Harrison!” Her jaw slacked for a moment at her grandfather’s rudeness. “I’d expect such offensive talk from Mal, but now I see where he inherited his lack of manners. I suggest that you say what you came to say and drive off and fly home again.”

“Damn it, Evie.” Mal nearly sputtered. “Your grandfather is an old man, and you can’t expect him to have the energy to go back and forth on the same day.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to come down.” She opened the door to her trunk and pulled out her sports bag. “If you’ve got nothing to tell me, Blythe and I are going inside.”

“We’re concerned for you. For your future. For your ability, or lack thereof. You narrowly escaped death last year, and you’re likely to have the same thing happen again. Since you won’t listen to me, I figured your grandfather might be able to knock some sense into you.” Mal gestured emphatically.

“With a father like you, Evangeline sure doesn’t need any enemies in the press or hostile bloggers.” Blythe hissed the words like a vicious cobra. “How the hell can you justify showing up here and undermining her training like this?” Blythe stepped close to her, clearly ready to defend her.

Evie’s chest constricted at the sight of the furious Blythe. Her friends had stuck up for her before, especially Ben and his crew. But nobody had ever acted so against their basic personality on such a personal level before.

“Oh, my God,” Mal said, laughing. “Got to say you’ve got spunk, little lady.”

“Oh, trust me, Mal, I may be little, but I’m no lady.” Blythe raised her camera. “I’d suggest you not put that to the test.”

“Mal, are we going inside or not?” Harrison asked.

“Not.” She hoisted her bag up on her shoulder and plucked the key from her pocket with her free hand. “Let’s go up, Blythe. Clearly it’s the same old tired argument.”

“No. It’s not. This time it’s more than our not thinking NASCAR’s good enough for a Marshall.” Mal spoke fast. “You remember Douglas Lindstrom?”

She halted, glancing over her shoulder. “Yes. Owner of that new F1 team. What’s it called? Rinaldi?”

“Riglianti. It’s a mix between U.S.-based team members and Italian entrepreneurs. Their cars are like the Ferrari.”

“And you’re telling me this because—”

“They need to enter the stage with a proper splash, not only when it comes to competing, but to attract attention. Having an already world-famous, notorious even, in some circles, female driver would do the trick.”

*

Blythe stared from Evie to Mal and Harrison and back again. How the hell was this man, Evie’s father, able to insult and compliment his daughter, and make her the offer of a lifetime, all in one sentence?

“Notorious, huh? That’s a new one. You’ve called me a few things since I fell in love with stock-car racing, but that’s one to add to your less-flattering vocabulary.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Mal gestured wildly.

“Yeah, I did. I think you called me a publicity stunt.”

Blythe inwardly cheered Evie for cutting to the chase, for seeing the truth in what Mal had tried to sugarcoat.

Harrison suddenly interfered. “How about you, Blythe?”

“I’m a good driver, but I’d never get behind the wheel of a Formula One car.” She grinned when her words made Evie chuckle.

“Very funny. What I meant was, wouldn’t it further your career if you could be the one to break the story about Evie driving for Riglianti?”

She gazed at the older of the two men long enough for him to shift from one foot to the other and back again. “Further my career,” she said, as if she seriously considered it. “Now there’s a thought.”

“Surely a photographer such as you could see the benefit from breaking a page-one news story?” Mal said.

“What kind of photographer would that be?” she asked, her voice pure silk.

“Blythe…” Evie said.

“No, no, Evangeline, I want to hear this.” She felt calm.

“You said yourself, a news reporter. If you got a major story, you’d move up, be among the big guys as a sports reporter. I’ve never heard of you, but if you pulled this off, you could be right up there, working for ESPN or something.” Mal looked pleased at his angle.

“Oh, you fool.” Evie groaned. “You don’t know who she is, do you? You only watch sports on TV, so you have no fucking clue. God, you’re embarrassing.” She covered her eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mal flung his hands into the air.

“Blythe is an award-winning photographer with numerous books on the bestseller list. She’s represented in galleries and museums, and her pictures are used in college-level social science courses and such subjects. Take your fancy offer, which sounded just like what I’d hate to do, and sho—”

“Evie. Don’t.” Blythe stepped close to Evie and placed a hand at the small of her back. “Let’s go inside. This conversation is over.”

“You’re right.” Evie trembled against her touch and glared at Mal and Harrison with eyes like narrow slits. “Take Harrison to a hotel before he falls over from fatigue. He’s an old man. Don’t come around unless I invite you, Mal. The way I feel now, it’ll be when hell goes into complete permafrost.” She swiveled and unlocked the door. They stepped inside and Evie locked and set the alarm.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Blythe said. “Take a bath and relax. I’ll fix those steaks for us.”

“Blythe. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. And I couldn’t care less what they say to me. It’s you they hurt. Try to hurt.”

“I’m embarrassed for you to have to listen to such idiotic rambling.” Evie blanched. “Did I hear Harrison ask me if you were my latest dalliance? Oh, God. He did, didn’t he? That sounds like I have lovers all over the place. I don’t, I really don’t.”

Something tender erupted in her chest. “Shh. You’re fine. You don’t have to explain. You’re fine.”

“I just don’t want you to think you’re one among many. I haven’t been with anyone since way before the crash.” Evie touched her cheek. “You’re special.”

“Thank you. I’m also especially hungry, which I think is our biggest issue right now. Don’t get yourself all worked up. Go have a bath or a hot shower. I’ll cook and clean myself up after we’ve eaten.”

“Blythe.” Evie suddenly wrapped her arms tight around her. “I just need to hug you first.”

“Hug away.” She took the chance to bury her face against Evie’s neck. In fact, she was angrier than she’d been in a long time. How dared these men violate Evie’s privacy, her sanctuary, and force their offensive language and ideas on her? They obviously didn’t care that she was fighting to resume her dream without getting killed while doing so. Pressing her lips against Evie’s skin, she inhaled deeply. No matter what, standing together like this made her feel secure. Now it was up to her to help keep these men away from Evie, to help keep her safe.

Chapter Nineteen

I can’t believe he did this. Evie stood by the fireplace and raised her cold hands to the roaring fire, desperately needing to feel the heat. Dressed in a terry-cloth robe and with a towel around her damp hair, she shivered uncontrollably. Behind her Blythe approached, carrying two plates.

“I thought we’d eat by the fire. I managed to grab a quick shower too, while the steaks defrosted in the micro.” She wore a towel around her hair also, but instead of a robe, Blythe had opted for sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“Okay.” Evie pulled a couple of the supersized pillows up to the coffee table and sat down on one of them. Blythe handed her one of the plates. The meat and steamed vegetables looked great, but she wasn’t hungry. She needed the food to keep her strength up while in training, so she ate anyway, the bites seeming to grow in her mouth.

Blythe unwrapped her towel and let her hair fall back over her shoulders. “I’ll probably look like an overexcited poodle soon, but if I keep the towel on, it’ll be even worse.”

She laughed, despite her confusion. The heat from the fire felt good, but Blythe’s presence felt even better. “Poodle, huh? I like dogs.”

“You’re calling me a dog? How flattering.” Blythe speared some vegetables and chewed them thoughtfully. “I’m clearly losing my appeal.”

“No, you’re not.” She knew they were kidding around, but she didn’t want Blythe to think for a moment, even as a joke, that she was anything but wonderful.

“Good to know.” Blythe winked. “You okay, Evie? You look a bit pale.”

“Just pissed.”

“Can’t say I blame you.”

“I should be over it. I mean, how he talks to me. It’s been the same song and dance for years. I don’t know why I let it get to me.”

“Because no matter how old we get, we keep seeking validation from our parents.” Blythe looked sad for a moment. “It’s not just me saying this. It’s a pretty well-known fact.”

“I guess.” She forced herself to finish the steak, but gave up on the broccoli. “But, logically, I know he’ll never change. I mean, they’ll never change. They’ll still think I’m betraying their legacy, that I’m tarnishing the family by doing what I love instead of following in their footsteps. I know this. Why can’t I just once and for all say ‘screw you’ and move on?”

“I think you’ve tried to do that many times. When you find your bearings and move on, there they come, popping up to try and reel you back in. You’re going to have to figure out how to deal with them.”

“Any suggestions?” The cold weight in her gut shifted again, reminding her of its existence. “Disown them? Like you did?”

Blythe winced. “No. I couldn’t recommend that,” she said quietly.

“Damn. I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m being an ass.”

“You’re upset.”

“Not your fault.” She crawled over to Blythe and took her pillow with her. “In fact, you’re my shining knight, aren’t you? First that knife fight and then tonight.”

“Knife fight?” Blythe shrugged. “Prone to exaggeration, much?”

“Just a tad.” It was good to joke around again. “Still true in a sense. You stuck up for me.”

“You’re my lover.” Blythe studied her hands.

More warmth seeped into her system. “Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Blythe’s close proximity made her breathless. “We haven’t really talked about that.”

“No.” Blythe raised her gaze to hers. “Do you want to? Talk about it, I mean?” She grew faintly pink.

“If we do, I’ll ravish you here on the spot.” She was only half joking. Blythe was incredibly alluring with her curly, damp hair, clean-scrubbed face, and naked feet.

“Not an entirely good argument if you’re trying to deter me.” Blythe wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, God. Don’t look at me that way if you want to talk.” She couldn’t resist Blythe’s bright eyes and wide smile. Adorable.

“Not sure what you mean, since I don’t have a mirror handy.” Blythe ran the back of her fingers along Evie’s cheek. “So, last night.”

“Last night was amazing. Hot. Volcanic, even.” She took Blythe’s hand in hers.

“I think I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere.” Blythe’s eyes lost their sparkle.

“No, not because of anything about you.” She wasn’t sure how to explain.

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that line. The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ cliché.” Blythe began to pull back.

“Blythe. Stop. Listen, please. I loved last night. I can’t say how much I adored making love to you. If I’m struggling with anything, and God knows I am, it’s not that. In fact, last night was the first time I actually felt with every fiber of my being. You know?” She squeezed Blythe’s hand.

“God, it’s so hard to explain. This last year, I’ve been doing all the right things. Going through physical therapy, group therapy, dealing with media, fighting my way back. I’ve been doing this, but never with my whole being. I used to do things head over heels, a bit reckless even, before. With my whole self. In for a penny and all that.” She sobbed and began to tremble again. “And last night, for the first time since the crash, when we made love, I was my whole self again. Feeling all of you with all of me. This probably sounds totally weird.”

Blythe wiped at Evie’s tears, not saying anything, merely waiting.

“And as much as I’m thrilled, it scares me. Today too, when Mal and Harrison showed up and started offending you, it scared me even more.”

“Why?”

“Because, if I lose this,” she said, waving her hand between them, “this thing with you, this connection, I’m afraid I won’t feel, or be, my whole self again.” Hiccupping, she reached for a Kleenex on the coffee table and wiped her eyes and nose. “And that makes me sound totally clingy and needy.”

“Evangeline.” Blythe moved closer, straddling her legs, then pressed her forehead against hers, rocking her a few moments. “My turn now?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if it was readily noticeable, but before last night, I hadn’t made love with anyone for quite a while. Longer than I care to admit, since it makes me feel too self-conscious.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Years.”

“Oh.” Evie gazed up at her. “Then I feel kind of special.”

Blythe could’ve kissed her just for saying that, but knew she should wait. “Good. You are.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I want you to know, really understand, that I couldn’t care any less what your father and grandfather might think of me. I do, however, care about how you respond to them, to their treatment of you.”

“How come?”

“It should be obvious. You have to focus on your training. Driving, working out, mental training, the whole lot. You don’t need them complicating matters.” She gasped. “Or me. It could be dangerous.”

