Hard to Resist Read online

  In another smooth motion, she fluidly shifted one leg out to the side and continued a slow series of graceful moves that the three men arrayed in front of her tried to emulate. One was Kyle, a tire carrier, a huge, muscle-bound man Ryder would never in a million years have expected to see trying this. Donnie, a mechanic—lean and a runner, Ryder happened to know—was having more success than his colleague. The third guy, Curtis, was barely trying, too caught up in admiring the view.

  But with each one, Hailey demonstrated enormous patience and not one trace of derision that they lagged so far behind her skill.

  “I bet she could help even me limber up,” Sue Ellen said, craning around him. “Wonder if she’d let me join?”

  Ryder did a double take. Sue Ellen practically made a religion out of not exercising.

  As if reading his mind, she sniffed. “What, you think I can’t do it?”

  He held up his hands. “Just don’t know why you’d want to.”

  “If I thought I’d wind up looking like her, I might do a lot of things.”

  Ryder turned back and observed Hailey awhile longer. Her body was taut, her muscles toned, her lines sleek and elegant. When he saw her move effortlessly into a headstand and hold it, he knew that her grace was deceptive. The woman had to be strong to pull off something like that. She was a contradiction in other ways, he was discovering. He’d never have dreamed that Granola Girl could get so excited at a race, but her eyes had shone, and he’d almost swear she’d been fiercely rooting for Jeb on Sunday.

  But then he’d seen her with Brandon when the sponsor came down to congratulate him, and she’d giggled—giggled—at something the man had said.

  There was no figuring this woman out. Not that he wanted to. “I’ll be out for a little bit,” he told Sue Ellen.

  Sue Ellen only nodded and kept watching.

  “DO YOU KNOW WHAT that blasted woman has done?” Greg Schiffer stormed into Ryder’s office two days later. “I specifically told her yoga was not part of my training regimen, but she’s got my whole crew working out with her in the evenings.”

  Marcus Conroy smirked from behind him. “She’s feeding them lunch, too. She has the guys actually trying tofu.”

  “If the crew loses one ounce of strength…” Greg’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “You have to put a stop to this. She’s disrupting everything.”

  “Yeah, Ryder, what are you gonna do about her?” Marcus chimed in.

  “She’s not my problem. Talk to Dixon.” Ryder turned back to his spreadsheet.

  “Oh, yeah?” challenged Marcus. “Did you hear she’s teaching Jeb meditation?”

  Ryder closed his eyes. Everywhere he turned, it seemed that Hailey was meddling in something, but Dixon was wreathed in smiles every day because she was involved and interested in his people. “I’ll talk to her,” he muttered.

  “When?” Greg demanded. “It’s her or it’s me, Ryder. You hired me to make your pit crew hum, and I’m doing that.”

  “She’s trouble, yet you haven’t lifted a finger to stop her so far,” Marcus said, his eyes glinting. “Gone soft, McGraw? Or maybe that’s not your problem in regard to her.”

  Ryder decided then that Marcus was definitely history. He would call Bodie Martin as soon as he returned from checking on Hailey. “I said I’d deal with her.” He stalked past both of them. He could be aggravated at Hailey and had plenty of reason to be—the blasted woman had this habit of getting under his skin—but he would not stand for Marcus’s oily insinuations about her. He simply had to walk a fine line, that’s all, because her presence meant so much to Dixon, as did her happiness. Other people didn’t know what he did about the reasons why their normally steely and impassive boss was vulnerable when it came to his daughter.

  He headed for the conference room, only to find it empty. The faint notes of some weird music drifted in through the double doors leading to the shop area. He followed them until he reached the break room, only to stop stock-still at the sight before him.

  All the tables had been shoved to the side and chairs neatly stacked on top of them. The overhead fluorescents were out, and Hailey had candles—candles, for Pete’s sake—lit and sitting on the countertops. Some kind of unearthly woo-woo music, all flutes and crap, was playing.

  And though his pit crew had had the sense not to be participating when Greg was around, he spotted four mechanics, two fabricators, three engineers and Sue Ellen all lying on mats on their backs like nap time in kindergarten. Every single one of them wore an expression of pure relaxation and peace.

  Hailey’s head rose, her face serene as she spoke softly in a tone so calming it made Ryder want to sit down and just…breathe.

  Oh, man. He tensed to say something, do something—

  Hailey only smiled so sweetly at him that his heart gave a little flip.

