Every Girl's Secret Fantasy Read Free Page B

be.”
    Pace frowned. The luminance in her glittering jade gaze was fading, eclipsed by that familiar, infuriatingrestraint. When she took a step back on those sexy heels, as if yanked by an imaginary lead, he almost spilled off his bike.
    â€œYou’re leaving?”
    â€œI’ve kept you long enough.” She smiled her dimpled smile and turned away. “Thanks for the lift.”
    As she swept up the paved steps, disappearing into the building without a backward glance, Pace grinned to himself. If she wanted to play impossible to get, he’d simply get more inventive. He liked a challenge. In fact, he’d been raised on them.
    And he always won.
    Well, almost always.
    Kicking up the stand, Pace prepared to pull out into the next break. At the same time the cellphone on his belt vibrated. Ditching the helmet, he studied the ID and groaned. It was the weekend, for crying out loud. What did his brother want now? Actually, his half -brother. His father had married soon after his first wife had died in childbirth. His second marriage had produced another son. In a perfect world the two brothers might have become inseparable. Instead Pace and the slightly older Nicholas Junior had grown up at loggerheads, competing at everything, including their busy father’s attention, each step of the way. As grown men, nothing much had changed.
    Setting his jaw, Pace thumbed a button and connected. “Hey, Nick.”
    Nick didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Have you addressed the consignment arrival problem for that Bugatti? I need to know by eleven Monday morning. No later.”
    Nick would still be sitting at his big desk, surroundedby paperwork, dark hair spiked from numerous run-throughs with his hand. In his absolute element.
    â€œHello? Anyone there?”
    Pace grated his back teeth. “I’m here.”
    â€œYou could show a little more interest,” Nick growled, and Pace growled back.
    â€œAnd you could quit with the attitude.”
    â€œThere’s something wrong with wanting to get things done and done right?”
    Steam rose beneath his leather collar, but Pace kept his response to an almost civil warning. “Nick, don’t go there.”
    He could do without the thinly veiled reminders.
    Five years ago Pace had taken on the presidential seat of the family business, Brodricks Prestige Cars, but not because he was partial to reams of figures and boardroom meetings. After his father’s death, his will had left Pace in charge. The younger son had seen the promotion as a responsibility he couldn’t shirk, even when Nick, the brother with the accounting skills and economics letters behind his name, had made it clear he was the best man for the job. Pace, a practical rather than academic type, with an engineering background, wasn’t sure he disagreed.
    No secret—Pace had enjoyed the lifestyle his inheritance and position provided. He’d partied hard, had chalked up some amazing experiences, and had entertained some exceedingly attractive company. But there was a definite downside.
    He was happiest when talking cars, analysing precision engines or test-driving the fastest, classiest automobiles in the world—Jaguar, McLarens, Mercedes, Porsche—vehicles available for sale or lease throughBrodricks. Design and hands-on tasks were where he excelled. Being locked behind a desk during working hours was far from his ideal existence. It had shown—not only in his demeanour but more tellingly in Brodricks’ books which, after his first two years at the helm, hadn’t looked nearly as healthy as they should. The final straw had come when he’d made a couple of glaring errors regarding funds in a foreign investment account.
    At the subsequent board meeting to analyse the extent of the damage he’d maintained a firm chin, but had secretly wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Hell, it wasn’t as if he’d asked for