Girl Racers

by Janet Gover

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

Nobody wants to be a loser in love . . . Alex Reilly must choose between winning the race and winning the man in Janet Gover's fabulous and fast-paced romance Girl Racer. The perfect read for fans of Holly Martin and Lindsey Kelk. Tomboy lawyer Alex Reilly loves nothing better than coming first - except her sexy red Lotus sports car. Preparing for the gruelling Snowy Mountains Car Rally, Alex isn't expecting competition in the form of glamorous model Lyn Stanton. Lyn is everything Alex is not: blonde, gorgeous and girlie - and she's also navigating the race for Keir Thomas, the man who left town and broke Alex's heart eleven years ago. When the three are unexpectedly thrown together, Alex realises she must find a way to trust Keir again to have any chance of crossing the finish line first. Will they be able to confront their troubled past and rediscover not only their shared passion for cars, but each other?

Release date: December 6, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 308

Sample

Alex lay on her back and wondered just how easy it would be to kill a man with a spanner.

‘Hey! Come on. Are you asleep or something?’ The owner of the voice prodded her leg with his toe.

She was definitely going to have to kill him. It shouldn’t be that difficult. She looked at the heavy tool in her hand. Hit him hard enough in the right place …

‘Look, mate. I haven’t got all day.’

Alex sighed and placed the spanner on the ground. Taking her weight on her elbows, she wriggled out from under the car and got to her feet. This was the moment when she should have shaken out her long blond hair to cascade in slow motion around her beautiful face; then stretched her shoulders to show off her spectacular bosom. The surprise on the man’s face would turn to shock with a touch of lust. The problem was … her hair wasn’t blond. It was a particularly bright shade of copper better known as orange, and it only just touched her shoulders. No one had ever called her breasts spectacular, and lust was not an expression she was used to seeing on men’s faces; certainly not when she was wearing dark blue grease-stained overalls.

She simply raised one eyebrow. ‘Were you talking to me … mate?’ she said, slowly and deliberately.

The harassed official shook his head in disgust.

‘Damn, I have to speak to the driver. Alex Reilly. Is he about?’

It happened so often, she really couldn’t be bothered getting annoyed any more.

‘I’m Alex Reilly,’ she said.

The official’s face duly registered an appropriate amount of surprise. He looked from her face to the papers in his hand, then shrugged.

‘Okay. You need to have the car ready for scrutineering by nine thirty tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow morning?’ It was Alex’s turn to be surprised. ‘I thought I had until late afternoon.’

‘We’re starting early. If there’s a problem, talk to the chief steward.’ He thrust some papers at her and turned away, looking for his next victim.

Alex flicked through the forms. The organisers of this rally were not all that organised. That wasn’t surprising. Everything was difficult the first time, and as the banner in the distance proclaimed, this was the inaugural Snowy Mountains Classic Race. She should expect a certain amount of confusion. She would just ignore it, get past it and win. Because that was what it was all about … winning. And if she had to have the car ready a day early, she would.

Alex ran her eyes over her car. It was beautiful. A symphony in red paint and gleaming chrome. An expert would recognise it as a 1967 Lotus Elan 26 R – one of the finest factory race cars ever built. That same expert would know that only forty-five of them had ever been made, and that Alex’s gleaming machine was worth a considerable sum of money.

Anyone who wasn’t an expert would simply see a low, sleek and very, very sexy red sports car.

Alex loved her car. She enjoyed the powerful throb of the engine and the rich smell of the leather seats. She adored the graceful curve of the bonnet and the taut resistance in the gear lever. But most of all, she simply loved the way the car made her feel when she drove hard and fast, with the top down and the wind in her hair.

She pulled a rag from the back pocket of her overalls and wiped her hands. Racing her lovely little car meant conforming to the rules and regulations, something she wasn’t always good at. She glanced at her watch. She had to present the Lotus for inspection in less than fifteen hours. And there was still more work to do. All around her, other drivers and mechanics were carrying out similar last-minute preparations. There was some tough competition ahead of her. On either side of her were two Porsche Carreras. Behind her, a couple of very nice Alfa Romeos. She had seen at least one Ferrari and there was even an Aston Martin DB5 – the classic James Bond car. Alex guessed that every one of the other drivers had spotted her car. Even in this company, the Lotus was something special. Some of them might also have spotted her. And written her off. The race was five days and thirteen hundred kilometres of pretty wild country. This was a man’s world, and no woman was going to win. At least, that was what the men thought. Alex was going to do her best to prove them wrong.