Evie grasped her arms and tugged her close enough for their upper bodies to press together. “You’re not going to bail on me out of some misconstrued idea that it’s the best thing for me?” Evie shook her gently. “Blythe?”

“No. No.” Combing her fingers through Evie’s hair, Blythe watched, mesmerized, how the fire danced in her eyes. “If anything, I knew when we left them out there that you need me to make sure they can’t get to you. I mean, literally.”

“That’s why you went all ninja.”

“Ninja. Really, Evie.” Blythe cupped her chin. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re into superheroes or something, are you?”

“Absolutely. Especially the less-obvious ones.” Evie pulled her closer again. “Kiss me?”

How could she refuse? She lowered her head and brushed Evie’s lips with her own. Several chaste kisses with closed lips. Eventually Evie squirmed, which made her smile against her mouth.

“Mmm. Evil,” Evie muttered. “Absolutely evil.”

“Think so?” She slipped her tongue between Evie’s lips. She kissed her with tenderness, but deep enough to make Evie moan.

“I know so.” Evie pushed her hands under Blythe’s T-shirt and caressed her back. “So soft.” She slid her hands up and down, barely touching, creating goose bumps in their wake.

“Apparently it’s contagious.” Blythe shuddered. It must be this feeling Evie had been trying to explain. Knowing that she was fully engaged on all cylinders, with every cell in her being, as well as every emotion, when Evie held her like this, made her both happy and worried. Happy, since she had long thought herself incapable of surrendering to another person while trusting them. Worried, because taking such chances was frightening, and she was drifting toward love, something she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge at all.

This didn’t keep her away from Evie’s lap. It didn’t make her stop Evie from shoving her hands into her pants and cupping her bottom. When Evie pushed her back onto the rug while dragging one of the large pillows under her head, she didn’t object. She didn’t prevent Evie from pulling their clothes off.

She wrapped her arms around Evie’s neck and her legs around her waist. No matter how much this scared her, and for whatever reason, she couldn’t say no to Evie.

Chapter Twenty

“Feels like we’re playing hooky today.” Evie winked at Blythe. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Not if you ask Ben.” Blythe refocused on her computer pad. “He wasn’t happy having to wait for that part, whatever it’s called.”

“It’s custom-made, and replacing it will take twenty-four hours. Maybe more. No wonder he’s unhappy. He hates wasting time. I’m going to put our day off to good use, though. We need to go shopping.”

“We?” Blythe’s head snapped back up. “What do you mean, we?”

“You don’t like shopping?”

“Groceries are one thing.”

“Groceries.” She made a face. “Yeah, well, not what I had in mind. I was thinking—outlet mall!”

Blythe looked dismayed. “Like a shopping mall? Clothes?”

“Well, yes. That and makeup, books, kitchenware, that sort of thing. Gadgets.”

“Gadgets?” Blythe perked up. “Like tech stuff?”

“Absolutely.” She jumped to her feet. “No fun shopping alone. You’ve got to come too.”

“Since you’re bribing me with tech stuff, all right.”

Blythe shrugged, but Evie knew her exasperation was facetious. She had an expression of indulgence and looked so affectionate, Evie wrapped her arms around Blythe’s neck.

“You’re such an adorable fake,” she said, smiling widely. “You try to sound like I’m insufferable, but you’re pretty crazy ’bout me, aren’t you?”

“No clue what you mean.” Blythe lowered her eyelids and managed a rather good haughty look.

“No? You don’t think I’m cute?”

“Not in the least. You’re a pain. A shopaholic pain in the a—ow!”

She smacked Blythe’s bottom just hard enough to make a point. Laughing, she tried to avoid Blythe’s lethal tickle fingers. “God, I don’t know how anyone can have such strong fingers, especially since you have the smallest hands I’ve ever seen.”

“They come in very handy.” Blythe tickled her stomach, moving her hands in circles.

“Now, that’s a lame play on words if I ever heard one.” Evie jumped back, out of reach. “Let’s get ready, tickle-meister.”

Blythe stepped closer, but this time, her hands slipped around Evie’s waist and held her close. Looking into her eyes, Blythe squinted, as if searching for something. She could only smile, since Blythe’s expression was so typical of her. Inquisitive, careful, and so damn endearing. She knew better than to even think of Blythe as cute, since that had to feel condescending if you were petite like she was. But she did find Blythe adorable, with the best connotation possible intended. As in “being adored.” That couldn’t be bad.

Blythe rose on her toes and kissed her quickly. “All right, my shop-loving girl. Let’s go.”

Laughing, and feeling almost giddy, Evie returned to the bedroom to change. It was true. She did love to shop.

*

Blythe found that shopping with Evie was as close to having an out-of-body experience as she’d ever been. The range of emotions Evie displayed would have satisfied any social anthropologist, and it turned out to be surprisingly good camera fodder. To not attract attention she had brought her smallest point-and-shoot camera. This made her work inconspicuous and didn’t alert anyone to Evie’s identity. Also, not all stores permitted photo shoots.

“Oh, look.” Evie held up a pastel pink cardigan. “My color, right?”

“Um. Pink?” She groaned inwardly, but Evie’s bright eyes were irresistible. “Okay. Put it on.”

Evie tried on the cardigan and tied the belt. It was actually a great color against her dark hair.

“Very pretty. It suits you.”

“Yeah?” Smiling broadly enough to light up the whole store, Evie placed the cardigan in her basket. “This comes home with mama.”

“God.” Muttering under her breath, she mustered some more patience.

“Don’t look so long-suffering,” Evie said, and winked. “The next store, just around the corner, is your kind of thing. A tech-geek place.”

“Tech is good. But geek?” Deliberately raising an eyebrow, she pursed her lips. “Really.”

“Brookstone.”

Blythe wasn’t about to confess that Brookstone was one of her favorite guilty pleasures, but when Evie winked at her she guessed her expression gave her away.

“It’s okay to be excited.” Evie signed the credit-card slip and received her bag from the salesclerk. “Thanks.”

“I am. I’m very excited. Close to exuberant.” She strode out of the store and into Brookstone. Soon she’d lost herself among the gadgets and only realized that time had passed when Evie cleared her throat and tapped her on the shoulder.

“I hate to cut this shopping spree short, but I’m hungry. My stomach’s saying food court.”

“Hmm?” She looked up from the Bluetooth speaker she was examining. “Court? What court?”

“Food court. God, woman. You sure have a one-track mind. I’ve never seen anyone focus the way you do. Except perhaps last night.”

“What?” Scandalized, she jerked her head up. “Are you crazy?” She scanned the immediate aisle. Nobody seemed to pay any attention.

“No. Hungry. As in starving.” Evie tapped her foot and peered into her basket. “You getting all that? I’m impressed.”

“No. This is my second basket.” She shrugged, trying to sound casual. “And yes, yes, I know. Calling the kettle black and all that.” She marched over to the cash register. As she paid for her items, she kept an eye on Evie, who stood waiting by the entrance with one hip pushed out, thumbs hooked in the waistband of her chinos, the mandatory baseball cap pulled down to her eyebrows. She wasn’t wearing sunglasses indoors, but she wasn’t easy to recognize like this anyway.

“Oh, goodie. I’m thinking Thai food,” Evie said, and linked an arm with hers when they exited the store. “God, can you manage? That looks heavy.”

“I’m fine. Thai? Yes, that sounds great. Love Asian food.”

“Great.”

She couldn’t stop looking at Evie. Happiness bubbled like expensive champagne under her skin. Today looked like it would be great.

*

Evie gazed at Blythe as she finished the last of her food. She might be overstepping boundaries, but she had to ask. If Blythe insisted on being in her corner, facing off with her family, then she ought to do the same thing.

“Does your family still live in Myrtle Beach?”

Blythe dropped her fork. “What? Oh. As far as I know. My parents, anyway. I’ve sent my yearly ‘I’m alive and well’ note to the PO box they’ve had forever.”

“Do you ever hear anything back?”

“No. I haven’t shared my address or my own PO box. In the beginning I just didn’t want to, and now what would be the point?”

“Um. Closure?”

“For whom? Me?” Blythe folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t need it. What happened…happened.”

“Still, Blythe. Wouldn’t you want to see your siblings? You may have nieces or nephews, even.”

A flicker of something painful darted over Blythe’s features, forceful enough to hit her like a fist. “Any particular reason you bring this up when we’re in a public setting, conveniently just outside Myrtle Beach?” Blythe glared at her with narrow eyes.

“No. I mean, perhaps that’s why I thought of it, since we’re here. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Of course not. Bringing up the fact that I’m estranged from my family, who just happen to live minutes from here, while we’re on this shopping spree that came on just like that. Do you think I can’t see straight through your ploy, Evie?” Blythe’s voice was low and soft, but the way her words came out between clenched teeth showed what a mistake this was.

“I’m sorry. Just forget it, okay?” she pleaded. “I was only trying to help.”

“Commendable, but in this case, redundant. Just leave my past alone. It’ll make life much easier for both of us.”

“So that’s how you feel when it’s about you, huh?” Becoming angry, she placed both elbows on the table and leaned closer. “When it’s about you and yours, I’m supposed to clam up like a good little girl because I don’t understand shit, do I? You, on the other hand, take the opportunity to make that abundantly clear when it’s about me. When my well-being is on the line, you step in, and I, like some grateful fool, take that as a sign of…of caring and just as stupidly assume that you’ll see it the same way.” Dismayed at how her lips trembled, Evie pressed them hard together and stopped talking.

Blythe had paled but still had her arms folded as a shield between them. “You’re good at manipulating, aren’t you?” Blythe gasped quietly. “You turn it all around, make it about you, and try sending me on some guilt trip. It’s not working, so knock it off. We’re not talking about my parents, or my siblings, anymore. And we’re not going to look them up and seek some sort of closure. I want to go back now.” She stood and grabbed her bags. “You coming, or should I arrange for some other transportation?”

“I’m coming.” She stood, her movements jerky as she took her bags and walked toward the parking lot. She racked her brain, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Sometimes talking with Blythe was like navigating a minefield, but she refused to give up. She might not be able to convince Blythe to see her family, but they had to get to the bottom of this. If Blythe was going to react this way whenever Evie approached something she considered off topic, they’d never have a chance to…to find any kind of future.

She stopped walking, staring up at the sky. Blue and not a cloud as far as she could see. Around her, she heard traffic and distant voices from other people going to and from the shopping mall. Life, happening all around her. Her head ached a little and she became dizzy for a few seconds.

“Evie? What’s wrong?” Blythe still sounded slightly standoffish, but there was concern in her voice.

“I’m good. Okay. I’m okay.”

“You sound strange.”

“No. I mean it. I’m fine.”

“Now you’re scaring me. Let me drive, all right?” Blythe plucked the car key from her hand and she let her. If Blythe wanted to drive, so be it. God knew she drove enough on the racetrack for the most part.

She gazed up at the sky and knew she’d never forget this fantastic blue nuance or the mundane sounds of the shopping-mall parking lot. After all, this was the exact moment when she’d realized she’d fallen in love with the infuriatingly impossible Blythe Pierce.

Chapter Twenty-one

Blythe kept her distance after the drive back to the beach house. She spent the first hours on the deck, writing longhand notes in her journal. Needing space, she was grateful, and strangely heartbroken, that Evie stayed in the living room with her laptop. Evie was clearly furious. Probably hurt too, but she didn’t realize, couldn’t know just how things were. It wasn’t possible to go home.

