It had surprised her when he had called. For some reason, she had thought, regardless of what he’d said the night before, that they were done. He wasn’t going to want to see her again. That she had bungled the situation too badly and he was going to decide she was more work than was worth it.
Understanding his motives and intent was more than a little challenging. So her curiosity had gotten the best of her yet again, and she had agreed to come over in person to question him on the ins and outs of racing. No doubt she could have asked him anything over the phone, but he wanted to see her, and she wanted to see his reaction to her in person. She also wanted to ask for her dating manual back and see if she could ferret out why he had actually taken it in the first place.
As she pulled into his driveway, checking the house number against the one he had given her and she’d scribbled onto a piece of scrap paper, she tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed.
She was really the worst student the graduate program had ever seen. Instead of focusing on her thesis, she was playing some kind of inexplicable game with Ty McCordle. She should be setting up interviews with drivers and their wives to determine how they had met and fallen in love. She should be following the Six Steps on a sampling of drivers to record their effectiveness.
Yet somehow she was justifying being at Ty’s house under the flimsy guise of having him instruct her on the intricacies of stock car racing. Which she could just as readily learn from books, the Internet, and her friends Tamara and Suzanne.
The truth was, and she strove to be entirely honest with herself and everyone around her at all times, that she wanted to see Ty just because she wanted to see him. Because he made her laugh and caused her heart to race. He also made her feel sexy, and it was safe to say that, while she always felt reasonably attractive, fairly intelligent, in control, and self-aware, she had never really felt sexy. Not in the “men want to rip my clothes off” kind of way.
Ty made her feel that way, and she was drawn to it. Wanted to explore it.
The garage door went up, and Ty strode into the driveway. He was clearly visible under the coach lights, and as usual, just the sight of him made Imogen swallow a mouthful of spit. God, he was just gorgeous. It really wasn’t right that any man should be entitled to claim that much masculinity, yet still retain such an easy prettiness. He had fine features and a narrow face, soft hair, and an even softer chin stubble, yet he was so confident, so toned and defined, so inclined to swagger, that he was all man and then some. It was a combination she was struggling to resist, with little success.
Especially when he grinned that naughty little smile, which he was doing at the moment.
Yeah, that would be her jeans going up in flames.
Opening the door, she was intending to get out and meet him in the driveway, but he waved her back in.
“We’re going to switch cars. Back out so I can pull out, then you can park in the drive. We’ll take my car.”
Imogen stared up at him. He had moved out of the light and she couldn’t really see his face all that well anymore. Damn daylight savings. It was only quarter to seven and it was pitch-black outside.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“To the garage. That’s the best place to learn about stock cars.”
Right. Stock car research. That was precisely why she was there. Not because she was an undersexed woman, he was a highly sexed male, and their bodies would fit together like a couple of click-and-lock puzzle pieces.
“Oh, wow, that would be great.” If she were capable of concentrating on anything other than him. “Isn’t it rather late though?”
“Nah. Someone will be around.”
“Okay. Great.”
They did a quick car switch, and then Imogen was back in the passenger seat with Ty peeling out of his driveway, an odd reverse of the night before. Only his car was a tricked-out sports car, and he was singing along to a country song on the radio, looking more cheerful than sexual. Damn it.
After enduring his off-key singing of lyrics that involved a man declaring his undying love for a woman, Imogen felt compelled to interrupt. “So when can I expect my book back?”
“In a day or two,” he said, cutting her a sideways glance. “Are you one of those people who guard your books like gold? Don’t worry, I won’t break the spine or spill beer on it.”
“I wasn’t implying that. It’s just that . . .” Imogen trailed off. She couldn’t say she needed the book. That would sound calculating.
“What? Look, if you need the book that badly, I can return it to you when we get back to my place. I wasn’t trying to inconvenience you.”
Great. Now she sounded thoroughly ungenerous. “No, of course not. I agreed to let you borrow it, so you can absolutely keep it for a few days. But I am curious as to why you wanted to read it.”
“I thought I might learn a thing or two.” He glanced over at her and winked.
Now what did that mean, exactly?
Never one to beat around the bush, Imogen said, “What does that mean exactly?”
“Why women want certain men, and if my worth to the opposite sex is truly just based on what I do on Sundays.”
“You doubt why women want you?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, there’s a couple of reasons why they want me. I don’t doubt that. But after Nikki, I’m feeling a little gun-shy. Like maybe while I’ve been so busy avoiding getting to know a woman too closely, they’ve all been doing the same. Like maybe I’m just a target for attention seekers and gold diggers.”
“Of course women enjoy the prestige of a driver, and there will always be attention seekers and gold diggers, but if Suzanne and Tamara are any example, they would have loved their husbands regardless of their occupations. Of course there is a woman out there who will value you as a human being as opposed to a commercial commodity.” The very thought irritated her in multiple ways. One, that he would doubt that. Two, that there were women who would try to use him, like Nikki. Three, that he might find the woman who wouldn’t, fall in love with her, marry, and have little McCordles. And that woman wouldn’t be Imogen.
“Maybe Ryder and Elec got the only two who will.” His voice had more of a teasing quality than concern.
Imogen snorted. “I imagine some other wives in the sport might dispute that.”
“Of course. What else are they going to say? Admit to greed?” He took a hard left turn. “But no, I’m not really serious. I know most of the guys who are married are all sorts of happy and so are their wives. Maybe I’m just starting to wonder what’s out there for me, for real.”