The Heart's Victory Read Free

hand, she held the ratchet. Through her indignation, Foxy noted that Lance Matthews was more attractive than ever. Six years had deepened the creases in his rawboned face, which, by some odd miracle, just escaped being handsome.
Handsome
was too tame a word for Lance Matthews. His hair was richly black, curling into the collar of his shirt and tossed carelessly around his face. His brows were slightly arched over eyes that could go from stone-gray to smoke depending on his mood. The classic, aristocratic features were offset by a small white scar above his left brow. He was taller than Kirk with a rangier build, and there was an ease in his manner that Kirk lacked. Foxy knew the indolent exterior covered a keen awareness. Through his twenties he had been one of the top drivers in the racing world. She had heard it said that Lance Matthews had the hands of a surgeon, the instincts of a wolf, and the nerve of the devil. At thirty, he had won the world championship and abruptly retired. From her brother’s less than informative letters, Foxy knew that for the past three years Lance had successfully sponsored drivers and cars. She watched as his mouth formed the half-tilted smile that had always been his trademark.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t the Fox.” His eyes ran down the coveralls and back to her face. “Six years hasn’t changed you a bit.”
    â€œNor you,” she retorted, furious that their first meeting would find her so attired. She felt like a foolish, gangling teenager again. “What a pity.”
    â€œTongue’s as sharp as ever.” His teeth flashed in a grin. Apparently the fact that she was still a rude, bad-tempered urchin appealed to him. “Have you missed me?”
    â€œAs long as I possibly could,” she replied and held the ratchet out to her brother.
    â€œStill hasn’t any respect for her elders,” Lance told Kirk while his eyes lingered on Foxy’s mutinous face. “I’d kiss you hello, but I never cared for the taste of motor oil.”
    He was teasing her as he had always done and Foxy’s chin shot up as it always had. “Fortunately for both of us, Kirk has an unlimited supply.”
    â€œIf you walk around like that for the rest of the season,” Kirk warned as he replaced his tool, “you might as well work in the pits.”
    â€œThe season?” Lance’s look sharpened as he drew on his cigar. “You going to be around for the season? That’s some vacation.”
    â€œHardly.” Foxy wiped her palms on the legs of the coveralls and tried to look dignified. “I’m here as a photographer, not as a spectator.”
    â€œFoxy is working with that writer, Pam Anderson,” Kirk put in as he picked up his beer again. “Didn’t I tell you?”
    â€œYou mentioned something about the writer,” Lance murmured. He was studying Foxy’s face as if to see beneath the smears of grease. “So, you’ll be traveling the circuit again?”
    Foxy remembered the intensity of his eyes. There were times when they could stop your breath. There was something raw and deep about the man. Even as an adolescent, Foxy had been aware of his basic sensuality. Then she had found it fascinating; now she knew its dangers. Willpower kept her eyes level with his. “That’s right. A pity you won’t be along.”
    â€œNot a pity,” he countered. The intensity disappeared from his eyes and Foxy watched them grow light again. “Kirk’s driving my car. I intend to tag along and watch him win.” He saw Foxy frown before he turned to her brother. “I suppose I’ll meet Pam Anderson at the party you’re having tonight. Don’t wash the grease off, Foxy.” He patted a clean spot on her chin before he walked to the door. “I might not recognize you. We should have a dance for old times’ sake.”
    â€œStuff it in your manifold,” Foxy called