The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts Page B

around his neck as her body melted into his. The whine of finely tuned engines whirled in her brain, then was lost in a flood of need and desire. The people who milled around them faded, then disappeared from her world as she strained closer. She demanded more of him even as she gave all of herself. Ultimately it was Lance who drew away. They were still tangled in each other’s arms, their faces close, their bodies molded. With his quiet, probing intensity, he stared down at her.
    â€œI suppose you’ll tell me I shouldn’t have done that.”
    â€œWould it make any difference if I did?” Her knees wanted badly to tremble, but Foxy forced them to be still.
    â€œNo,” he answered. “It wouldn’t.”
    â€œWill you let me go now?” Foxy was pleased at the cool, impersonal timbre of her voice. Inside her stomach dozens of bats were waging war.
    â€œFor now,” he agreed. Though he loosened his grip, he kept his hands light on her hips. “I can always pick up where I left off.”
    â€œYour conceit is threatening to outweigh your arrogance these days, Lance.” Firmly Foxy drew his hands from her hips. “I don’t know which is more unappealing.”
    Lance grinned at the insult and tweaked her nose in a brotherly fashion. “You’re cute when you’re dignified, Foxy.” His glance wandered over her head as he saw Kirk veer off the track and onto the pit lane. “Kirk’s coming in. With any luck, the second half of the race will run as smoothly as the first.”
    Refusing to dignify any of his comments with an answer, Foxy dragged her camera back in front of her and walked away. Tucking his hands in his pockets, Lance rocked gently on his heels and watched her.
    Only half of the starters finished the race. Foxy had known Kirk would win. She had studied his face during his brief, final pit stop and had seen the confidence mixed with the strain and tension. Cars no longer looked shiny in the sun but were dull with grime. After the checkered flag came down, Foxy watched Kirk take his victory lap as the roars of the crowd and the crew washed over her. She knew he would come into the pits ready for adulation. His eyes would no longer be opaque. His mouth would be lifted in that easy boyish grin, and all the lines of strain would have magically vanished. Tirelessly he would grant interviews, sign autographs, accept congratulations. The layers of sweat and grime that covered him were his badge of success. He would take it all in, recharging his system. Then it would be over for him, a thing of the past. In two days, they would be on their way to Monaco for the qualifying races. The Indianapolis 500 would be to Kirk no more than a newspaper clipping. For him, it was always the next race.

Chapter 4
    Monte Carlo is cupped between the high, forested peaks of the Maritime Alps and the brilliant blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Buildings are packed together, a dense pattern of skyscrapers and elegant old homes. It has the feel and look, if not the size, of a great city while maintaining a fairy-tale aura.
    It was the colors that appealed to Foxy. The whites and pastels that dominated the buildings, the rich, ripe greens and browns of the mountains, and the perfect blue of the sea. Lush flowers and palms added a taste of the exotic. It was a country of culture and castles, warm sea breezes, and barren peaks. The romantic in Foxy instantly fell in love with it.
    With Kirk immersed in qualifying races and practice sessions and Pam involved with interviews and local color, Foxy often found herself thrown together with Scott Newman. She found him kind, considerate, intelligent, and—though she detested Lance for being right—dull. He planned too thoroughly, considered too carefully, and followed through too accurately for Foxy’s taste. Each of their dates, no matter how casual, was given an itinerary. He dressed perfectly, even elegantly,