The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts Page A

only a shudder of relief when she saw the driver crawl from the wreckage and give the traditional wave to assure the crowd he was unharmed.
    â€œMy God. How can a man walk away from a wreck like that?” Foxy heard Pam’s voice behind her but continued to shoot the routine of the emergency crew in the infield.
    â€œAs I told you before, the very fragility of the racer and the improved restraints have saved more than one life on the grid.” Lance answered Pam but his attention was on Foxy. Her face was without color or expression as she lowered her camera.
    â€œBut not all of them,” she stated as she caught the blur of Kirk’s car as it whizzed by. “And not every time.” She felt the cold passing as warmth seeped back under her skin. “You’d better go interview that driver. He’ll be able to give you a firsthand report on what it’s like to see your life pass before your eyes at two hundred miles an hour.”
    â€œYes, I will.” Pam gave her a searching look but said nothing more before she moved away.
    Foxy pushed a stray hair from her face, allowing her camera to dangle by its strap. “I suppose number 15 will have more respect for turn one the next time.”
    â€œYou’re very professional and unflappable these days, aren’t you, Fox?” Lance’s eyes were cold as steel under his lowered brows. Foxy remembered the look and felt an inward tremor.
    â€œPhotographers have to have good nerves.” She met his look of annoyance without flinching. She knew if annoyance turned to genuine anger, he could be brutal.
    â€œBut feelings aren’t necessary,” he countered. He gathered the strap of her camera in one hand and pulled her closer. “There was a man in number 15. You never missed a frame.”
    â€œWhat did you expect me to do?” she tossed back. “Get hysterical? Cover my eyes with my hands? I’ve seen crashes before. I’ve seen them when they haven’t walked away, when there hasn’t been anything to see but a sheet of fire. I’ve watched both you and Kirk being dragged out by the epaulettes. You want emotion?” Her voice rose in a sudden torrent of fury. “Go find someone who didn’t grow up on the smell of death and gasoline!”
    Lance studied her in silence. Color had shot back into her face. Her eyes were like a raging sea under a haze of clouds. “Tough lady, aren’t you?” His tone was touched with amusement and scorn, a combination Foxy found intolerable.
    â€œDamn right,” she agreed and tossed her chin out further. “Now, take your hands off my camera.”
    At first, the only thing that moved was his left brow. It rose in an arch that might have indicated humor or acceptance. In an exaggerated gesture, he lifted both hands, holding them aloft, empty palms toward her. Still, he did not back off, and they stood toe to toe. “Sorry, Fox.” She knew him well enough to detect the dregs of temper in his voice. Her own anger forced her to ignore it.
    â€œJust leave me alone,” she ordered and started to brush by him. To her fury, he stepped neatly in her path and blocked her exit.
    â€œI’ll just be another minute,” he told her. Before she had grasped his motive, Lance had shifted the camera to her back and pulled her into his arms.
    As she opened her mouth to protest he closed his over it and plundered its depths. She was caught fast. Instead of pushing against him, her hands gripped desperately on his upper arms. They would not obey the command her brain shot out to them. Her mouth answered his even as she ordered it to be cold and still. The flame sparked and burned just as quickly, just as intensely, as it had the night on the glider. She could not deny that even if her mind and her heart were her own, her body was his. Never had she known such perfection in a touch, such intimacy, such hunger. She lifted her arms to lock them