If it had only been about her, about the way she’d suffered as a kid, then perhaps. But her brother had been hurt, and her parents had blamed her one time too many. She had thought she’d come to terms with it, put it behind her, but being here, with familiar views, scents, and even the local accent, brought everything back. Damn it. It was like the twenty-four years had vanished and she was as skinless as she was back then.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself as she nearly pierced the paper with her pen. She wasn’t that ghost of a kid anymore. A lot had happened since then, and she had been to hell and back on her assignments, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. Clearly all the things that transpired when she was eighteen were still unresolved and simmering just under the surface. She always took care of all the pain by pushing it back so hard it hid in whatever foxhole in her soul it might fit. If she shoved hard enough, it might not reappear anytime soon.

Pretending to unpack her tech purchases, she spent a few hours in the guest room, trying to muster interest in them. She looked at the gadgets and felt nothing of the happiness she’d experienced when she bought them. The void in her seemed to grow into an abyss, a crevasse of unknown depth. It wasn’t so much her past, her adolescent trauma, but the fact that she just couldn’t speak to Evie. Not being able to communicate with the woman she was meant to document was bad enough. Not being able to reach the woman she’d come to care about was even worse.

I’m not helping. I’m doing exactly the opposite. Emotional outbursts like this might damage Evie’s focus and screw up her concentration. She couldn’t live with herself if she caused another person’s injury. Especially not Evie. The hours she had spent sitting by her concussed brother’s bedside had marked her. Having to do that again, with Evie, for something she’d done, or could have avoided, would kill her.

Her heart hammering, she walked to the door and saw Evie sitting on the couch in the living room. “Evie?” she said quietly.

“Not now, Blythe, okay?” Evie kept her eyes locked on the computer screen. “I’m busy.”

“Okay. Sorry.” She tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed a quick sandwich and some instant coffee. It didn’t have any taste. Finishing it off with a glass of water to rid herself of the lump in her throat, she passed Evie, who typed fast with an intense expression. Perhaps she was chatting with one of her friends. Probably telling them about the hopeless photographer she was stuck with. Perhaps it was time to find other accommodations after all?

“I’m going to bed. Good night.” She didn’t wait for a reply but closed the door. She felt sick inside, her stomach rolling in nauseous waves. She wished she’d been able to dig for the courage she needed to talk to Evie. Her entire being seemed to be locked inside some self-induced cage. Not even her usual method of trying to picture the worst-case scenario worked. She couldn’t even imagine what Evie would say after all the disdainful words she’d thrown at her earlier.

She showered, hot water to scorch any residual pain away, but couldn’t stop trembling. She put on sweatpants and a long T-shirt that dwarfed her completely, but she didn’t care. Tugging the bedspread and blankets tightly around her, she was pretty certain sleep wouldn’t come, but at least she was warm.

*

Evie stood in the hallway and looked at the closed door to the guest room. When Blythe had said good night, she had assumed she’d still sleep in her room. Clearly she had underestimated how angry Blythe was. Or hurt. Or both. She had somehow overstepped some invisible boundary with Blythe. She hadn’t realized just how open the wound was regarding Blythe’s family. Since she had shared the embarrassing scenes with her own father and grandfather, and confided in Blythe, she’d thought it would be the same for Blythe to reciprocate that trust. Obviously a mistake.

Suddenly so tired and with a budding anger simmering, she pivoted and walked into her bedroom. Only her sheer terror of sleeping in confined quarters made her keep the door open.

After completing her evening ritual, she climbed into the bed, which seemed too big and too cold without Blythe there. She curled up in the center of it, hugging a pillow close to her stomach. Too late, she realized it was Blythe’s pillow, and the other woman’s scent surrounded her, filled her senses.

She whimpered and pressed her lips against the pillow in her arms. She inhaled greedily, wishing she could wrap her arms around Blythe instead. She wanted to tuck Blythe in under her chin, hold her tight, and just feel safe.

Instead she tugged impatiently at the covers, pulling them up almost over her head. With the darkness lit up only by the night-light, she worried about nightmares and what tomorrow would bring. No matter what, she had to clear the air with Blythe before she resumed her training. Any distractions could be fateful when you drove an average of more than 200 miles per hour.

Evie thought of how Blythe had displayed such loyalty when Mal and Harrison showed up. It cut deep that Blythe wouldn’t let her help, let her in, the same way. Sure, they hadn’t signed any agreement to share alike; that was a utopian idea anyway. Life didn’t work like that. Then again, until lately, she hadn’t thought life would bring her a person like Blythe. Was it perhaps a sign that when they were on the same page, life was wonderful, and when things went awry, it was pure hell? And if that was the case, what kind of half-assed sign was that? It didn’t tell her anything. Unless fate was just wagging its tongue at her, thumbs in its ears with fingers spread.

Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, clinging to the pillow while whispering Blythe’s name.

*

Evie sat up in bed, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it as well as feel it. She tried to judge what woke her up. The wind hit the window, but she didn’t think that was it. Then a hard bang, a resounding thunder, echoed across the water. A thunderstorm.

She drew a deep breath. Blythe. Blythe hated thunderstorms. She threw off the covers and got up. After she hurried across the floor, she opened Blythe’s door, not even thinking to knock first. She squinted into the darkened room, only lit up by the faint light from her own room across the hallway. A small figure sat huddled against the pillows, her face a pale oval in the darkness.

“Sweetie. You okay?” She sat down carefully on the bed. Grasping Blythe’s hand, she was shocked at how cold it was. “You should’ve come to me. You hate thunder.”

“I…you were mad at me, and I couldn’t bring myself to…” Blythe drew a deep breath and shuddered as another bolt of lightning lit up the room, immediately followed by a deafening thunder. “Oh!”

“I’m not mad. Not at all.” It was true, she thought as she climbed onto the bed. She scooted under the covers, needing to be close to Blythe, to help her not be afraid. “I was hurt and definitely thought you were angry. I should’ve talked to you last night, but I’m here now.”

“Thank God.” Blythe pushed her face against Evie’s neck. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did. So immature of me.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only immature one. I think we both regressed.”

“Yeah.” Blythe flinched at the next bolt of lightning. “So glad you’re here.” Her teeth actually clattered.

“I am, and I’m not going anywhere.” She rubbed her hands up and down Blythe’s back and side. “Feel me?”

“I do. I certainly do.” Blythe pressed her lips against the pulse point on her neck. “Mmm. Keep it up, please?”

She moaned. Her nipples tightened as she ran her hands along Blythe’s body, slipping them underneath her T-shirt. She had longed to do this again, to feel Blythe pressed against her and to hear the sounds Blythe made when passion gripped her.

“Mmm.” Blythe arched into her hands. “You’re like fire. Hot.”

“And you…are soft.” She pulled Blythe’s T-shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. “I want to taste you so badly.” Pressing her legs together, she tried to calm her libido, to focus on Blythe. What had started as a way to distract her was now all about pleasure.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Blythe cupped her cheeks. “Where would you like to start?”

More thunder boomed, and even though Blythe jumped, she didn’t look panicked.

“Hmm. Right here.” She pressed her lips to Blythe’s, sliding her tongue along them, parting them. She deepened the kiss, tasting Blythe’s tongue, the roof of her mouth, the inside of her lips, everything. She wasn’t disappointed. It was even better than she remembered. Soft, yielding, but oh so thirsty, Blythe returned the kisses feverishly, whimpering deliciously the whole time.

Reluctantly, she allowed her mouth to travel down Blythe’s neck, across her chest, only to latch onto her left breast. Her nipple, impossibly hard and swollen, puckered even more when she sucked it. She turned her head slightly, used her molars to chew, just enough to illicit a tiny flicker of pain. When Blythe yelped, she used her tongue to soothe and repeated the maneuvers several times before she moved on to the right nipple. When it seemed that Blythe couldn’t take much more of the attention to her breasts, she continued her journey down Blythe’s body.

“Oh. Oh!” Blythe became rigid when she nuzzled the blond curls at the apex of her thighs. “I…no. I haven’t.” She wasn’t making sense, but the tone in her voice, tinged with stress, made Evie stop and look up.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“God. I’m embarrassed.” Blythe covered her face with her hand. “I’m so turned on. I’m sure you can tell.”

“That’s all right. That’s how it should be. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Was Blythe really shy about being wet? Evie frowned. That didn’t make sense. When they’d made love the previous time, they’d both been very wet.

“No. Not that. I’m not as experienced as you…um, might be. I’ve only tried that once. It didn’t work.”

She moved up and removed Blythe’s hand from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Touching me. Going down on me. Don’t think it works.” Blythe avoided her glance.

“I’m not claiming to be an expert, but I’d like to try, as long as it doesn’t turn you off.” Smiling tenderly, she kissed the palm of Blythe’s hand, tickling it with the tip of her tongue.

“All right. Just so you know.” Blythe’s voice quivered.

“Shh. I’m focusing.” And she wasn’t joking. She was absorbed by the texture and the scent of Blythe. She nudged Blythe’s legs apart and moved in between them. Looking up at Blythe, she caressed her thighs, slowly, gently. “Let me know if you don’t like it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blythe whispered.

Thunder, more distant, but loud enough to make Blythe flinch, rolled along the horizon. Evie pushed her shoulders underneath Blythe’s thighs, kissing the soft skin on the inside of them. “Soft. So soft.” She ran her tongue over the velvety skin, and every time she reached the slick folds between Blythe’s legs, she simply moved to another spot, nuzzling, kissing, licking, and nipping. Eventually, Blythe tugged at her hair, her breath ragged.

“You’re teasing me. Just do it. Please. Please.”

“Happy to.” She spread Blythe’s folds with careful fingers. Encouraged by the amount of wetness, she began the intimate caresses, from the top where Blythe’s swollen clitoris throbbed under her tongue, to the source of the wetness, the core of Blythe’s sex. She started out very gently, but soon found that Blythe responded well to a firmer touch. She loved the taste of her lover, reveled in it as she twirled her tongue and sucked at the tender folds. She placed the tip of her index finger at Blythe’s entrance, moving it in a slow circle.

“Yes. Inside. Take me. I need you to take me.” Blythe’s voice was so hoarse now, it was barely recognizable. “Evangeline…”

“Mine.” She pushed her finger inside and the tightness pulsated around her. “Oh, God, Blythe, you’re soaked. You’re so hot.”

“Burning,” Blythe muttered.

She resumed licking Blythe’s clit, circling it as she let her finger circle inside her. Her own sex created so much wetness that it should’ve been embarrassing, but she could think of nothing but pleasuring Blythe. Blythe’s heels dug into her back and she had to hold on to her hips to not lose her grip of her. She added another finger and Blythe drew a howling breath before hyperventilating.

“Too much?” She looked up at Blythe.

“No. Good. Burning, but good. So good. So good.” Blythe undulated, rode her intrusive fingers in a flowing motion back and forth. Every time Blythe pushed toward her, she licked her clit. When Blythe made a keening, wailing sound and pressed harder onto her fingers, she decided it was time. The slick walls around her fingers were fluttering. She pressed her open mouth to Blythe’s clit and sucked it in between her lips. Flicking her tongue against it, she heard Blythe cry out.

“Oh. Yes. Evangeline. Yes. Oh. Oh!” Blythe’s muscles held her fingers in a vise, and she was so tense Evie for a frightening moment feared she might fracture her back. Then Blythe slumped backward, ending up in a gasping, sweaty pile among the pillows. Evie slowly pulled her fingers free and moved to hold her tight.

Blythe had something else in mind. “My turn,” she said huskily. “Your turn.”

“Huh?” She stared in disbelief when the deeply satiated Blythe merely rolled her onto her back and moved on top.

“You said I was yours. That goes both ways,” Blythe said, sounding intense. “Spread your legs.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Happy to oblige, she parted her legs and made room for Blythe.

“I’m no expert. In fact, I’m a total newbie at this. Just your luck.” She looked curiously at Evie’s sex. “I need some light.”

