Hard to Resist Page 3

  “She says they won’t. She’s only demonstrating right now, but she says she can make them more flexible by at least thirty percent, maybe more, by the time she leaves.” Dixon’s tone was all admiration and pride. “The guys seem enthusiastic.”

  The guys are watching the same distraction, likely with the same pure male response the guys inside are…were, he corrected, with a snapping glance backward to be sure the door was closed. They’d better be working now.

  Not that he could blame them. Granola Girl was some kind of gorgeous.

  But she was a problem, nonetheless. One that had to be handled carefully. “What did you have for breakfast, Dixon?”

  The team owner’s gaze shifted to him. “An egg white omelet with goat cheese and chives,” he said carefully.

  Figures, Ryder thought.

  “It was surprisingly delicious.”

  Ryder met Dixon’s gaze, trying not to grin. “I bet.”

  The two men stood silent for a moment, then Ryder stirred. “I’m just going to have a little chat to find out more about her methods, okay?” he said to Dixon.

  Dixon nodded. “I have a meeting, anyway. Want to join us for lunch? Hailey says she likes to cook.”

  Not even if I were starving, Ryder thought. “Thanks. Let me see how the morning goes first. A lot left on my checklist before we leave.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Ryder walked away. “Ms. Rogers, may I have a word with you?” he called out.

  The pit crew, completely absorbed in Hailey until he’d spoken, jumped as if shot.

  “Hey, Ryder.”

  “Hi, boss.”

  “Isn’t she something?”

  “Yeah, something, all right,” he agreed, never taking his eyes off her.

  Hailey rose in one supple move, stepped into her sandals, then turned to face him. “Mr. McGraw.” Her eyes were wide and lively. “How are you?”

  “Fine, just fine,” he said through clenched jaw, clasping her elbow and leading her off to the side under the shade of the building’s overhang. “What the hell are you doing to my crew?” he said quietly.

  “Teaching. It’s what I do. My father thought it was a good idea. I can help them improve. Their conditioning is too much about power and not enough about flexibility.”

  Your father has gone soft in the head, he wanted to say. “Their regimen has been designed by one of the best trainers in the business.” Who would be arriving within the hour.

  That fat braid shifted over her chest as she sniffed and tossed her head. “I can do better.”

  Do not stare at her figure. Especially not those blasted mile-long legs. He struggled for patience. “That’s a real fine offer, Ms. Rogers, but you’re here on vacation. We couldn’t possibly presume upon you.”

  The quirk of her mouth said she knew what he was trying to do. “Oh, I don’t mind a bit, Mr. McGraw. I’m happy to help my father’s team.” Emphasis on my father’s. As in not yours, Ryder McGraw. But it was his team. If she wanted to interfere, let her interfere with Hugo’s bunch, but not his. He had enough to handle, trying to give Jeb Stallworth the car and the team and the championship the gifted, long-denied driver deserved.

  Then he had an idea. “Tell you what. If Greg Schiffer likes the idea, then fine—but you do things on his schedule, you hear me? The pit crew is too crucial to the team’s success, and we can’t be having injuries.”

  She barely resisted rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t be very good at what I do if I let my students get injured. A good yoga instructor is prepared to work with each student at his or her level.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips. “And I’m a very good yoga instructor.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Not. Okay, maybe she was, but she was also nosy and interfering and in his way. But he summoned a smile he didn’t feel. “And for your information, if you can keep from strutting yourself in front of the rest of my men, both your father and I would appreciate it.”

  “Strutting!” Outrage skated over her features. “I was doing no such thing.” Then her forehead wrinkled and she bent closer. “They were watching, really?”

  “Babe, they were drooling.”

  Her brows snapped together. “That’s sexist.”

  “That’s men, sugar. Not that the demonstration wasn’t impressive.” He leaned in, conscious of a light, flowery scent that was altogether too pleasant. “My guys are only human, and I need them focused. If you’re going to flaunt your flexibility, do it somewhere else, but not in my shop. We clear on that?”

