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disconcerted by that coffee thought, “I’m Eli Ward, hi.” Duh. Not one of his smoothest lines. He stuck out a hand.
    She didn’t notice because she was too busy rubbing her elbow where he’d held her—he was certain he hadn’t hurt her—and darting little glances around the hauler, her expression a mix of curious and…hunted?
    â€œNice to meet you, too,” he quipped in the face of her lack of response. “Let me guess, you’re Jennifer.”
    She fingered her name badge. “Just Jen.”
    The badge perched on the kind of sweet curve not even a shapeless uniform could hide. Eli leaned against the counter,folded his arms across his chest and shot her the intimate smile his female fans adored. “Okay, Just Jen, what does Bob want to tell me?”
    This urge to flirt with a sparrow had to be a kneejerk rebellion against Gil’s “no women” stipulation.
    The sparrow didn’t flirt back.
    Sure, Jennifer’s eyes—brown, unexpectedly light—widened at the sensual vibes he was sending her way. Then she laced her fingers in front of her, like a nun about to pray. “Mr. Ward,” she said sternly, “there are two women in Bob’s office. Both from around here, both in varying states of hysteria, both claiming to be your girlfriend.”
    Eli pinched the bridge of his nose. Wouldn’t Gil love to hear that? “They’re not my girlfriends.”
    â€œBut one of them—”
    â€œEnd of story,” Eli said, struggling to keep his tone light on what was fast turning into the worst day of his life. “Tell Bob to call security.”
    Jennifer pursed her nice-shaped lips and didn’t move. “One of them says she’s having your baby.”

CHAPTER THREE
    J EN WAS SUDDENLY inclined to believe the pretty, pregnant redhead whose eyes had shone with tears as she talked about her struggle to provide for her unborn child.
    All week, Jen’s female colleagues had been cooing about the gorgeous NASCAR drivers about to descend on their little track. None of the names were familiar to Jen, who hadn’t worked here long enough to see a NASCAR race, but one name had received way more than its fair share of cooing: Eli Ward. Who, if you believed Tracy in accounting, was the sexiest man alive. And who, according to Janelle on reception, had broken more hearts than should be legal.
    Jen had taken the gossip with a grain of salt, and continued to reserve judgment through the arrival of the two alleged girlfriends in Bob’s office. Bob had warned her not to be sucked in by what might be elaborate ploys to get Eli’s attention.
    But meeting Eli Ward in the flesh lent a whole new weight to everything she’d heard.
    Tracy in accounting was right: Jen had never seen such a good-looking man. It looked as if Janelle was right about the broken hearts, too, given how Eli had been lapping up the admiration of the women in the garage. Admiration that was purely about his looks. According to Caleb in maintenance, Eli wasn’t even a good race car driver, always making careless mistakes.
    Everything about him shrieked unreliable.
    But the most shocking thing of all…when Eli’s fingers had curled around Jen’s elbow, every nerve ending in her body had converged on that point, leaving the rest of her feeling rubbery, numb. She’d let him lead her to the hauler like a particularly stupid lamb might follow a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
    Jen would never, in a million years, have imagined she would be so shallow.
    It was most unsettling.
    I’ve been unsettled all day. From the moment she’d arrived at the track to find it transformed from local raceway to a NASCAR mini-city, powered by a buzz of excitement, all five of her senses had been overwhelmed. Then somehow Eli Ward—with his shaggy blond hair and too-green eyes and devil-may-care grin—had tapped into some mysterious other