“Really?” Now Evie wondered what she’d gotten herself in to. “That’s not necessary.”

“I want to see what I’m doing, so I know that I’m not hurting you.” Blythe sounded decisive as she switched on the small bedside lamp. It could have been worse. Blythe could have opted for the large ceiling-fan lamp.

“Better,” Blythe said as she repositioned herself between Evie’s legs. She lay down on her stomach with her chin close to Evie’s pubic mound and ran her fingertips along the trimmed hair. “So neat.” She spread the folds and looked closely at the drenched area, long enough to make Evie’s cheeks go hot. They were probably red, and her chest and neck too. Blythe might not know how ready she was, how close she was to coming, but she would soon if she kept up the touching and caressing. This curious fondling was unexpectedly sexy. Naughty, in a strange way.

Blythe suddenly flattened her tongue against Evie’s clitoris and massaged it relentlessly. It was almost too much, too soon, but it was also all it took. The view of the blond, curly head moving between her legs added intensity. She whimpered Blythe’s name, over and over.

Soon, Blythe obviously realized she couldn’t tolerate any more touching of her most sensitive parts. Blythe looked up, smiling her stunning, shy smile. “Good, Evangeline?”

“Any better and I’d be dead.” She held out her arms and Blythe moved quickly up along her body and hugged her.

“Oh, God, Evie. You make me feel so good. So alive.”

“Strange. You do the same for me. Coincidence? I think not.” She pressed her lips against Blythe’s hair. “You’re one sexy woman, Blythe Pierce.”

“You’re the sexy one. I don’t know how you do that. You ooze it. You’re just so effortlessly sensual.”

“Well, I don’t see it, of course. Makes sense that I see the same in you and you don’t. You only have to look at me a certain way, and I want to rip your clothes off and throw you onto the closest surface and have my way with you.”

“The closest surface?” Blythe looked up in mock suspicion. “You better choose comfortable surfaces. I’m no teenager you can fling over the hood of a car.” She blanched and then blushed.

“What? What’s going through that head of yours?”

“Eh, nothing. Really.” Blythe covered her eyes with her hand again. “I just had this image of you throwing me facedown across the hood of your Viper.”

“Mmm. Hot. Very hot.” She tugged Blythe’s hand away from her face. “Who knows? That might just happen one of these days.”

“I can’t wait.”

She turned off the light and they settled under the covers as the storm receded. Somewhere in the house an old clock pinged softly. She inhaled Blythe’s scent, mixed with her own, and the unmistakable scent of their lovemaking. Not sure why the sounds and the smells made her feel so safe and at ease, she wiped at unexpected tears.

“Evangeline, what’s the matter?” Blythe spoke with concern, then kissed her wet eyelashes. “Do you regret it?”

“Never. Never in a million years.” She didn’t know how to explain without sounding completely silly. “I’m just happy. Happy that we’re okay together.”

“I’d say we’re more than okay. We’re like fireworks together, wouldn’t you agree?” Blythe had a smile in her voice.

“Definitely. I don’t mean to sound sappy, but for me it’s like the world has been knocked back on its axis a little. I hate it when we misunderstand each other’s intentions.”

“Oh, so do I. I don’t know why, or how, but your happiness, and your safety, have become so important to me. I know it’s happened fast. Perhaps too fast.”

“Not really. Perhaps it feels quick because you’re such a fiercely private person.”

“What do you mean?” Blythe caressed her cheek.

“We’ve known each other for over a year. Even if we weren’t physically in the same place during my recovery, we’ve thought of each other, haven’t we?”

“I thought of you a lot. Every day. I didn’t think you gave me a second thought. You had enough on your plate, working on getting better, on recovering.”

“True, but you have to understand that you were among the last faces I saw before I participated in that race. I don’t know if it was a dream or real, but I saw you when I was on some gurney or something?” She had meant to ask this question many times, but never gotten around to it.

“No. You didn’t dream it. I was there. By then I was in some sort of shock and had stopped shooting. I was in the pit with your team when they carried you to the ambulance that took you to the helicopter. You were unconscious, or so I thought, and for a moment I was afraid you were dead. I had to touch you, to feel that you were still here, still with us.”

“So it wasn’t a dream. I did see you. Were you crying?”

“I thought you’d died. When I saw the pileup and how you plowed right into that burning debris, I thought I was documenting death—again.” Blythe wiped at her face.

She held Blythe closer. “And you’ve done that enough, haven’t you? You’ve been there too many times and witnessed young lives cut short.”

“Yes.”

She wanted to ask Blythe if she was afraid of history repeating itself when they went down to the Miami Speedway, but she didn’t dare, afraid if Blythe expressed such fears they would attach themselves to her and fester. Instead, she kissed Blythe’s trembling lips and deliberately used the immense attraction between them as a distraction. Running the tip of her tongue along Blythe’s jawline, she welcomed the tremors in both of them. “You feel it too. The connection.” It really was an extraordinary sensation. All she had to do was kiss or caress Blythe and her mind switched into full-steam-ahead passion.

“I do.” Blythe gasped and wrapped a leg around hers. “It’s great.”

“Yeah, it is.” She smiled into the darkness and relaxed again. It probably wouldn’t take much to make them both go again, but for now she was content to hold Blythe and sleep. “We have tomorrow off too. Good, huh?”

“Yes.” Blythe sounded sleepy. “And I think you’re right. I should take the opportunity to check on things. With my family and so on.”

Her eyes snapped open. Had she heard right? Afraid to make the wrong assumption, she merely said, “I’m with you no matter what you choose to do.”

“Thanks.” Blythe’s breathing grew even and deeper.

She held Blythe in her arms until it was obvious that she was deeply asleep. Only then could she relax enough to drift off.

Chapter Twenty-two

Blythe gripped the wheel of Evie’s car tight, gazing at the bungalow situated in a lush garden. Memories of hiding in the far corner, where she and her younger sister had built a playhouse of plywood boards, washed over her. The house looked smaller, as did the lot.

“Imagine living so many years in the same house.” Evie held her hand on Blythe’s thigh, caressing it gently. A week had gone by since the thunderstorm, and Evie’s touch was completely addictive and something on which she had come to rely. This in itself was a dangerous train of thought, since they hadn’t discussed any type of future, but nevertheless true.

“I figured out that we moved here when I was six. We lived closer to Raleigh before then. So what does that add up to? Thirty-six years.”

“Guess they like it here.”

She checked the time on the dashboard. It was time. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the car, and she had her jaw so clenched she was afraid she’d chip her teeth.

“Just remember I’m with you. You’ll be fine. You’re not the bullied teenager anymore.”

“Thanks.” She regarded the smiling Evie with gratitude. She doubted she would’ve even contemplated doing this on her own. Not like this, out of the blue. She’d called her mother two days ago, setting up this meeting, but kept it short over the phone.

The door opened when they were halfway up the flagstone path. A diminutive woman with reddish blond hair stood in the doorway, a hand clasped over her mouth.

“Blythe?” Her mother blinked at the thick tears flooding her eyes. “Oh, God.”

“Hello, Mom.” She pushed her hands into her pockets and stopped just below the porch.

“Come inside. Please.” Samantha Murphy stepped aside to let them in.

Evie greeted her mother. “Hello, Mrs. Murphy. I’m Evie.”

“Nice to meet a friend of Blythe’s.” Samantha was equally polite, but the deep frown line between her eyebrows spoke of her curiosity. As a teenager, Blythe had seen that wrinkle go increasingly deeper.

“Blythe!” A blond whirlwind flew through the living room door. She threw her arms around Blythe’s neck and hugged her hard. “Oh, Blythe, Blythe, I didn’t even believe Mama when she said you’d be coming home. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Susie. Hello.” Words eluded her, but she returned the embrace, keeping her eyes on Evie as she hugged her little sister.

“Oh, goodness, sis, where have you been? Why did you stay away so long? How come you never called?”

“Let’s go inside and sit down,” Samantha said, sounding oddly calm. She had clearly wiped her tears and now motioned them all to step inside the living room. It faced the garden, where a pool was the biggest difference compared to twenty-four years ago.

Two men rose as the women entered. Time hadn’t been kind to her father. He looked hunched over, his thin hair sandy gray. Trevor looked impossibly young and in good shape at the age of forty-three. His shock of hair was the same color blond as it had been at nineteen.

“Blythe.” Trevor appeared as moved as Susie did.

She glanced at her father. Carl looked in control, calm. Like long-lost daughters were commonplace and nothing to fret about. “Hello, Trevor. Dad.”

“This is Blythe’s friend. Evie, wasn’t it?” Samantha said, her wide smile not entirely happy.

“That’s right. Hello, everybody.”

“What’s she doing here, Blythe?” Carl asked, looking at his oldest daughter. “This is a family affair.”

“I wanted Evie to join me. She’s a friend.”

“And we’re your family.” Carl raised his voice a little. “That used to count for something.”

“Don’t be like that, Daddy,” Susie said. “Blythe is finally home again. We’ve all missed her.”

“Have you missed us, Blythe?” Carl asked, his voice as steely as ever. “One note saying ‘I’m alive and doing well’ every Christmas is hardly detailed enough. Not once did you ask about us, did you?”

“Carl. Please. Let the girl sit down, for heaven’s sake.” Samantha gestured toward the group of couches by the window. “Please. I’ve got coffee coming. You drink coffee, Evie?”

“Yes, I do. Want me to give you a hand, Samantha?”

Blythe wanted to hold on to Evie, make her stay.

“No, no. Susie will help me with the tray, won’t you, Susie?”

“Sure, Mama.” The two women seemed quite relieved to leave the room for a bit. Blythe didn’t blame them.

Trevor sat down on one side of her and Evie on the other. Feeling ridiculously grateful for their closeness, she looked unwaveringly at her father. “You were saying, Dad?”

“You never bothered to check on us.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Only what the private investigator in Raleigh reported every other year.” Blythe felt Evie flinch and realized she’d never told her about the PI.

Carl gaped. “You paid a private eye instead of picking up the goddamn phone?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me, Dad. Not after how we parted.”

“What are you going on about?” Carl looked confused, moving his gaze to Trevor. “You have any idea?”

“I haven’t talked to Blythe since she kept vigil at my side in the ICU.” Trevor put an arm around her shoulder. “Something tells me that I’ve wronged her quite a bit, taking everyone’s word for some stuff.”

She turned to Trevor. “What?”

“When I got home from the hospital, I learned that you had stolen money and left. When we didn’t hear anything for a while, and then started getting the notes, the folks were convinced that you’d disowned us. I tried looking you up online when the Internet became commonplace, but no Blythe Murphy—at least not our Blythe.”

“I go by Blythe Pierce these days.”

“That figures.” Trevor looked unhappy. “But if I’d put some effort into it, I still could’ve found you. I didn’t. I let time go by.”

“Trevor. We’ve all done things we regret. I’m sorry you got hurt. It was me they were after and you tried to protect me.”

“Hey, you were hardly taller than an elementary schoolgirl. They broke your camera. I’ll never forget it. I was so pissed, I was ready to kill them. How you slaved with chores and after-school jobs to save for that camera. Didn’t you sleep with it next to your pillow?”

“Yeah.” She stared tearfully at her brother. She had no idea he’d even known that. “Yeah. I did.”

“And I could only look at it if she was in the room.” Susie walked in with a tray of cookies and cinnamon rolls. “Mom’s been baking since you called.”

“Looks great.” She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth. How would she be able to eat at all?

“These are beautiful. You must’ve inherited some of your talent for art from your mother.” Evie looked angelic, admiring a cookie before biting into it. “And they taste even better.”