  Pale blue eyes turned to ice. “Perfectly.”

  “Greg can arrange for better space that’s not out in the heat, for one thing.”

  “Heat keeps your muscles fluid. I teach a body flow class that would have them all dripping with sweat in the first five minutes.”

  “No way. My guys are tough and strong.”

  “Your guys can’t keep up with me.”

  Damned if she didn’t fire his blood, those eyes sparking, that slim body rigid with outrage. “I’ll leave that to you and Greg. Now, some of us have to work.” He strolled off, confident that he’d solved his problem and she’d go fruit shopping or something now. Greg Schiffer was a tyrant. He wouldn’t just dislike the idea, he would hate it. Ryder was aware that a team or two had experimented with yoga, but he needed certainty. Fewer variables, not more. Now was not the time to tinker with the team he’d put everything into building.

  Twenty-nine days to go. Might as well be a lifetime.

  Ryder sighed and kept walking.

  SUE ELLEN STOPPED in his doorway. “Boss man wants to know if you’re ready to grab a bite with him and Hailey.”

  Ryder looked up from the engine performance spreadsheet. “Tell him sorry but I’ll just order in.”

  “Want the usual, cheeseburger and fries from Maudie’s?” she asked.

  “Sounds great. Thanks, Sue Ellen.” He returned his attention to the screen, studying something that puzzled him.

  “You need to get a life, Ryder. When’s the last time you left the shop before midnight? A man can’t live on takeout, even Sheila’s.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Go away.”

  Sue Ellen sighed loudly. “Your mother must be a saint.”

  “Nope. Five foot three, red hair and the devil’s own temper.” He loved her to distraction, as did all her kids and her husband of forty years.

  “Maybe she could get you to see reason. I should call her.”

  “Now that’s just nasty. I had no idea you had such a mean streak, Sue Ellen.” Ryder dragged his gaze away from the screen long enough to grin.

  She grinned back. “Don’t think I won’t, young man.”

  “I’m shaking. Now go away so I can concentrate.”

  “I’m going shopping first. Maybe I’ll buy shoes. You might not get to eat for two more hours.”

  Her threats fell on deaf ears. “There’s always the vending machines.”

  “You are hopeless.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Both satisfied with the exchange, Sue Ellen left for lunch, and Ryder returned to work.

  Some indeterminate time later, a plate was shoved onto the desk beside him. Ryder grunted his thanks, dragged some bills from his pocket and threw them onto the desk to repay Sue Ellen, then returned to his keyboard.

  A few seconds later, the scent hit him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t French fries. Not a burger. Cautiously he tipped up the cover over the plate.

  He scowled. “Is this a joke, Sue Ellen?” he yelled.

  “Your health is no joke.” The speaker was not Sue Ellen. Hailey Rogers stood before him, no longer attired in her yoga pants but instead in a short pastel blue skirt with a scoop-necked filmy blouse, also blue and dotted with flowers.

  “Um…thanks, but I already ordered. My lunch will be here any minute.”

  “How do you expect your team members to eat healthy if you don’t?”

  “I’m not their nanny. All I care about is how they do their j
obs.”

  “They’ll work better if they take care of themselves.” She rattled off enough health statistics and studies to rival any of his engineering staff’s geeky lingo. “Try it. It’s good. My father loved it.”

  “Your father ate an egg white omelet. He’d munch on meadow grass to make you happy.”

  “Chicken.”

  “I am not.”

  She smirked. “I mean that’s chicken, stir fried with almonds and veggies over brown rice.” She paused. “Not that the other doesn’t apply, Mr. Picky.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not a picky eater.”

  One slim eyebrow arched. “Could have fooled me.”

  He glanced at the plate. “Chicken? You sure?”

  “I don’t care for meat myself, but I know how to prepare it for those who are addicted to the taste of flesh.”