But before she could do that, she had to finish getting the car ready. She did most of the mechanics herself. There were very few people in the world she trusted, and even fewer she was willing to let near her most prized possession. But she couldn’t do this alone. She did need a support team. Well, not exactly a team. There was just Mick, the mechanic. Alex had bumped into him, almost literally, three years ago, as they both looked under the bonnet of another Lotus at a car show. Their shared love of rare cars had turned into friendship, and he was the only person she allowed to work on the Lotus. His girlfriend Sarah, another car nut, was Alex’s navigator. Their share of the prize money would help them finance their car restoration business and they wanted to win as badly as Alex did. Well, almost as badly. Alex hadn’t seen either of them in the past hour. But if she was going to be ready for scrutineering tomorrow, she was going to need Mick’s help. She slid her toolbox out of sight under the Lotus, locked the car door and set off in search of her errant mechanic.

The rally headquarters had been set up in the Canberra showgrounds, where there was ample room for cars and drivers, mechanics, officials, reporters, caterers and all the confusion of a major motoring event. The cars were parked in rows, according to their classification in the race, and most were receiving the full attention of their drivers and support crews. All the other competitors seemed to know each other, but Alex met nothing more than polite and distant nods. She wasn’t a regular competitor. In fact this was her first race, but she was ready for it.

When she wasn’t lying under the Lotus, Alex was a lawyer. She never walked into a courtroom unprepared. Each case required exhaustive research, which she did herself, trusting no one to do the job as well as she could. A car race was no less cut-throat than a courtroom, and Alex was equally in control here. She had checked and double-checked every detail herself. She’d learned long ago never to rely on anyone else. It was her race. Her responsibility. Her fault if anything went wrong and her victory if she won.

She finally spotted Mick hovering near the food area. His acne-scarred face was creased with concern.

‘Mick!’

He jumped as if bitten. Mick was only twenty-one, but he was a pretty steady character, not given to nervousness. Something was bothering him.

‘Oh. Hi, Alex,’ he said.

‘Where’s Sarah?’

He waved a hand in the direction of the ladies’ bathroom. ‘She’s still feeling sick.’

‘God. I hope she’s not coming down with something,’ Alex said. Sarah had been ill that morning as well.

‘Me too.’ Mick looked worried.

‘Well, here’s some real bad news,’ Alex said. ‘We have to be ready for scrutineering early tomorrow morning.’

‘Shit!’

Alex raised an eyebrow. The vehement exclamation was not characteristic of her mild-mannered friend.

‘They moved the inspection forward?’ Mick asked.

‘Yes. I’ve fixed that exhaust bracket, but I want to have another look at the brakes.’

Mick didn’t answer. His eyes were on Sarah, who had just emerged from the bathroom. In a flash he was at her side.

‘Are you all right?’ Alex asked. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I … I think I should go to the doctor,’ Sarah said hesitantly.

She certainly looked like she needed a doctor. Her face was very pale and her hands were shaking. Alex fought down her exasperation. Sarah wasn’t being ill on purpose, but she certainly could have picked a better time.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘Mick and I will work on the car.’

‘I’ll come with you, Sarah,’ Mick said. ‘You don’t look like you should go on your own.’

Alex opened her mouth to protest that she needed Mick. But then she looked at Sarah again. The girl’s brown eyes were bright with tears. Mick was right. Alex could take care of the car. She needed to be certain her navigator was going to be all right.

‘Go, both of you,’ she said. ‘Let me know what the doctor says.’

They left, Mick putting a protective arm around Sarah’s shoulders as he led her through the crowd. Alex felt a fleeting pang. No one did that for her. Of course, she told herself, she didn’t need anyone to look after her. She had always looked after herself.

The enticing smell of coffee wafted past her, and she set out in search of some caffeine before she had to get back under the Lotus. She had just procured a large cup when she noticed a media gaggle among the car lines. Intrigued, she walked over.