“You work with art?” Samantha asked, sitting down at the very edge of the two-seat couch.

“I’m a photographer.” Blythe wanted to leave it at that, but naturally, that wasn’t going to be enough.

“Any decent living in that?” Carl asked.

“I do all right.”

“She just won an award.” Evie didn’t even flinch when Blythe pinched her. “The National Photojournalist Award. It’s pretty awesome. I was there for the ceremony a while back. Lots of celebrities.”

Blythe wanted to groan and push Evie’s entire cookie into her mouth to stop her from saying anything else.

“I’ve heard of that award. That’s amazing.” Susie stared at her. “They only hand that out to real big shots.”

Evie nodded. “That’s Blythe for you. Big shot.”

“Evie.” She shook her head. “Not helping.”

“So you make a living as a photojournalist. Been abroad?” Carl asked.

“Yes.”

“Overseas?”

“Yes. To most continents, Dad.”

“I think I’ve seen your work about our boys and girls in Afghanistan. Suddenly I remember. Blythe Pierce. I thought of you when I read the byline.” Susie swallowed and put her coffee cup back on the tray. “So that was really you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave because you hated us?” Susie asked, her voice barely audible.

“No. I didn’t hate anyone.” She was grateful that the couch was small enough to make her sit close to Evie. She could feel her warmth. “I was upset that Trevor was hurt because of me. That was the main reason. Also, I knew Mom and Dad blamed me, and since I was legally an adult, I knew I could leave and that way make it so much easier for the rest of you to move on.”

“What are you talking about?” Samantha stared at her. “We didn’t blame you for what happened to Trevor.”

“Yes. You did. You and Dad. You said it didn’t make sense that anything like that would happen to him. He’d been popular throughout his years in school. So was Susie. Only I was bullied. Only I was taunted and mistreated. I should’ve been the concussed one in the hospital, if everything had been fair.” She drew a deep, trembling breath. Trevor put his arm around her shoulders. Was it just her or was he trembling just as badly?

“God, Carl. Did we, you or me, say anything so horrible to her?”

“Not to me. No. I overheard you and Dad yelling at each other in here that same night, before I went to see Trevor. I felt so bad for him already, and it had taken me quite a while to calm Susie down. So, I stole a hundred and fifty dollars from Dad and took the first bus out of here. I figured that would make it a whole lot easier on all of you. Evie has persuaded me that I’ve been wrong.” She gazed at Evie, who in turn looked from one person to the next, as if daring them to contradict her.

“You paid your father back, with interest.” Samantha spoke quietly. “You thought we didn’t care, yet you wrote us once a year, letting us know you were alive, and apparently you regularly made sure we were as well. Your father and I don’t deserve any loyalty. We let you down early on. If we’d understood how bad the bullying was, we’d have acted differently. Only when it happened to little Mark did we realize.”

“Mark? Who’s Mark?” She asked as Trevor went rigid.

“My oldest son.” Trevor sighed. “It’s better now, but he was really bullied when he was about ten. He’s thirteen now and doing very well. The school actually has an anti-bullying program. Same school we went to. At least some things have changed for the better.”

She could hardly breathe. “He’s truly okay, your kid?”

“Yes. They do follow-ups every semester. The kids know this and he’s fine.”

“The boy was never as shy as you.” Carl still sounded harsh. “He was better at communicating, and he helped turn the situation around.”

“While I helped exacerbate my ‘situation,’ you mean, Dad? I was shy and tongue-tied in larger groups. Does that mean I deserved to be bullied?”

“Of course not, but if you’d opened your mouth and spoken up, things could’ve been different. We certainly did everything we could to strengthen you. Your mother tried everything from coddling you to God knows what.”

“Coddling me? I never noticed anything like that. Mom took me to one doctor after another, not to mention therapists, chiropractors, and psychologists. And all those supplements and vitamins. You, Dad, were convinced that I just needed to toughen up. I should just act the way you suggested, give the kids that bullied me your ready-made lines, and just so you know, I tried, even if I knew it would backfire. Not only did they laugh at me, they repeated those words of wisdom you’d bestowed upon me for all to hear for weeks. That’s one of the reasons I withdrew more and more from everyone. Self-preservation.”

“Why didn’t I know how bad the situation was until I got hit with a bat?” Trevor asked.

“Because as soon as you, or Susie and her gang of popular, pretty girls, were around, they were all angels. As soon as you were gone, it began again.”

“So now you’re here to say your piece? To set the record straight?” Carl sneered. “It’s not like our lives haven’t gone on without you. It’s not easy to miss one of the children, but we’ve managed to have a life anyway. You might have nourished some idea that our lives were destroyed and that you could return like a damn war hero or something—”

“Carl! Stop it!” Samantha stood, shaking a trembling fist at her husband. “You’re not speaking for me when you talk like that. You may have hardened your heart, but I’ve missed Blythe every—single—day.” She wept now and Susie rose to hug her. She knew she probably should have been the one to do that but was a long way from such closeness.

Susie turned to her. “I’ve missed you too. As has Trevor. We talk about you every now and then. If I’d known what you went through when I was old enough to understand, I would’ve given you my opinion.” She glared at her father. “As for you, Daddy, are you so ignorant, you don’t realize the bullying could have happened to any of us? Blythe was easy prey when she was little, because she was so small and shy. But kids from all walks of life are bullied all the time. How could you make her think it was her fault?”

“I didn’t say that, exactly.”

“Did you ever tell her that the other kids were wrong?” Trevor pushed his fingers through his blond mop of hair. “Did you?”

“So this is about me now? This is my fault? I’m to blame because some idiot kids picked on your sister?” Carl’s face was dark red, something else she remembered with a twitch of old fear.

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t come to cause trouble.”

“Why did you come?” Carl spat. “After twenty-some years. What brings you here now?”

“I allowed Evie to persuade me. She thinks I need closure, and I’m sure she’s right. To move on with my life and future relationships, I need to put the past to rest. I’ve carried around a lot of hurt and anger, and also a lot of guilt. Knowing now that Trevor is fine, and clearly successful, and that Susie looks healthy and happy, means a lot. Now that we’re in touch, I think we should exchange our real addresses so we can write. E-mails too, perhaps. I know Susie has kids also. I’d love to see them one day. Right now, I’ve had my fill of this emotional roller coaster. Evie and I are leaving.” She stood and Evie followed suit.

“Please, Blythe. You just got here.” Samantha took her hands.

“Mom.” She freed one hand and pulled out a business card. “Here. That’s my cell phone and work phone. E-mail and so on.”

“But—”

“Mom. Listen. I’ve got to go. We might stop by in a few weeks after we’ve all had some time to digest this. It’s a lot to take in. At least we’re in contact now, right?”

“I suppose. It’s just…I just got you back.”

“I am back. I really am. I just can’t stay any longer right now.” She turned to the others. “Trevor. Thanks. Susie, you too. Means a lot, what you said today. Dad.” She didn’t comment on anything her father had spouted. There was no need.

“Oh, God, I just realized.” Trevor stared at Evie. “You’re Evangeline Marshall.”

Helplessly, Blythe leaned against Evie and started laughing. The scene became completely surreal and she couldn’t control her joyless mirth. Wiping tears, she was grateful when Evie wrapped a supporting arm around her shoulders.

“Yes, I am,” Evie said.

“Good luck on your comeback.” Trevor looked between them, his confusion obvious. How was a poor guy supposed to feel? Happy to have his sister back. Thrilled to have a NASCAR celebrity under his parents’ roof. No wonder he looked stunned.

“Thank you,” Evie said.

She and Evie walked out onto the porch where Samantha took a tear-filled farewell of her. Her mother hugged her tight, and even if she wasn’t quite ready, she couldn’t hurt her and returned the hug, then had to do the same with her siblings. Carl stood in the doorway, and suddenly he seemed much older than only a few minutes ago. Life’s too short. She lifted her hand and gave a tiny wave, which he disregarded and instead walked back into the house.

“Let’s keep in touch, then,” she said. “Bye for now.”

Her mother and siblings stood by the gate and waved her off. Blythe sighed in relief when they sat in the car. Happy to have Evie drive, she closed her eyes. “That went well.”

“All in all not a complete catastrophe.” Evie patted her thigh. “Three out of four isn’t a bad score. I’m sorry your dad is so, um, hard-nosed.”

“That’s a good description. Remember, he is a dentist.”

“I didn’t think of that! If he treats his patients like that, he may have traumatized generations of kids in Myrtle Beach.” Evie groaned. “I’ve always hated going to the dentist.”

“As a matter of fact, he was known for having an exceptional hand with kids. He was another man at work, apparently. Gentle and understanding.”

“Isn’t that weird? I swear family dynamics can screw up even the most down-to-earth person.”

“You’re so right.”

“You did really well in there.” Evie caressed her arm. “You were strong and together, and kept your cool.”

“Really? Thank you. It helped to have you with me.”

“Good.” Evie took her hand after shifting gears. “I want to be with you as much as you’ll let me.”

She looked over at Evie and saw her kind smile and very pink cheeks. “I’m glad. I feel the same way.” Was her imagination running wild when she saw unedited happiness on Evie’s face? It ignited a glow inside that warmed her like nothing she’d ever felt. She covered Evie’s hand with hers, and when Evie turned hers and interlaced their fingers, the gesture made her feel so safe.

Chapter Twenty-three

Evie pushed the weights up from the level of her chin, up, up, up. Straight arms. Down again. Rest a little. Up, up, up. Her arms burned, but she had to keep going. If she wasn’t in her best physical shape before Daytona, she was screwed. The race would take every ounce of her strength, and if she became exhausted when she had five laps left, she might as well not enter; she wouldn’t stand a chance of winning.

Winning was everything. It was ultimately why she’d fought her way back through blood, sweat, and tears. She needed to win. Win the race, win over her father and grandfather, and now, something unexpected and more important than anything. Win the girl. Or the woman, as it were. She focused on her thoughts of Blythe and the image of the petite woman who preferred to watch the world through a lens rather than with her eyes. Still this courageous person let the whole world in without realizing it. The world could see exactly what Blythe saw through her camera because of her pictures. That was so clear, to everyone but Blythe. She knew Blythe considered herself a non-celebrity who enjoyed privacy and lived a secluded lifestyle. In certain circles, especially the news media, the photography aficionados, and news buffs, Blythe was totally famous in her own right.

Pushing the bench-press weights into their holder, she nodded her thanks to the guy that had assisted her and moved over to the cross-trainer. She plugged in her MP3 player and let the music set her pace. Noelle Laurent’s latest upbeat hit hammered in her ears, making it easier to work out. A longtime fan of the singer, Evie had been impressed with her courage when she came out last year. If she can do it, so can I.

She was nowhere near Noelle’s star status, not by a long shot. Mal had instilled shame in her all those years ago, but that shouldn’t keep her from living authentically. She had no idea about Blythe’s take on this. She didn’t know if Blythe was interested in anything lasting. Blythe didn’t strike her as a “love ’em ’n’ leave ’em” kind of woman. To the contrary, Blythe was very serious-minded.

She loved Blythe Pierce. She couldn’t imagine her life without her, and she feared she’d have to say good-bye forever when Blythe had shot all the photos she required for the book. That would shred her into tiny, miserable pieces. She couldn’t let that happen. Perhaps the first step was to come clean with how she felt?

But what if that was a mistake? What if she scared Blythe away? Then again, there had been nothing shy in the way Blythe clung to her during the night. Nor the way Blythe had caressed her entire body with her hands and her lips. She’d demanded access to every single intimate part of her, and Evie had been glad to share herself with Blythe.