  His head rose as he prepared to glare. Then he spotted a small twinkle in her eyes. “You make meat eaters sound barbaric.”

  “Only some of them.” He could swear her mouth twitched.

  “All right, all right.” He stabbed with his fork and popped a bite in his mouth, prepared to hate it.

  It was actually pretty tasty—for sissy food. Not that he’d tell her.

  “So?” She moved closer, and he could smell her again, that light, flowery scent that said pure female.

  But he didn’t do light and flowery. Though he actually hadn’t had a date in long enough that he wasn’t sure if he had a type. “It’s okay,” he grumbled.

  For a second, she looked hurt. Then she yanked the plate out from under him and spun, heading for the door on those long, slender, killer legs. Hell, even her feet were sexy, clad in thin-strapped flat sandals with some kind of jewels on them.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “To feed someone who appreciates the time I put into making the meal.”

  His mother would take him to the woodshed for treating anyone like this. He rose and intercepted her, snagging the plate and holding it out of her reach. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat it.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, Mr. Grumpy.”

  He jolted. “Mr. Grumpy?”

  She stuck her pretty nose in the air and stabbed a finger into his chest.

  For some perverse reason, he wanted to grab that finger and nibble on it. To take that passion and see what he could do to please them both.

  Good gravy. Sue Ellen was right. He definitely needed to get out more.

  “Well, Brandon loved it, I’ll have you know.” She slipped around him. “He ate two helpings.”

  “Brandon?”

  “Granger. He asked if I’d teach him how to cook this while we’re in Pocono.” She turned on her heel and marched out the door, that sassy behind swaying with every step.

  “Brandon?” he echoed as if he was half-stupid. He rushed for the door. “Why are you going to Pocono with my sponsor?” he roared.

  She merely waved one slim hand over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner.

  Ryder stared after her and absently took a bite. “Brandon,” he mocked in a singsong tone. “Brandon just loved it, did he?”

  When he looked down, he’d cleared half the plate.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAILEY WASN’T SURE what she’d expected from a race weekend, but the reality of it surprised her. The team was busy from dawn until midnight, and the atmosphere was a combination of jaw-clenching tension and an electric excitement. Outside, the fans were jubilant and thrilled to be there—she could see pleasure written all over their faces, sort of like your birthday and Christmas all rolled together.

  But inside the garage, she began to understand the stakes. Yes, team members apparently loved racing with every cell in their bodies, but there was a lot on the line every single weekend. Each one of them burned with the fire of competition. For someone who’d devoted her life to peace and serenity, the charged atmosphere was more than a little unsettling.

  It was also exciting like nothing she’d ever experienced. She found herself falling under the spell so that by race time, she was at fever pitch herself. The pageantry was stunning, and she found herself regretting having agreed to sit in Brandon’s suite instead of down with the team.

  Her father had agreed to be upstairs, as well, but she could tell that he was eager to be with his men. “Go on down, Daddy,” she urged him. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

  Longing flickered but he shook his head. “I want to watch your first race with you.”

  Hailey glanced over at Brandon, who was talking to some of his executives, then back to her dad. “Would it cause you problems with your sponsor if we both went downstairs?”

  His eyes lit. “I don’t care if it does.” At her frown, he went on. “But he’ll understand. Anyone who loves racing would.”

  So it was that Hailey found herself down at track level, sitting in the pit box beside Ryder while her father sat in the back. She’d protested that she didn’t want to be in the way, but her father was determined that she get the fullest experience and assured her she wouldn’t be an intrusion.

  Ryder, she was fairly certain, did not agree, but to his credit, he didn’t argue. As she listened to him and the driver, Jeb, and spotter, Mike Thompson, though, she was impressed. Ryder was clearly the busiest man on the team and under no small amount of pressure, yet he spoke calmly to everyone and kept his head even when Jeb was nearly wrecked and became very agitated for a while. Ryder never appeared ruffled but got Jeb refocused and seemed to adjust his strategy on the fly.

