Free The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts

ambience that called so strongly to her romantic soul. Above all else, she wanted Lance to see her as a mature, sophisticated woman and not a silly child who melted at soft music and starlight. Still, she trod carefully with the iced champagne. So far she had managed to keep the conversation impersonal and safe.
    â€œI noticed the car gave Kirk a bit of trouble yesterday.” Foxy speared her steamed shrimp and dipped it absently in its sauce. “I hope it’s been worked out.”
    â€œAn engine ring; it’s been replaced.” As he spoke Lance watched her over the rim of his glass. There was a light in his eyes that had Foxy doubling her guard.
    â€œIt’s amazing, isn’t it? So often it’s a tiny thing, a twenty-five-cent part or an overlooked screw that can be the deciding factor in a race where hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake.”
    â€œAmazing,” Lance agreed in a somber tone that was belied by his half smile.
    â€œIf you’re going to laugh at me,” Foxy said as her chin tilted, “I’ll simply get up and leave.”
    â€œI’d just bring you back.” With narrowed eyes, she studied Lance for a full minute. Her prolonged examination did not appear to disturb him as he kept his eyes steady on hers. His mouth was still curved in an annoying half smile.
    â€œYou would, too,” Foxy conceded with grudging admiration. Chivalrousness was simply not one of Lance’s qualities, and Foxy knew that she had had enough of chivalrousness for a while. “And if I kicked up a scene that landed us both in a cell, you wouldn’t be a bit bothered . . . not as long as you had your way.” She sighed and shook her head, then took a sip of wine. “It’s hard to gain an edge on a man who’s so utterly nerveless. You drove that way. I remember.” Her mouth moved in a pout as she looked back in time. “You drove with the same single-minded intensity as Kirk, but there was a smoothness he still lacks. You stalked; he charges. He’s all fire and thrust, you were precise and ruthlessly steady. There was an incredible ease in your driving; you made it look simple, so effortless. But then you raced because you enjoyed it.” Foxy twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers and watched the starlight play on the swirling wine.
    Intrigued, Lance studied her with more care. “And Kirk doesn’t?”
    â€œEnjoy it?” Her surprise was evident in both her eyes and her voice. “He lives for it, and that’s entirely different. Enjoyment comes much lower on the list.” She tilted her head, and her eyes caught the flicker of the candles. “You didn’t live for it or you couldn’t have given it up at thirty. If Kirk lives to be a hundred, they’ll have to carry him to the cockpit, but he’ll still race.”
    â€œIt appears you had more perception as a teenager than I gave you credit for.” Lance waited until their steak Diane was served, then thoughtfully broke a roll in half. “You’ve always hated it, haven’t you?”
    Foxy met his eyes levelly. “Yes,” she agreed and accepted the offered roll. “Always.” Her silence grew pensive as she spread butter on the roll. “Lance, how did your family feel about your racing?”
    â€œEmbarrassed,” he said immediately. Foxy was forced to laugh as she met his eyes again.
    â€œAnd you enjoyed their embarrassment as much as you enjoyed racing.”
    â€œAs I said”—he lifted his glass in toast—“you are perceptive.”
    â€œFamilies of drivers all seem to have different ways of dealing with racing. It’s more difficult standing in the pits than driving on the grid, you know,” she said softly, then sighed and deliberately shook off the mood. “I suppose now that you’re in the business end of it, your family’s no longer embarrassed.”