Free Dangerous Race by Dee J. Adams Page A

After working on the car all day it felt good to shower off the grease. It was also a relief to be away from the unnatural stress in the garage.
    The clock said five-fifty and he still had plenty of time before meeting some of the guys downstairs for dinner. He fought a tickle in his nose but as he picked up the phone he let out an enormous sneeze.
    “Wow,” a female said. “That was a whopper. God bless you.” Then she charged ahead before he got a word out. “I know I said I’d pick you up at six but I’m having a clothes dilemma. I’ve got my little black dress and my even littler red one. You told me we were dressing up tonight but which one do you think I should wear?”
    Matthew coughed. That was a hell of a question to ask a practically naked guy. And it made him think. “If your dresses are on the bed, what are you wearing now?”
    Silence on the other end told him he’d caught her attention. “Uh…you’re not Kim.”
    Something about her voice seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. “No, no,” he said. “I’m definitely not Kim.”
    “I dialed room 1728. Who’s this?” she asked.
    “Ah…” he said, looking down at the numbers on his phone. “Therein lies your problem. You dialed 1725. You missed it by a row. I’m Matthew. Not Kim.”
    “Oh, my bad,” she said. “Sorry.”
    “Hey wait, wait a second.” Now why the hell had he said that?
    She returned, her voice strong on the line. “Yes?”
    A reckless streak hit like lightning. “The black dress,” he said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your dilemma. Black or red. Wear the black dress.” He loved women in black. He all but felt her smile over the phone. Women loved black too. It was dangerous. Sexy.
    “You don’t even know what the black dress looks like,” she countered.
    “I know it’s little so I already like it.” He loved the sound of her voice. Wanted to hear more of it. “What color is your hair?” he asked.
    “That’s really none of your bus—”
    “I’m not a pervert. I’m just trying to picture which dress might be better on you. What’s your hair color?”
    She paused as if she could think of a reason not to answer him. “Black. Very black,” she finally said.
    “Hmmm.” He heard her waiting for him and reeled her in. “Yeah. I’ll stick with my gut. Wear the black.”
    “Tha—” she cleared her throat, “—thanks, Valentino. I’ll be sure to give you credit as my stylist for the evening.”
    “It’s Matthew,” he said again. Man, she had a sexy voice. Low and husky. She sounded dangerous. “What’s your name?”
    “Nice try, but it’s time to hang up, Matthew. Thanks for the advice. Have—”
    “Wait, wait. If you’re not going to tell me your name, at least tell me what floor you’re on.” Maybe he could find her somehow, but—
    “Why? So you can loiter at the elevators and accost every woman you see in a black dress?”
    He smiled at her suggestion. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it…Although the word ‘accost’ might be a little harsh.” All he’d have to do is hear her voice.
    She paused. Was she really going to make him stand around the elevators looking for a woman in black? “Do you have a pen and paper? Are you ready?” she asked.
    Matthew scrambled for both and his towel slid to the floor. “Ready,” he said.
    “It’s a combination of the first three numbers of your room. Good night, Matthew. Thanks for your help.” She hung up the phone and left him standing there naked and perplexed. The first three numbers of his room? One, seven and two. Ten? She was on the tenth floor? What if she meant multiply? Maybe the fourteenth floor? He could call Kim in room 1728, but that would defeat the purpose. Matthew grinned. He loved a challenge.
     
    Tracey stared up at the ceiling before forcing her eyes closed. Normally, she’d pass out after four hours of signing autographs, but after this afternoon she was too wired to