  Not that she understood all this without her father explaining a great deal of what was going on, but what she did understand was that Ryder McGraw was able to keep a cool head under very challenging circumstances.

  As could she. She watched the pit crew perform and was sincerely impressed, but she remained convinced that she could help them be even better at their jobs.

  Unfortunately, Greg Schiffer hadn’t agreed. He’d turned her down flat on her proposal to work with the crew on flexibility.

  But Hailey found herself wanting, in her time with the team, to make a contribution. She wasn’t a person to sit around idle, nor did she like to shop, though her father had made it clear that he’d love to spend money on her. He didn’t owe her anything, though—that wasn’t what this visit was about.

  Right then, Hailey decided what she would do. Maybe she couldn’t actually train the pit crew, but a couple of them had seemed somewhat interested in gaining flexibility and weren’t intimidated by the idea of trying yoga. Her father wanted to give her something, so maybe she’d ask for a space to conduct an in-house yoga class, open to whomever might like to try it. And if she wanted to do a little cooking for interested parties, well, there was more than one way to skin a cat, right? Even if she only educated a person or two, that was what she’d devoted her life to and she wouldn’t be just hanging around, getting in the way.

  She glanced over at the very serious—and seriously sexy, not that she cared—Ryder McGraw and smiled to herself. He was so sure she was full of it, but he was dead wrong. What you put into your body and how you cared for it were essential to your well-being. Youth wouldn’t protect you forever.

  He was dictatorial and stubborn and had his mind made up. A month—well, three weeks plus now—wasn’t enough time to make major changes, but it was long enough for some level of improvement in physical conditioning and renewed energy.

  He would have to be convinced, but there was a part of her that liked a challenge. Serenity was wonderful, but maybe she was her father’s daughter, after all.

  Winning was a matter of definition.

  And it was fun.

  Just then, the voices in the headset, the zing of adrenaline she felt all around her and a glance at the tower told her that the race was nearing its end and Jeb Stallworth was in the top ten.

  Ryder never turned a hair while he spoke as calmly as ever.

  But his body was like a live wire fully charged.


  The fans were on their feet, the team leaning forward, intent upon the action. Hailey found herself on the edge of her seat, too.

  And when the race ended with Jeb in ninth spot, her father roared his approval, and even stuffy old Ryder gave her a high-five.

  MONDAYS WERE WHEN the race shop was most quiet. Ryder himself generally came in, as did the guys responsible for building the cars. Still, depending upon how the team had finished in the previous race, the atmosphere could be less pressured.

  “You should be in bed asleep,” said Sue Ellen when she found him already two hours into work before anyone else arrived.

  “Too much to do.” He turned back to his laptop.

  “Did you even eat breakfast?”

  He dropped his head in exasperation. “Sheila made me eggs and bacon first thing. Now will you go away?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “You did good this weekend, Ryder. This team is coming along.”

  “Should have had a top five,” he grumbled.

  “You’re gonna have an ulcer before you turn forty. You ought to get Hailey to teach you yoga. Learn to meditate or something.”

  All manner of retorts sprang to his lips, but he restrained himself. “Yeah, that’s gonna happen. Are you done lecturing me for one morning?”

  “I’m just saying.” She grinned and walked off.

  Three hours later, his stomach growled and Ryder made a split-second decision to go out for lunch for a change. He was nearly to the doors that opened onto the reception and display area when motion in the conference room caught his eye.

  The lighting was dimmed, and the conference table shoved to one wall. He didn’t need to waste time speculating on how such an unusual situation came to be. All he had to do was look at the woman in front of the far wall.

  Hailey stretched her arms high and bent her head back, speaking softly as she moved. Her long blond braid swung level with the tops of her thighs. Then she bent forward at the waist, feet flat on the floor, knees straight, her hands also flat on the floor in front of her.

  Ryder caught himself imagining performing that same bend. He’d be lucky to touch his shins, he was pretty sure.