Turn & Burn by Eden Connor

lighting. Shiny paint rioted with colorful decals. I inhaled the scent of carnauba wax, detecting undertones of gas and motor oil. Caine’s hand still rested on my waist. Between his touch and the aroma surrounding me, my panties got wet.
    Make nice. Make him believe all is forgiven.
    I darted a smile at Caine. “Your tie’s adorable. When did you decide to grow a beard?” He ducked his head and slid a hand along his necktie, decorated with drawings of vintage glass Christmas ornaments.
    “It fucking itches,” he muttered, letting go of the tie to rake his jaw. “I was fooling around with something in the garage. Just ran out of time, or I’d have shaved.”
    The display hall opened onto an elegant reception area, replete with an Oriental rug large enough to carpet Dale’s entire house. Round tables, replete with red and gold linens, dotted the elegant carpet. Place cards shaped like cars dotted the tabletops. On my left, glass cases housed gigantic trophies. Despite my heels, I had to go on tiptoe to see the very tops.
    What were these guys compensating for?
    Opposite the trophy wall stood an evergreen that had to be twenty feet tall. Gold ribbons festooned the branches. Thousands of tiny white lights glowed amidst glittering red balls. The ceiling loomed three stories above. On the second and third floors, offices overlooked the huge space. A glass ceiling capped the giant atrium.
    I glared at floating balls of mistletoe. They dangled from the skylights by thin threads of clear filament. There were so many, they’d be hard to avoid.
    A white-haired woman interrupted her conversation with a man I pegged as the caterer and came forward to greet us.
    “You must be Shelby. So nice to finally meet you, dear. I’m Doris Ridenhour. We spoke on the phone.” The team owner’s wife also wore a red gown, but her neckline was more modest than that of the bimbo on Kolby Barnes’ arm.
    Caine let go of me and took a step toward one of the hallways that led off of the airy space.
    “Not so fast, you handsome devil.” Mrs. Ridenhour grabbed Caine’s sleeve, halting him in his tracks. To my amusement, she put her hands on either side of his jaw and tugged his face down to hers, holding him like a naughty child. “Never mind that I used to change your diapers during the race. I’m stealin’ a kiss.” She lifted a thick fringe of false eyelashes toward the mistletoe overhead.
    Caine’s cheeks turned ruddy beneath the painted lips she pressed to the side of his face. When she let him go, he shot me a dirty look and hurried out of the room.
    Oh, poor baby, was I supposed to save you?
    I was still laughing under my breath when Colt appeared. Spreading his arms, he grinned at Doris and swiveled his hips. “Come here, darlin’.”
    “Good God, Colt, you get better lookin’ every time I lay eyes on you,” Doris purred. When the elderly woman kissed him right on the lips, I decided she’d already hit the punch. I scanned the room to see where the hell the bar was. I could use a drink.
    Eyeing the way Caine’s pants tightened across his sculpted ass before he disappeared down the long hallway, I decided to forego booze for the evening . That’s the fastest way to end up buck-naked on someone’s desk.
    “You gotta be Shelby.” A deep voice boomed behind me. I got a fast impression of a red, gold, and white plaid jacket that shouldn’t be allowed off a golf course, before I was enveloped in a bear hug. I held my breath, trying not to inhale the generous application of Old Spice. After a firm slap between my shoulder blades, the man let me go and took a step back. His steel-toned hair was so thick, I decided it had to be a toupee.
    He beamed. “Dale talks about you so much, I swear, I feel like I’ve known you all my life, sweetheart.”
    Friendly bunch . “You must be Mr. Ridenhour?”
    “Shucks, darlin, we’ve talked on the phone so much, why don’t you just call me Rick?”
    What the hell. I gave him a warm