The woman at the centre of the spotlight was tall and blonde and beautiful. Like Alex, she was wearing blue overalls, but hers seemed to have been designer-made. They fitted like a couture gown, outlining her slender body. Among the grease-stained mechanics and rumpled drivers, she stood out like a thoroughbred among carthorses. Alex had a feeling this woman would look amazing whatever she wore. Something about her was vaguely familiar.

‘Lyn! Look this way,’ a photographer called.

Lyn? Alex suddenly understood the media interest. The woman was Lyn Stanton, supermodel. No wonder she looked familiar. Alex must have seen her face in dozens of magazines and television ads. In the flesh, she was just as stunning as in her photos. Alex felt her hackles rising. Lyn Stanton was everything Alex was not. It wasn’t just that she was tall and blonde and beautiful; she was also perfectly made up. Not one of those long blond hairs was out of place. Somehow, in what was effectively a huge garage, she was completely clean. From the tips of her bright red fingernails to the toes of her immaculate black boots, not so much as a smear of grease marred her perfection. She looked like she had just stepped off a catwalk.

By contrast, Alex looked, and felt, like a grease monkey.

Alex almost snorted. Looking like Lyn Stanton was all well and good, but she would bet good money the girl couldn’t even change a tyre, much less tune an engine. Not that she would ever have to. When you were paid the sort of money Lyn got just to walk around looking good, you hired someone else to do the mucky bits. Someone else to do everything … including the thinking, Alex added grumpily to herself. Lyn was the classic blonde bimbo. She probably had an IQ in single digits. And now she was holding centre stage – as she no doubt always did. Not that Alex cared. She had no great love for reporters. She certainly didn’t want them bothering her. But she had expected to be the only female driver in the race …

‘Lyn, can you get on the bonnet?’ one of the photographers shouted.

Lyn obliged, draping her long limbs across the gleaming paintwork of a Ferrari Dino, while camera flashes exploded around her. She moved gracefully from one pose to another. Alex frowned. That was no way to treat a car. Certainly not a Ferrari. A car like that deserved respect.

‘Where’s your lucky driver?’ a reporter yelled.

So that was it, Alex smiled grimly. The supermodel wasn’t driving. She was a navigator. It was probably just some sort of publicity stunt. Still, a navigator’s job was demanding. They had to think fast and react fast. To win a tough race, even the best driver needed a good navigator. Alex certainly wouldn’t want someone like Lyn Stanton sitting beside her.

‘Oh, he’s around here somewhere.’ Lyn’s voice was unexpected. Low and soft. Alex had expected something more … girlie.

‘How do you think the two of you will do in the race?’

‘We’ll be great,’ the model smiled. ‘He’ll just have to get used to handling a different kind of horsepower.’

The reporters laughed. Alex guessed it was a joke that she didn’t understand.

‘So, when are we going to meet him?’ another reporter said. ‘Maybe he got lost without you to give him directions.’

‘I don’t get lost that easily.’ The deep male voice came from just behind Alex.

She froze. Her breath caught in her throat and her gut clenched.

No! Please God. No.

She felt movement in the crowd. The reporters and cameramen were all turning towards her. No – they were looking at the man who was standing just behind her.

It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Please.

‘Excuse me.’

He was so close; she felt his breath on her skin as he spoke – as she had done so many times before. His voice was deeper and richer, but unmistakable.

Keeping her head averted and her eyes on the ground, Alex took a step sideways. She felt him next to her – not a memory this time, but tall and solid. He began to move past, then something made him stop. She could see his boots as he turned towards her.

The world around them shrank to just two people. The hubbub of noise faded and everything dimmed. Knowing the whole world was about to change, Alex slowly raised her eyes and turned her head.

Deep brown eyes met hers and the coffee cup slipped from her frozen fingers.

In the gentle darkness of the night, Alex ran her hands lovingly around the gleaming steering wheel. Like any kid brought up in the outback, she’d been driving farm vehicles since her legs were long enough to reach the accelerator. The big Jaguar was something entirely different. She could hear the subdued purring of the powerful engine as it waited her touch to roar into life. The rich scent of fine leather filled her nostrils, and her heart pounded with the excitement of doing something forbidden.