Her heart pumped extra hard at the memory of the hours she’d spent with Blythe, returning her caresses, tasting every sensitive area on the slender, yet curvaceous body. Blythe was simply delicious. She smelled good, her skin was like hot velvet, and the sounds she made would drive just about anyone crazy. She was addicted to the incredible moans that emanated from Blythe, and she’d do anything to hear them over and over again.

*

Blythe sat at the dining table, her computer plugged in, and backed up her photos. She downloaded the raw format, and every now and then a particular photo would capture her attention and she scrutinized it and sometimes copied it to her folder labeled Potential Book Photos. On even rarer occasions, she copied a photo to her personal folder. She kept about twenty images there, all of them of Evie. They’d never make it into the book, since they were too personal. Eight of those pictures were from the evening Evie had posed dressed in her sheer lingerie. Her green eyes beckoned Blythe, drew her in as she looked up at her from the bed. In another shot, Blythe had been kneeling on the floor and Evie was on her back, arching toward the ceiling with her arms above her head. Since then, she had seen Evie in this exact pose while in the throes of an orgasm, calling out her name repeatedly.

She crossed her legs to silence the urgency between her thighs. The next photo showed Evie sitting on her heels and holding on to a pillow. It could’ve been a weird kind of Lolita picture, if she hadn’t seen Evie cling to a pillow in a similar way more than once. She did it while watching something scary on TV or in the night, when a nightmare hit. Evie held the pillow so innocently, like a teddy bear, and looked at her with so much emotion, she was almost afraid to try to decipher the feelings Evie expressed. She pressed a key and studied the next photo, shot from the opposite angle. Evie was still hugging the pillow, but now she looked over her shoulder with an almost startled yet sensual gaze. Her hair flowed around her face like a dark veil, and her long, dense lashes shadowed her cheeks, making her appear deceptively fragile.

“What are you working on?” Evie’s voice came from behind her, taking her by surprise.

She pivoted on the chair, the tip of her tongue stinging from where she involuntarily bit down. “You’re home.”

“Obviously. Which photos are these—oh.” Evie knelt on the floor next to her chair and viewed the photo of herself. “Please tell me you’re not considering this for the book.”

“No, that’s not for publication.”

“You could probably make a bit of money by sending it to one of those NASCAR catalogue companies.” Evie wrinkled her nose and grinned.

“I think not.” She meant to close the folder but Evie stopped her.

“Are those of me too?” She pointed at the thumbnails of the other pictures.

“Yes. They’re not for the book either.”

“Still, this one is good. Are the other ones good too? Can I see them?”

“Sure.” Her belly filled with cold dread. “They’re of you, after all.” And Evie might not appreciate that she kept them in a folder and sat ogling them on her own.

Evie browsed through the lingerie pictures slowly. A few times, her cheeks colored faintly, but she didn’t say anything. Blythe had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going well. Why else would the spontaneous woman next to her clam up like this?

“Is this how you see me?” Evie broke the silence. Her voice gave nothing away, not even annoyance.

“It’s part of how I see you.”

“I’m glad you’re not sharing this with anyone else. They’re very private.”

“I agree.” She carefully lifted her gaze to Evie, who was still looking at one of the photos. In this one, Evie lay on her side, resting her head in her hand and reaching toward the camera with the other.

“They’re for you. Everything I thought of that night, when you kept shooting, was you. How intense you looked. How free and dynamic you suddenly were. Your true personality comes out when you hold that camera. Especially the big one. Viktoria Hasselblad.” Evie finally smiled, softly and gently. “When you’re one with Viktoria, I see the Blythe that’s ready for the world to see her. I may be the motif in these pictures, but they show more of you than of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You shoot photos of me. I respond to your energy and directions, which makes them about you. What you want, what you see. You know, actions, reactions. I know exactly how I felt that night, just by looking at the photos. You made me feel safe and you turned me on. I remember laughing and nearly tearing up. A lot of emotions, all because you placed the camera between us. That’s when I knew I had to try.”

“I’m starting to sound like a parrot. Try what?” She gasped as Evie grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on the floor with her. Keeping Blythe on her lap, Evie rested against the back of the armchair.

“I had to try and see if I could coax that Blythe out of her shell even without Viktoria Hasselblad.” Evie kissed her lightly. Blythe returned the caress and then pressed her face into Evie’s neck.

“Go on.” She inhaled Evie’s scent.

“I wasn’t successful all the time. Several times, I just seemed to make matters worse, no matter how good my intentions. I had to try to convince myself that it was worth it, and that I wasn’t doing it just for me, but also for you.”

“I see.” Feeling self-conscious, she knew she hadn’t reacted very amicably on several occasions. She’d felt that Evie had overstepped the boundaries, and climbing onto her proverbial high horse was all she knew how to do at such times. “And now?”

“I see the real, courageous Blythe more and more. With the camera in place, she’s always there. Without the camera, she’s actually pushing through more often. I love when that happens, but I also find the shy Blythe, the woman who feels awkward half the time, so incredibly amazing.”

“Sweet talker.” It was ridiculous for tears to appear, but they did. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to absorb back into her tear ducts, but no such luck. Instead, one ran down her cheek, drawing attention to itself instantly.

“Don’t cry. Blythe, please. I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m just happy.”

“Oh. You are. You are?” It was almost humorous how relieved Evie sounded.

“Yes. I find it fascinating how any photo can be interpreted in so many different ways. It truly is all in the eyes of the beholder. I look at these photos and I see you. I see many of the different facets of you that I’ve learned of over the last year, especially these last weeks. I know, logically speaking, that you respond to me, the photographer, in the photos. Still, you’re so hot, so enticing and endearing at the same time, that I can’t think of who’s behind the camera. I just know that it feels like you’re looking at me.”

“Good. Since I did. Do.”

“You might feel that I had the camera between us, which is of course true, in a sense, but the real truth is, the camera allowed me to really see. It freed me. When you took the camera and set it down next to the bed, then reached for me, I was still nervous, but I had seen the truth through the lens. I saw you. And, oh God, how I wanted you. I still do.” Blythe’s voice sank to a husky whisper. “I think I always will.”

*

Evie’s breath caught and she had to clear her throat a couple of times. It was nearly unbelievable how courageous Blythe was. She could easily see how much it scared Blythe to say what she had. Her round eyes were larger than normal, she clearly held her breath, but, and this was the most crucial part, she also looked relieved and happy.

“I’m in love with you, Blythe.” This was the moment she had been waiting for. Blythe’s guard was down, at least for now.

“You—you…” Blythe took a deep breath. “I never thought it would happen to me. I love you too. So very much, Evangeline.” Shifting to straddle Evie’s legs, Blythe wrapped her arms around her neck. “I can hardly believe it. I pinch myself on a regular basis, but it’s still true. I’m still awake, and I love you.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She tugged Blythe’s hair gently, making her reveal her neck. She ran her lips up and down the side of the satin-smooth pale skin. “You’re irresistible. How can I have lucked out like this? I’m so fortunate that nobody else snatched you up a long time ago.” She licked at the pulse point on Blythe’s neck, then gently nipped her left collarbone. She pushed the cotton shirt away, struggling with the buttons. Eventually they came loose and she pushed her hands inside, cupping the full, beautiful breasts through the sports bra. “You feel so good. So damn good, Blythe.”

“Evangeline.” Blythe placed her hands on top of Evie’s, holding them firmly against herself. “I think we both know the risk of anyone snatching you up is far greater. You’re young, vibrant, famous, exciting—”

“Scarred. Inside and out.” She wasn’t filled with self-pity; she just wanted to be honest.

“Aren’t we all, one way or another? We both have issues. Dysfunctional families and issues.” Blythe cupped her cheeks. “If you scratch enough on anybody’s surface, you’ll see that they all have something under the veneer.”

“Veneer, huh?” She slid her arms around Blythe. “You explain things in such a good way. Technical, like.”

“I’ll show you technical.” Blythe unbuttoned her jeans and pulled down the zipper. Her small hand wormed its way inside, holding her.

She knew she was damp, bordering on wet, already, from fondling the woman she loved, loved, more than she’d ever loved anyone. Ever. Allowing herself to acknowledge that fact, and to tell Blythe, had put her emotions under a magnifying glass. They were now obvious and strong. It was dangerous to render yourself vulnerable by handing over your heart, but if she couldn’t do that with Blythe, she’d be cold. Frozen.

Now she reveled in the heat, the blood carrying her passion for Blythe along her nerve endings, making them erupt into flaring fire bolts. “Blythe. I love you.” She could barely speak. Her throat was constricted as the emotions became overwhelming. “God, sweetie.”

“I love you too. I never thought this possible, Evangeline.” Blythe pressed hungry kisses on her shoulders, rubbing her swollen folds through her panties. “I want you. I want all of you.”

“You have me.” She slid sideways down onto the rug. Pushing her jeans and underwear down simultaneously, she kicked them off. “Now. Take me.” She’d incinerate if Blythe didn’t go inside immediately.

“Look at me.” Blythe bent over her, her blond curls caressing her face. She positioned her fingers at Evie’s entrance and seemed to hesitate.

“Now.” She spread her legs farther, pulling them up.

“Mine.” Blythe’s fingers entered her, carefully, but with certainty. “Mine.”

“Oh, yes. Yours. Yours. Yours.” She moved her hips in sync with Blythe’s firm thrusts. When Blythe pressed the pad of her thumb against her clit, she couldn’t hold back any longer. The fire bolts around her body now all convened between her legs, exploding again, but this time in cascades that had her sobbing Blythe’s name.

Slowly, she came down to earth and rejoined her body that aligned with Blythe’s. “Whoa.”

“Very eloquently put.” Blythe kissed her cheek and grinned down at her.

“Mmm.”

“You okay? You seem a little out of it.”

“Fine.” She could actually see the remnants of the stars that had adorned the inside of her eyelids. “Mmm. Very fine.”

“You look extremely fine to me. Still, this is a bit rough. You’re a young thing. You can be on the floor for ages and not suffer, but I can’t.”

“Ha. You’re not that old. I vote we move to the bed.”

“Couch. Bed is too far away.”

“Couch it is.” She was recuperating fast now and all she could think of was to get Blythe naked. They stood, and she peeled off Blythe’s shirt and pants on the way over to it. When they tumbled down on the cushions, they were both naked. There could never be anyone as soft and sexy as Blythe. Nobody could ever feel this good or so right. She kissed along Blythe’s abdomen, paying attention to how she sounded and responded. She wanted Blythe to feel as wonderful as she’d made her feel. Eventually she plunged her tongue inside Blythe, greedy for her, loving her taste.

“Oh,” Blythe said in a long breath.

“Feel good?” She murmured the words against Blythe’s drenched folds.

“Yes.” Blythe whimpered, her inner walls clamping down on Evie’s tongue. “So good. So good, Evangeline.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Blythe adjusted her lens, felt one leg of the tripod give way, and jumped off the chair she’d been standing on. She adjusted the large tripod and made sure she’d fenced herself in so nobody ran over it. She wore her smaller camera around her neck, for photos that demanded more movement.

Over by the pit, just a short distance from where Evie had set up, the team swarmed around the Viper like enchanted bees. Evie stood to the side with Ben, dressed in her red coverall. Adorned with the logos of her sponsors, it was proof of how much money was involved and also explained some of the added pressure on Evie to succeed. Raising her point-and-shoot, she snapped a few shots of Evie from a distance. She worked quickly, catching a nice series, a true study of how Evie gestured, how her facial expression changed when she discussed something with Ben.

Blythe jumped up on the chair, so used to working around her own lack of height, and went in with the Hasselblad, happy to shoot a photo of Evie when she turned to look her way. A grin spread over Evie’s face when she found Blythe on the chair. She kept shooting, unable to keep a reciprocating smile away.

