“I thought you’d have left for your hotel a long time ago.”
“Are you serious? I wanted to congratulate you in person. It was an amazing race today. You dominated.”
He was still grinning as he opened the door, waiting for her to go in. When she did, he shut the door behind them. “I sucked the first half of the race. I just couldn’t get a feel for the track. And then we had that fuckup in the pits and I thought I was dead in the water, because there were at least six cars as good as or better than me today.”
“Obviously not, because you fought your way back. And you won.”
“It was close. I got a few lucky breaks, and made up for the ugly pit stop by having the final one go like clockwork. The crew saved my ass.”
“You saved your own ass. It seemed like really good driving to me.”
“It’s always a team effort.”
“Hey, it’s just us in here, now. I think you can take a little credit for that win today.”
He laughed. “Well. Thanks. I need a shower. And something to eat. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course. I’m hungry, too. Would you like me to fix us something while you’re showering?”
“You don’t have to. We can go out somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be mobbed by fans out there?”
He gazed at the door and grimaced. “Not particularly.”
“I’ll see what you have in here.” She shooed him with her hands. “Go. Shower.”
“All right.”
After he left, she rummaged through his fridge and found bacon and eggs and, surprisingly, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a green pepper. She grabbed a skillet, fried up the bacon, and started mixing up the eggs while chopping the vegetables. When the bacon was finished she pulled it out, wiped out the grease, and threw the vegetables in, sautéing them until they were tender.
“That smells good,” Gray said as he came out of the bathroom smelling even better than the food.
He wore a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, making her mouth water.
She threw the eggs in with the vegetables. “Feel better?”
“Starting to. What can I do to help?”
“How about some juice with this? I saw some in your fridge.”
“Sure.”
He pulled out plates and glasses while she fixed the oversized omelet in the skillet.
When it was done, she cut it in half and slid the two pieces onto two plates, along with the bacon. They grabbed seats in the booth.
“Omelets and bacon? You’re my savior. I’d have probably eaten toast.”
She sliced into her omelet with a fork, so hungry she had to take a couple bites before she replied. “Come on. You have food in your refrigerator. You have to know how to cook.”
“I do. But I was really hungry. These interviews take hours. Toast is quick. And I have peanut butter.”
She shook her head. “You need a wife.” At his quizzical look, she added, “Or a live-in cook.”
“Maybe if she’s hot. And French, or something.”
Evelyn laughed. “La cuisine fran?aise est très bonne.”
He lifted his gaze to hers and laid his fork down. “Fuck. You speak French?”
She blushed. “Un peu.”
“That’s hot, Evelyn. Do it some more.”
Her lips curved. She could tell him how he smelled. So good. Like the crisp, clear mountains. “Tu sens bon. Comme les montagnes.”
He arched a brow, his lids dropping partway closed. “Tu es sexy. Je tiens à vous lécher partout.”
Oh, God. He understood. “You speak French, too.” He’d told her she was sexy and he wanted to lick her . . . everywhere. She shuddered at the mental images, the way his gaze bore into hers, melting her to the booth.
He broke the spell when he grabbed a piece of bacon and took a bite, then grinned at her. “Four years in college. It was an easy course because I’d had a French nanny for years. She taught me to speak it fluently.”
She laid her napkin on the table. “You suck.”
He laughed. “Sorry. It was an easy tease. But you sound so goddamn sexy when you speak French.”
So did he, which she wasn’t about to tell him. “I took it in college, too. Along with Spanish and German.”
“Aren’t you an overachiever?”
She shrugged. “I like languages.”
“I liked the easy grade for a language I already knew.”
“I’m sure you did. And what else did you study in college?”
“Girls, mainly.”
“Seriously, Gray.”
“I am being serious. School just wasn’t my thing. I was focused on baseball, and then racing. I was so burnt out on school by the time I got to college, and so damn glad to be out from under my father’s thumb that I played as much as I could, and didn’t focus on my studies. I coasted.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“But you graduated with a degree in prelaw.”
“Yeah, well, that was to make my dad think I might entertain the concept of going to Harvard someday, when really I had no intention.”
“Still, I’ve seen your transcripts. You graduated with the highest honors, so you hardly coasted.”