She had stopped the Jag just inside the wide gateway that marked the border of her father’s empire. This side of the gate, she was Alexandra Reilly. The boss’s daughter, a princess and untouchable. On the other side of the gate, she would be just a sixteen-year-old school kid joyriding in her father’s car. Unlicensed. Illegal. And in real trouble if she was caught.

But she wouldn’t be caught. Her father had been called away on another business trip. Her mother was on one of her regular shopping expeditions to the city, and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. None of the staff at the big house would rat on her. There was more danger of being spotted by one of the ‘plant workers’, as her mother called the employees at the abattoir, or by one of the stockmen who worked at the huge cattle feed lot. But it was dark now. The feed lot and the meat-packing plant had closed for the day. The workers had all gone home long ago. She wasn’t going to get caught.

She pressed gently on the accelerator. The engine responded instantly, the soft purr turned to a low throaty growl and the wheel under her hands began to vibrate gently with suppressed power. Alex closed her eyes. God, how she loved this car! It was beauty. It was speed and power. It was escape. She pressed the clutch to the floor, and reached out for the gear shift. Even with her eyes shut, her hand found its way unerringly to the right place. Her fingers closed around the lever, and she slid it easily into first gear. All she need do now was drop the clutch, and all that power would be unleashed and at her command. She opened her eyes.

He was standing about a metre in front of the car, watching her.

‘What …?’

Alex threw the gear shift into neutral and lifted her foot from the accelerator. The engine noise dropped instantly. She gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands. She had been so close to … Another second and the car would have leaped forward right over the top of him.

He was still standing in front of the car, as if the danger had never even occurred to him.

She had never seen him before. He must be one of her father’s stockmen. He was young, but he had the look of a man who worked hard for his living, and spent a lot of time on horseback. His jeans were faded to a pale blue, and fitted him like a second skin. So too did the T-shirt. He was lean and fit and held himself with an easy, almost graceful assurance. He couldn’t be more than a year older than her. A wide-brimmed hat was tipped back to reveal a slight smile on his lips. He was looking through the windscreen straight at her. He wasn’t handsome. His face was too strong, too rough for that. But something about him made her heart pound. Or maybe it was just the realisation that she could have killed him.

After an eternity, his eyes moved away from her, taking in the lines of the Jaguar. A slow step brought him right to the front of the car. He reached out his hand, but didn’t touch the metal. He moved slowly towards the driver’s door, his fingers a breath away from brushing the object of his attention. He caressed the gleaming dark blue paint without touching it. He worshipped it without leaving a flaw on its perfection.

Alex watched his hand, mesmerised as it moved closer to her up the long, elegant slope of the bonnet. It was a strong hand for one so young. The skin had been burned a deep brown by the sun. She knew his palm would bear the calluses of many hours of hard work. The long fingers would be firm and strong.

He stopped moving. Alex forced herself to breathe again as he leaned down to look in the window.

His eyes were the colour of chocolate.

‘Nice car.’

‘… Alex?’ The voice that called her back to the present was the same, but not the same. ‘I said – nice car.’

He had found her. Of course he had. After dropping the half-full cup of coffee at his feet, she had fled before he could speak to her. Before she had to speak to him. Instinctively she had returned to her car. She was safe there. She was always in control when she was behind the wheel. Disturbing images from the past could be pushed to the back of her mind. She had tried to lose herself in a close examination of the engine. Tried to focus on the present and on the near future. It hadn’t worked. The past had come looking for her.

She dropped the polishing cloth on the bonnet of the car, and turned slowly.

The compelling boy had grown into a handsome man. He was much taller now. Solid. The defensive, almost arrogant tilt of the head had been replaced by strength and confidence. He was wearing a set of race overalls, no doubt for his press call. They were tight-fitting, as race clothes had to be, revealing a trim waist and hips, and broad shoulders. He was clean-shaven. His black hair, though, was quite long, with just a slight hint of early grey at the temple. That curl still fell over one eye. It was all she could do not to reach out and push it aside as she had done a hundred times before. But that was a long time ago.

For a few seconds she felt she would lose herself in the dark velvet of his eyes. She swayed away from him, feeling the comforting solidity of the car behind her.