A male voice sounded increasingly excited over the loudspeakers. He recounted everyone’s stats from the previous season and kept returning to the fact that Evie was back after two years. At first, Evie flinched at the constant recount of her last race, but eventually, she seemed to be able to tune it out. Blythe was furious at the speaker-voice, wondering what moron could think it was a splendid idea to hammer the horrible events into everybody’s mind. It wasn’t just disrespectful to Evie, but to all the others who were hurt, not to mention the families of the ones who died.

Soon, and it felt too soon, it was time for the drivers to get behind the wheel. She heard a crackle in the headset she wore around her neck and donned it. She’d be able to listen in on the conversation between Evie and Ben through it, as would the TV viewers.

“Get your camera ready.” Evie raised her hand to Blythe, clearly not fazed by the chance of anyone else noticing, and jumped into the Viper, feet first through the window. The protective grid slid into place.

Blythe went completely into work mode. She did what she’d done in Afghanistan, Iraq, or Congo-Kinshasa: slipped into the skin of the woman who was all about doing the job. Her nerves, fear, and concern were locked away in the compartment of her mind that she’d deal with later. Much later.

Above, a sudden roar made the crowd go insane and the speaker-voice sounded like a squealing teenage girl. Grabbing her smaller camera, she snapped pictures of four air force F16 jets doing a flyover in formation. As they had passed, a female voice sang the national anthem. Hand on her heart, camera in the other, she kept her gaze on Evie’s Viper.

Once the anthem ended, the applause and cheers died down, and the pace car led the cars around the track, waiting for the honorary starter to wave the flag and begin the race. Soon, the escalating roar signaled that the race had started, and she used her Hasselblad to capture Evie. Having had the fifth best time at the two-lap trial, she was in a good position.

Evie advanced to third place after fifteen laps, which made the crowd yell, stomp, and applaud. The speaker almost howled the information. She shot the entire sequence, catching Evie’s first official triumph over the past frame by frame.

*

Evie grinned to herself when she passed Ollie West on the outside. She actually liked the guy, whose polite and low-key manners appealed to her more than those of the testosterone-filled God’s-gift-to-mankind fellows who sometimes dominated the sport.

Immediately after Ollie, she saw a chance, a gap between the second and third car, and took it. Her adrenaline spiked and she shifted gears for the straightaway past the main bleachers. The crowd was probably going nuts, but she couldn’t afford to consider them.

“Great, Evie. Keep that up and it’s in the can.” Ben’s voice cheered her on over the headset.

“Eye on the prize, Ben,” she muttered. “Where’s Ollie?”

“Right behind you, kiddo.”

“Gotcha.”

The next four laps were uneventful. She maintained her position, avoiding attacks from both Ollie and a few others who tried to move in. She refused to be bullied into surrendering a place on the podium. Preferably on the top of it.

She was chasing a green Ford when something happened. Suddenly the Ford tossed its rear to the left and skidded back and forth in a mad, shimmying movement.

“He blew a tire. Watch out, Evie!” Ben said in her ears.

“He’s not going to make it.” She gripped the wheel as they hit the bend. The Ford was out of control, pushed out toward the outer edge.

“Go low, Evie! Go low!”

She froze. The exact words that Ben had yelled at her two years ago made her hands freeze around the wheel. Time slowed and, in her mind, the car filled with smoke and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. There was nothing she could do. She was going to crash. Her skin would burn again and people would die.

“Go low, Evie. You’re free to push it. Evie!”

Evangeline. Blythe’s voice, the way it sounded when she woke her from one of her nightmares, echoed in the car. She snapped back into reality and realized she’d wavered for only half a second. The car wasn’t smoke-filled and the inner track was clear. Knowing that her competition behind her saw the opening too and wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, she floored the accelerator.

*

Blythe saw the green Ford swivel, slamming into the barrier at the bend. At first she couldn’t see the Viper, but she heard Ben call out Evie’s name in frustration, with no immediate reaction from her. Her heart literally stopped before it beat wildly, the pulsations mostly noticeable in her throat. Please, please, please, Evangeline.

She barely finished her thought before the audience gave such a roaring, thunderous sound, it temporarily deafened her. The red Viper shot forward, past the skidding Ford with plenty of space between them, and assumed second place after a Chevrolet.

“Yes!” She heard Evie yell triumphantly over the headset. “How’s the guy in the Ford doing, Ben?”

“He’s come to a stop. He’s all right, kiddo.”

“Thank God.”

She took a few moments to regain her composure, not having anticipated how rattled she’d become. She suddenly understood that while focusing on Evie’s nightmares, her flashbacks, she’d totally missed her own fears. The incident had been potentially serious, but no way near what happened two years ago, and yet it was damn near impossible for her to regain her work mode.

As usual, holding on to her camera, the familiar feeling of viewing the world, no matter the target, through the lens, settled her. She watched the Viper, listened to the comments back and forth between Ben and Evie, and gradually her breathing slowed. She hadn’t realized that she’d hyperventilated until her fingers stopped prickling. The fact that she stood on a chair made such things kind of important to keep tabs on. Falling down and breaking her neck, not to mention her beloved camera, wasn’t an option.

With only twenty-some laps left of the 267, she had been up and down the chair more times than she could remember. Shooting the Viper from different distances, taking pictures of the crowd and the team, and the competitors, she was starting to develop a headache. In addition to the loud sound of the engines, the fans in the bleachers and the excited speaker added their own decibels to the mess.

Would she be able to tolerate this setting for years to come? If she and Evie were going to have a future together, she’d have to come to as many of these races as possible. She’d want to, for Evie. Granted, today had been harder than it would be later, since she’d been working. In the future, she’d insist on having a very comfortable chair in the pit with the team, not climb one a million times to carry out her assignment. She made a face, wondering, not for the first time, if she’d ever get used to watching Evie risk her life for the sake of entertainment. Evie’s love of the sport and for the driving, and her competitiveness, drove her to test the limits for herself and the Viper.

But she couldn’t bear the possibility of not having Evie in her life. As soon as she’d known she loved Evie, and when she’d let her know, when they’d both confessed to loving each other, she was committed.

The last lap had the crowd billowing like a cornfield in a storm, their excitement tangible as Evie challenged the leading Chevrolet while warding off the furious attacks from the third and fourth cars behind her. When they approached the straightaway in front of the bleachers the last time, the checkered flag flying, Blythe was back on her chair, working the Hasselblad adamantly. The Chevrolet won by less than a yard but, not surprisingly, the crowd chanted Evie’s name.

After stripping the camera from the tripod, she rushed over to the pit where the team was cheering and slapping each other’s backs.

“Blythe! Can you believe it? Did you get it?” Ben rushed over, and before she had a chance to object, he hoisted her up on his shoulder with a strong grip around her hips. Had anybody told her ahead of time of his intention, she would’ve cringed, but now she couldn’t stop herself from laughing happily. Grabbing his collar with one hand, for support, she held on to her camera with the other as Ben danced a jig.

*

After rounding the track one more time, Evie drove into the pit, and before she had a chance to exit the car, hands pushed in through the opening and pulled her out. “Damn it, girl, you’re fucking amazing!” Ben hugged her and twirled her around. Soon the rest of the team had either hugged her or slapped her back enough to leave bruises. Then they parted and all she saw was Blythe. Standing there, for some reason dressed in a much-too-big team jacket, smiling like an angel with her hair fluttering in the wind, Blythe had never looked more beautiful.

Evie leaped forward and hugged her. “Did you see? Did you see that?”

“I did. I’m so proud of you. I saw. I saw.” Blythe wrapped her arms around her neck and held on. “You were fantastic. Just listen to that crowd.”

“What crowd?” She grinned. She heard them, and she appreciated that the NASCAR fans were happy, but she craved the happiness and pride in Blythe’s eyes. “You’re all I want.”

“You have me. Now go wave. Time for you to hit the podium or they’ll come looking for you.”

“You’ll be here when I come back.” It wasn’t a question.

“Try to stop me.”

“I like you in that jacket, but we’ll have to get one your size.”

Blythe snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Get going, Marshall.”

She couldn’t resist a last squeeze, then left to go face the crowd.

*

The press conference was an ordeal Evie had never much appreciated. This time, there’d be hard questions, and she’d gone over the most obvious in her mind many times. She now sat between the two guys who came in first and third, and, unexpectedly, most of the questions were directed at her.

“How did it feel to drive again, Evie?”

“Great. I love being back.”

“Did you think of the guys that died two years ago?”

“I did. I imagine we all did.” You idiot, what do you think?

“We hear there’s a book coming about your comeback. Some people think it’s not quite right to make money on this topic.”

“Is there a question there somewhere?” She frowned, but forced herself to stay calm.

“Well, what do you think?” the sports reporter said with a sneer.

“This book was already planned last year, before the crash. I’m glad I can still participate in this project. I think it’ll be a great tribute to the guys we lost, to the ones that were injured, and to motorsport as a whole.”

“And let’s not forget that Evie was among the ones with the most severe injuries.” Gary, the driver to her right who’d won, spoke with a soft, yet authoritative voice. “In my book, she’s the true winner today. If anyone thinks it was a piece of cake for her to get behind the wheel, on the very racetrack where she nearly lost her life, think again.”

After that, the questions were easier, and she could breathe. She saw Ben and Blythe just inside the doors to the left, and just wanted to join them and celebrate with the team. Eventually the press conference was over, and after signing enough autographs for the fans to put a permanent kink in her wrist, she could escape back to the RV.

Blythe, now dressed in chinos and a white polo, her hair damp, waited for her inside the door. Pouncing on her, Blythe kissed her repeatedly. “Finally. I don’t mind sharing you with the team, or even the fans, but those reporters…they make me want to bring a bat.”

“My knight. You’re so sexy when you’re protective.” She grinned. “You don’t want to hug me anymore. I need to shower. Sitting in that car for 267 laps doesn’t do much for personal hygiene.”

“Shower away. I’ve already had mine. We’re taking you to dinner once you’re done. Then I have a surprise.”

“You do?” Gratefully getting out of her sweaty clothes, she glanced over at Blythe. “What is it?”

“Ha-ha.” Blythe stuck her tongue out. “You must take me for a fool to imagine I’d fall for that.”

“No, no. You’re no fool. Be right back.” She showered with pleasure, glad that she’d gone for a fully equipped RV with all the bells and whistles. She’d bought this for the season, since staying in hotels wasn’t quite in the budget. This would be more homelike, and the bedroom area was more than enough, even with Blythe. She had pondered what to tell her team, but so far she hadn’t come up with a good story. She needed to discuss it with Blythe first anyway.

Outside the shower, Blythe waited with a bath towel and wrapped it lovingly around her.

“Wish we could stay here and just, um, hang.”

“Hang? Yes.” She loved how Blythe looked when she turned this gorgeous shade of pink. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather hang with. I look forward to hanging with you tonight. Unless your secret plans leave hanging out of it.”

“No, no. Hanging is kind of the whole base for the secret.” Blythe giggled.

She stared. Blythe rarely, if ever, giggled.

“All right. So, better get ready for the celebratory dinner. The guys must be starving.”

“Having observed their eating habits, I’d say that’s a superfluous comment.” Blythe propped her shoulder against the doorway. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll just enjoy myself while you get ready.” Her eyes devoured Evie’s body.

“See anything you like?”

“Yes. That too. Mostly, I see someone I love.”

Melting completely at Blythe’s soft tone, she had to kiss Blythe once more before getting ready. “I love you too.”

*

“This…I never would’ve guessed this.” Evie motioned to the luxurious hotel room and the scenery outside the window. “When did you arrange all this?”

