Full Throttle

HER HANDS TREMBLING, Lexie Mercer mounted the stairs to the Hollister Racing company jet. Though she'd been calm when she assured owner Bob Hollister that she'd get the team back on track for Bristol next Saturday night, she was still furious and bitterly disappointed by Kane's finish in the race.

Half a lap. Half a damn lap.

It was frustrating beyond words, and only made the pressure of an already stressful job jump up another notch. Careers and millions of dollars were at stake. As car chief, she was already a woman in a male-dominated world. How many of those men would love to have her position with a successful team like Hollister?

While her father's role as crew chief made him, well, the chief of the entire team, it was up to her to see that his plans and orders were carried out, to keep the crew on task, to supervise the technicians and engineers and make sure the car for the next race would fare better.

She got the praise when the car and team performed well, and she felt her boss's disapproval when one or both didn't. The fact that her boss was her father added a whole new level of anxiety.

Still, it fell to all of them—her, her father and Kane— to take charge of recovery and moving forward. Back home at the shop, they had to face the team members who didn't travel with the team. They had to overcome the emotional low of not finishing the race. They had to examine the wrecked vehicle and see what parts could be salvaged.

Most of all, they had to get into the top ten. The first person she saw on the plane was James Peterson, Kane's best friend and manager. His nearly shoulder-length, shaggy blond hair framing his handsome face, he was bent over, clicking beer bottles with Kane, who, bravely, sat in the front row, so he would have to face each person on his team as they walked by him to take their own seat.

She'd admire him more if she wasn't so furious with him. She exchanged a look with James, who approached with his ought-to-be-outlawed killer grin, then glided past her, heading toward the exit. "Go easy," he muttered.

She glared at his retreating back, seeing no reason for leniency. Something had to change on this team. And Kane Jackson better be prepared to transform himself ASAP.

Thankful the plane was deserted except for the flight crew, she dropped into the seat next to her driver, who, during the TV interview following the race, had actually shrugged and said, "Oh, well" in response to his wreck. "Oh, well?"

"Rookies cause wrecks sometimes. He misjudged the passing distance and got into me. He apologized ."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, well?"

He glanced at her at last, and the force of those brightblue eyes made her heart flutter ridiculously. "I had to tell the media something ."

"Something with a bit more force and passion would be welcomed ."

"Passion, huh?"

Too late, she realized the door she'd opened. "You know what I mean ."

He grinned. "Do I?"