‘Kier. It’s been a while.’ The tremor was barely audible.

‘Yes. It has.’ His voice was deeper than it had been when they were teenagers. It was the touch of suede and the scent of a log fire on a cold rainy night.

He was too close to her. The force of his presence wrapped around her, holding her to him as if he held her in his arms.

‘The Lotus – you finally did it.’

Kier had been the only person she had ever trusted with her dream. She was the tomboy daughter of a father who wanted a son to follow in his footsteps and a mother who longed for a debutante to follow in hers. Kier Thomas worked for her father. He was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. He knew about being an outsider. He knew about disappointment and fear and longing.

‘I found her a few years ago.’ The last thing Alex wanted was to talk about her car.

‘She’s beautiful.’ He wasn’t looking at the car. His dark eyes had not left hers for a second.

How many years? How many lost dreams and regrets? How many tears?

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I guess we’re competitors,’ he said.

‘I guess we are. You’re driving the Ferrari?’ She didn’t know why she asked. She already knew he was.

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t think you were that keen on Ferraris. You used to be a Jaguar fan.’

‘I’ve always liked these.’ He touched the Jaguar at last, gently stroking the shining metal below the open window. ‘They’re mean and fast and yet they’ve got real class.’

She shouldn’t be talking to him. She shouldn’t be feeling as if he was touching her, not the car. And she certainly should not let him get any closer.

‘Do you want to come for a ride?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’ She held her breath, suddenly aware that if he said no, her heart would break.

‘Do you know how to drive a car like this? I mean really drive it?’

‘Why don’t you hop in and find out …’

‘Why aren’t you driving a Jag?’ It wasn’t what she wanted to ask. But she would never, never ask him the question that she had asked herself a million times during the long dark nights.

‘I’m doing this as a charity fund-raiser,’ he said. ‘The sponsor has donated the car. It’s going to be raffled off after the race. That’s why I need to win. If I do, it’s more money for the kids.’

‘And your navigator?’ She was proud of the fact that she didn’t sound jealous. Of course she wasn’t jealous of that supermodel. Not one bit.

‘Lyn’s got sponsors too.’

The conversation stopped. Kier’s eyes turned back towards the Lotus. They moved over the car, and then came back to Alex.

‘You look great,’ he said.

She didn’t. She looked like someone who had just spent the day lying under a car fixing the exhaust. He, on the other hand, really did look great – handsome, confident and far more in control of himself than she was. Obviously, she was the only one finding this encounter difficult.

‘Alex, I was wondering—’

‘Alex!’ an excited voice called from a few metres away.

She turned gratefully towards the interruption. Mick and Sarah were approaching, arm in arm.

‘Alex!’ Mick was almost bouncing as he joined the two of them. ‘Alex, it’s—’ He stopped as if realising for the first time that they weren’t alone.

‘Mick. Sarah. This is Kier Thomas,’ Alex said, her voice admirably free of any quiver. ‘He’s racing a Ferrari Dino.’ It was as good an introduction as she was likely to manage.

‘Hi.’ Mick shook Kier’s hand as if he was going to pull his arm off. Even in her current state of confusion, Alex knew something was up.

‘Mick, what’s wrong?’

‘Ah …’ Mick looked pointedly at Kier.

‘I should go.’ Kier took the hint. ‘I’ve got a few things to do.’ He smiled down at Alex again. ‘It was … good to see you, Alex. I’m sure we’ll be running into each other over the next few days.’

‘I guess we will.’

‘And good luck in the race.’ He nodded to Mick and Sarah, turned on his heel and walked away.

Alex watched him go. She had always loved to watch him move. He had an easy grace about him that was totally masculine.

‘I hope we didn’t interrupt—’ Sarah began, looking at Kier’s departing back with one raised eyebrow.

‘You didn’t,’ Alex said shortly. Kier had vanished into the crowd.

‘We just have to tell you our news.’ Mick threw an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and pulled her close to him.

‘News?’ Alex forced her mind back to the conversation. ‘What did the doctor say? Are you all right?’

‘Oh yes, better than all right.’ The answer bubbled out of Mick and he and Sarah exchanged a meaningful look. ‘We’re pregnant!’ h. . .