“Oh, I had time.” Blythe couldn’t stop smiling. Evie had gone from curious to suspense-filled before Blythe had driven into Key Biscayne and stopped at a hotel right on the beach. She’d made reservations only a few days after they’d declared their love, knowing that Evie would either love to celebrate or might need consolation and solitude. Fortunately it was the former, and happiness for Evie’s sake bubbled in her chest.

“How long are we staying?” Evie hugged her close and then pulled her out onto the balcony overlooking the ocean. She leaned against the railing, holding Blythe in her arms, resting her cheek against her head.

“Let’s see, it’s Saturday evening. Oh, not anymore.” She checked her watch. “It’s Sunday morning. I figured we could stay until Tuesday. Ben said they were cool. They’re planning to work on the Viper.”

“Mmm. Two, well, almost three, nights with my sweetheart. Sounds perfect. Love it.”

“So do I. As I said, I can share you a little bit, but you’re mine, Evangeline. Just so you know.”

“Oh, sweetie, I do.” Evie held on tighter. “I know.”

Epilogue

“What name should I write, sir?” Blythe smiled at the older gentleman wearing a Stetson and a plaid flannel shirt.

“My name is Burt Taylor, but the book’s for my grandson here. His name’s Jack.” The grandfather proudly placed a hand on the shoulder of a teenage boy standing next to him. The kid looked like he was about thirteen and slowly turned beetroot red when she directed her attention to him.

“Jack it is, then.” She carefully opened the hardcover of her photo book, Challenges, and signed a personalized note to Jack. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“What’s Evie Marshall like, in real life?” Jack gushed.

“She’s wonderful. Just as gutsy in real life as she is as a driver. Funny, nice, and loves the NASCAR fans.”

“She’s a remarkable young woman,” the grandfather said. “Just think, she’s got pole position today.”

“She sure does.” She was torn between being proud of Evie and dealing with the fact that the wolves would be on her tail from the first second.

“Say hi to her if you get a chance, please.” Jack, sounding more confident now, accepted his book. “Thanks, Grandpa. Ms. Pierce.”

“Have fun today, Jack. Mr. Taylor.”

She hadn’t expected the interest in their book to be so overwhelming, and now she was glad her publisher had insisted on shipping so many copies. Her agent was present, as was her new assistant, Abigail. Normally Abigail worked out of New York, taking care of everything from the office, but Blythe had listened to her publisher and brought her to Homestead-Miami Speedway.

She glanced up at the next in line and blinked at the small crowd that stepped closer. Recognizing Susie and Trevor, she gripped the black Sharpie tight, her hand trembling. They’d communicated via e-mail regularly since her visit in Myrtle Beach, but hadn’t spoken about getting together.

“Hello, Blythe,” Trevor said, smiling carefully. “Can you sign this for my wife, Marilyn, and me, please?” He held out a copy of her book.

“Sure.” A thousand questions jumbled in her head. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Abigail. We told her we wanted to surprise you.” Susie’s eyes pleaded with her. “Hope that it’s okay. We’re all fans of Evie too.”

“Sure,” she said again.

“Please sign for me and Bobby, my husband?” Another copy of her book landed before her.

“My pleasure.” She studied her siblings and then remembered her manners. “Hello, Marilyn. Bobby. Nice to meet you.”

“And these are our kids. The boys are mine. The girls are Susie’s.” Trevor looked so relieved it was almost amusing. “We won’t hold up the line by introducing all of them by name right now. Perhaps we can say hello after the race? Here’s my cell number.” He handed her a business card. “Later?”

“Later. Have fun.”

“You too.” Her brother and sister looked so happy she could hardly swallow. She glanced back at Abigail. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help. You have about half an hour before you need to head over to the pit,” Abigail murmured discreetly. “Good thing you pre-signed a whole box of books. At least the last ones in line will get a signed copy if you have to leave before you get to them.”

“You’re worth every penny I pay you, Abigail.” She grinned, feeling even more buoyant, and kept signing, hoping to finish as many as possible. No way would she miss Evie’s start at the last race of the season. If Evie won this, she’d end up in second place overall, which was an amazing achievement by any standard.

“Time, Blythe.”

She saw five more in line for the book signing. “All right, everybody,” she said, raising her voice. “Please give me your names really quickly, because I need to go in two minutes. I’d love to personalize the autograph if possible.”

The five people looked grateful and impressed, and hurried forward. In less than the two minutes, she had written five names and her own in the books, thanked the people for their patience, handed over everything into Abigail’s capable hands, and dashed toward the pit area. She barely made it before the flyover by the air force, but the unexpected visit by her siblings elevated her enough to almost give her wings.

“Hi, Ben, how’s she doing?” She pulled on her team jacket and joined Ben, who handed her a headset.

“She’s nervous, but ready. Wait, let me tell her.” He pressed a button. “Hey, kiddo. Your personal photographer is here.” He turned back to her. “She wants to know how the signing went.”

“Tell her I have three books left.”

“Whoa.” Ben relayed the message and then grimaced. “God, she’s squealing. Geez. My hearing will never be the same.”

She grinned. “You have a tough life.”

“Talk about stating the obvious.” Ben shook his head, trying to conceal a grin.

The pace car started on the first lap, and she reached for her camera and tripod, readying herself for the moment when the starter would wave the green flag. She had watched the Viper shoot like a red bullet so many times now, but it never got old. Nor was she ever any less nervous, despite her confidence in Evie’s skills and gift as a driver. She had traveled all over the U.S. with Evie, and doing so, she was formulating a new book. Its provisional name was Faces of America, but the team had renamed it Faces at the Races, which had made her chuckle. Her publisher actually liked it, and they also liked the concept. She didn’t hide the fact that she was mostly happy about being able to carry out this assignment while being with Evie. She hated being apart, even for a few nights.

“And they’re on their way!” The speaker’s voice broke her reverie and she pressed the release continuously. She had her camera aimed perfectly, ready to capture the start, and she was free to watch Evie. She couldn’t say when it happened, but when it came to Evie, she preferred to watch the woman she loved with her own eyes instead of through the lens of her camera.

About the Author

Gun Brooke resides in the countryside in Sweden with her very patient family. A retired neonatal intensive care nurse, she now writes full-time, only rarely taking a break to create websites for herself or others and to do computer graphics. Gun writes both romance and sci-fi.

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

Speed Demons by Gun Brooke. When NASCAR star Evangeline Marshall returns to the race track after a close brush with death, will famous photographer Blythe Pierce document her triumph and reciprocate her love—or will they succumb to their respective demons and fail? (978-1-60282-678-6)

Summoning Shadows: A Rosso Lussuria Vampire Novel by Winter Pennington. The Rosso Lussuria vampires face enemies both old and new and to prevail they must call on even more strange alliances, unite as a clan, and draw on every weapon within their reach—but with a clan of vampires, that’s easier said than done. (978-1-60282-679-3)

Sometime Yesterday by Yvonne Heidt. When Natalie Chambers learns her Victorian house is haunted by a pair of lovers and a Dark Man, can she and her lover Van Easton solve the mystery that will set the ghosts free and banish the evil presence in the house? Or will they have to run to survive as well? (978-1-60282-680-9)

Into the Flames by Mel Bossa. In order to save one of his patients, psychiatrist Dr. Jamie Scarborough will have to confront his own monsters—including those he unknowingly helped create. (978-1-60282-681-6)

OMGqueer edited by Radclyffe and Katherine E. Lynch, PhD. Through stories imagined and told by youth across America, this anthology provides a snapshot of queerness at the dawn of the new millennium. (978-1-60282-682-3)

Coming Attractions: Author’s Edition by Bobbi Marolt. For Helen Townsend, chasing turns to caring, and caring turns to loving, but will love take five steps back and turn to leaving? (978-1-60282-732-5)

Oath of Honor by Radclyffe. A First Responders novel. First do no harm…First Physician of the United States Wes Masters discovers that being the president’s doctor demands more than brains and personal sacrifice—especially when politics is the order of the day. (978-1-60282-671-7)

A Question of Ghosts by Cate Culpepper. Becca Healy hopes Dr. Joanne Call can help her learn if her mother really committed suicide—but she’s not sure she can handle her mother’s ghost, a decades-old mystery, and lusting after the difficult Dr. Call without some serious chocolate consumption. (978-1-60282-672-4)

The Night Off by Meghan O’Brien. When Emily Parker pays for a taboo role-playing fantasy encounter from the Xtreme Encounters escort agency, she expects to surrender control—but never imagines losing her heart to dangerous butch Nat Swayne. (978-1-60282-673-1)

Sara by Greg Herren. A mysterious and beautiful new student at Southern Heights High School stirs things up when students start dying. (978-1-60282-674-8)

Fontana by Joshua Martino. Fame, obsession, and vengeance collide in a novel that asks: What if America’s greatest hero was gay? (978-1-60282-675-5)

Lemon Reef by Robin Silverman. What would you risk for the memory of your first love? When Jenna Ross learns her high school love Del Soto died on Lemon Reef, she refuses to accept the medical examiner’s report of a death from natural causes and risks everything to find the truth. (978-1-60282-676-2)

The Dirty Diner: Gay Erotica on the Menu, edited by Jerry L. Wheeler. Gay erotica set in restaurants, featuring food, sex, and men—could you really ask for anything more? (978-1-60282-677-9)

Sweat: Gay Jock Erotica by Todd Gregory. Sizzling tales of smoking hot sex with the athletic studs everyone fantasizes about. (978-1-60282-669-4)

The Marrying Kind by Ken O’Neill. Just when successful wedding planner Adam More decides to protest inequality by quitting the business and boycotting marriage entirely, his only sibling announces her engagement. (978-1-60282-670-0)

Missing by P.J. Trebelhorn. FBI agent Olivia Andrews knows exactly what she wants out of life, but then she’s forced to rethink everything when she meets fellow agent Sophie Kane while investigating a child abduction. (978-1-60282-668-7)

Touch Me Gently by D. Jackson Leigh. Secrets have always meant heartbreak and banishment to Salem Lacey—until she meets the beautiful and mysterious Knox Bolander and learns some secrets are necessary. (978-1-60282-667-0)

Slingshot by Carsen Taite. Bounty hunter Luca Bennett takes on a seemingly simple job for defense attorney Ronnie Moreno, but the job quickly turns complicated and dangerous, as does her attraction to the elusive Ronnie Moreno. (978-1-60282-666-3)

Dark Wings Descending by Lesley Davis. What if the demons you face in life are real? Chicago detective Rafe Douglas is about to find out. (978-1-60282-660-1)

sunfall by Nell Stark and Trinity Tam. The final installment of the everafter series. Valentine Darrow and Alexa Newland work to rebuild their relationship even as they find themselves at the heart of the struggle that will determine a new world order for vampires and wereshifters. (978-1-60282-661-8)

Mission of Desire by Terri Richards. Nicole Kennedy finds herself in Africa at the center of an international conspiracy and is rescued by the beautiful but arrogant government agent Kira Anthony—but can Nicole trust Kira, or is she blinded by desire? (978-1-60282-662-5)

Boys of Summer, edited by Steve Berman. Stories of young love and adventure, when the sky’s ceiling is a bright blue marvel, when another boy’s laughter at the beach can distract from dull summer jobs. (978-1-60282-663-2)

The Locket and the Flintlock by Rebecca S. Buck. When Regency gentlewoman Lucia Foxe is robbed on the highway, will the masked outlaw who stole Lucia’s precious locket also claim her heart? (978-1- 60282-664-9)

Calendar Boys by Logan Zachary. A man a month will keep you excited year-round. (978-1-60282-665-6)

Table of Contents

Synopsis

By the Author

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Epilogue

About the Author

Books Available From Bold Strokes Books