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After standing slowly, keeping a firm grip on the railing, she walked down the stairs. She wanted a drink. This day hadn’t turned out like she’d planned, and now she was losing her nerve. The only reason she was okay with going to the dining room was because Dalton Hughes always stayed late at the track after the first day of practice. He went over all the data from every car, from every session. He wouldn’t be back to the hotel until much later. She should have enough time to eat dinner and disappear back into her room.
She went through the courtyard to the other building and into the dining room. A rustic bar lined the wall to the right. Technically, the restaurant didn’t open until seven-thirty and they had no expectation to turn the table which had taken a lot of getting used to. On the one hand, it was lovely because there was no rush, but it was painful on the other hand because there was no rush.
She went over to the bar and claimed a barstool. Maybe she could just eat here. That would save her a lot of hassle. The bartender smiled at her. “Guten abend.”
“Hello,” she responded.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked, immediately switching to English.
“I’d love a glass of…” She paused. What she really wanted was a shot of bourbon. The whole encounter on the stairs was fresh in her brain, and her hands were still shaking, not to mention the next few days were going to be hard. But God only knew who could be lurking. The racing world was not that big, and if she drank too much or got tipsy, it would no doubt get around in no time, and her father would call her. Yeah, no. She just didn’t need that in her life. “Wine,” she finished. “Maybe a nice red. Something dry-ish.”
He nodded and reached for a wine glass as he moved away to pour her drink.
She checked her phone. Still no response from her boss. She’d asked him for an update. He had connections with the national police force in Austria, so she’d been hoping he might get some details.
Someone leaned on the bar a few stools away. “Can I have an Erdinger, bitte?
Her stomach knotted. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Dalton Hughes. She glanced in his direction, but he was busy studying his phone screen.
Anyone who saw Dalton Hughes never forgot him. He was over six feet of hot sexiness with a bit of a wild reputation. A tall, dark, dangerously sexy man who drove race cars for a living, adding to the bad boy appeal. He was walking catnip to most women, her included…in her younger days.
As soon as the bartender placed her wine in front of her, she took a large gulp. This was not how this meeting was supposed to happen, but there was no way around it now. She braced herself.
“I can hear your teeth grinding from here. You must have had a day like mine,” Dalton said while still staring at his phone. His voice rumbled out of his chest just as she remembered it. He put his phone down on the bar and looked in her direction. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. His eyes were wide, but his mouth was a narrow, hard line.
She swallowed. Butterflies. Jesus, she was no longer the young kid she’d been when she’d first met him, and yet she still had goosebumps. “It’s nice to see you, Dalton. You look good.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he ground out, glaring at her.
Her heart skipped. “I’m here to see you.”
“Me? Why, after all this time, do you want to see me suddenly? Are you racing in the European Cup?” His eyes narrowed. “Whose team? I thought you’d given up racing. I believe ‘I’m quitting, Dalton,’ were your exact words.”
“I’m not here to race,” she murmured. This was not going how she’d planned. Not at all. He was still angry. Heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded again. “Are you scouting for someone? Who are you working for?” He glared at her, crossing his arms over his chest.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. So not the way this was supposed to happen. She opened her eyes. “No, I’m here on business. We need to talk.”
But when she looked into his steel-gray gaze, all the words flew out of her head. He was so much…more in person than she remembered. She’d done her absolute best to forget him, to block him from her mind, but she couldn’t forget those eyes or the fun they’d had. She’d fantasized about him a lot before finally managing to banish him from her thoughts.
But now, standing here, the memories were impossible to ignore. Black hair curling over his forehead, a gaze that could turn a woman to stone, and a body that could make any woman swoon. He was still the poster child for the stereotypical “bad boy” racing driver. Her heart gave an extra thump.
He leaned forward until he was inches from her. “Whatever it is, I’m not fucking interested. Stay the hell out of my way,” he growled.
“Dalton,” a voice called. He turned to look over his shoulder at a man who’d entered the dining room.
“Mario?”
“It’s your brother.” He held up a cell phone.
Dalton finished his drink in a couple of gulps and slammed the empty glass down on the bar before stalking out.
All the air rushed out of her lungs. She’d let him get to her. Again. Stupid. She was a grown woman. How could just sitting next to him reduce her to such a mess? Too many memories and not many of them bad. Her hand shook as she picked up her wine glass. There was nowhere to go from here but up.
Twenty minutes later, she’d finished her wine and chose a table in the corner of the room. She pulled her laptop from her bag and set it on the table. She would study some of the other racers at Red Bull Ring and see if she could glean something that might help her investigation.
“Guten abend. Was möchten sie trinken?
