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Her shoulders dropped. “I didn’t know your mother but given the fact that she raised you for half of your life, she is a saint as far as I’m concerned.”
“Sweetheart, I pay you to design a restaurant, not psychoanalyze me.”
“You’re right.” She put down her crayon and pushed the paper across the table away from her. “I have no right to lecture or criticize.” Yet the look of disgust was still on her face.
He stood, his arms crossed over his chest. She might not have the right to lecture but as the man who hired her to do a job, he deserved to know why she showed up at the track the other night.
He stalked forward, getting closer to the sexy woman that had a raging effect on his l
ibido. When his leg hit the edge of the table, he asked, “Are you going to tell me why you know all about this racing world?”
He waited a beat, but she still didn’t answer.
Reaching forward, he ran one of her silky locks through his finger, then leaned forward until his lips hovered by her ear. “I bet Mommy and Daddy didn’t approve of their precious angel involved in something so seedy.”
She jerked away and shot him an evil look. He’d obviously hit a soft spot. And with the way her father acted earlier that day, he knew without a doubt, disappointment was high on her list of concerns.
“Why were you at the race last night?”
She sighed and slid out of the chair. She turned her back to him and headed down the four levels of the restaurant to the panoramic window that overlooked the pond. The trickle of the water wheel could even be heard inside the restaurant.
She wrapped her arms around her body. He had to admit, watching her from behind was one of his favorite things to do. The tight black pants she wore accentuated her even tighter bottom.
Her head turned slightly as she finally spoke. “I noticed the red clay mud on your bike’s tires last week.”
“But how did you know where the mud came from?”
She faced him. “Let’s just say ten years ago Diaz and I were friends. I spent a lot of time at those tracks.”
Neil stepped back. Carson Kelly, illegal street racetress.
“You raced?”
She nodded.
His mind reeled with her confession and for a moment, shock replaced desire. “But you gave it up. Why?”
Neil walked a little closer. Still giving her some space, knowing that this conversation had just taken a serious turn.
She hugged her body tightly. “I found my path. I wanted to be an architect.”
“Are you sure it’s your path?”
She dropped her arms, fisted her hands at her side, and glared. Neil could practically feel the daggers shooting from her eyes. “Why do you have to be so annoying? Can’t you just have a normal conversation without calling people out?”
She obviously had no idea how glorious she looked, angry in the moonlight. He chuckled. “Usually, but something about you just makes me want to spar.”
He didn’t know if it was her privileges, or that she had a better bike, or maybe it was the fact that he would really like to strip her down and see how mouthy she got when his mouth was on her—
“I’m following my own path.”
“So the love of buildings put you on the straight and narrow?”
She nodded and walked over to stand in front of him, enveloping him in her sweet fragrance. “I know what’s going on in that head of yours. The buzz that takes over your body. The sounds of engines that occupy your mind. I know exactly what it’s like to let that darkness take over.”
He scoffed. “What do you know about darkness?”
“I know because I turned to the same thing when my mother died.”