  No. No way. She was not dragging him into her wackiness. He closed his ears to the music and steeled himself against the calming atmosphere, backing out the door quietly while assuring himself that he did not want to give in, not for one second, to the pull of the palpable soothing that swirled in the air.

  If his team lost its edge because of Hailey Rogers…

  Grimly, Ryder strode back to his office as though the hounds of hell were after him. Once inside, he closed the door, grabbed the phone and punched in the number for Bodie Martin.

  Maybe he couldn’t easily dismiss one pain in his behind, but Dixon Rogers didn’t love Marcus Conroy. Ryder would wrest back control of at least one part of his life.

  And, he reminded himself, Hailey would be gone in less than three weeks.

  “YOU’VE CHANGED MY LIFE,” Sue Ellen said, hugging her. “I’m sleeping better, after only a few days, and I don’t feel so tired after work. Plus when things start getting the better of me, I just do some of that breathing you showed us. My husband Les says he hopes you never leave, and my daughter Tina wants me to bring her to class. My mama looks at me funny, but I can tell she’s interested.”

  Hailey smiled. “They’d be welcome, all of them. Yoga is a lifetime activity. My oldest student was eighty-six.”

  “I can’t get over that I wasn’t even that sore after the first day.”

  “It can be very strenuous, but proper breathing and warm-up help and you—” Hailey glanced over Sue Ellen’s shoulder to see Ryder just outside the break room door, his face thunderous. “Uh-oh.”

  Sue Ellen glanced in that direction, then placed a hand on her arm. “He’s under a lot of pressure, honey. But he’s a good man. Don’t you worry. He won’t actually bite your head off.” Her gaze shifted. “I don’t think.” Then she grinned. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “No,” Hailey responded more serenely than she felt. “You go on. I’ll be fine.” She hoped.

  Sue Ellen departed with a glare for Ryder as she left. Hailey remained where she was, closing her eyes for a second and inhaling one cleansing breath.

  Ryder approached, his gaze locked on hers. He was larger than life, his presence as commanding as his frame. She waited for him to speak, but to her surprise, when he reached her, he only stood silently.

  Hailey kept her own eyes on his, seeking to understand the man inside.

  He looked tired. Powerful and elementally male as he was, his gaze spoke of a bone-deep exhaustion, a gnawing worry.

  Impulsively she reached for his hands. He started in surprise and pulled against her. Though his hands were big enough to swallow hers, she held on, willing some of her own serenity into him.

  To her surprise, he hesitated. Let out a deep breath. Deep mossy-green eyes went nearly black as his pupils dilated. Hailey couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

  Which she didn’t. “Close your eyes,” she murmured. “Take a deep breath through your nose. Let your chest expand…feel the breath fill you…let your body relax….”

  For a second, his lids began to drift, his shoulders to lower—

  His eyes snapped wide open. He yanked his hands
from hers and stepped away. “Don’t pull your woo-woo crap on me,” he growled.

  “You’re tired,” she said, mustering reason and calm. “I can help you, Ryder. You can’t go on at this pace.”

  “I don’t need your help.” His brows snapped together.

  “I’ve watched you. You’re carrying a killing workload.”

  “I’m fine.” His tone brooked no argument.

  He was wrong. She could see it in every line of his frame. She made one more attempt. “If you’re too stubborn to let me teach you some coping mechanisms, at least let me give you a massage and work some of the tension from your muscles.”

  Under other circumstances, she would have laughed at the medley of expressions chasing over his features—shock, insult…and a little bit of intrigue. For an instant, his eyes smoldered.

  A lesser man would have stooped to the prurient and focused on the idea of her hands on him, but Ryder McGraw was always rigidly in control. If anything, he stiffened more. “I’m not tense. But you are a problem. Leave my people alone.”

  A problem. She’d only been trying to help, to find some way to contribute. “No one’s forcing them to take a class with me.”

  “Greg told you no yoga.”

  “Greg may be the only person around here more rigid than you.”

  He did a double take. “I’m not rigid.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  He frowned. “I’m not. Running an operation this size, with so much at stake, requires discipline and focus. You’re a distraction. We can’t afford that.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t feel so hurt, but she did. “I’m trying to help. I—I’m used to working. My father wants me to stay here for a whole month—” she was horrified to hear her voice crack “—and I can’t simply sit around and file my nails.” Even if she had long nails. Which she didn’t. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Ryder. This will help the pit crew, it will help everyone. Not only for flexibility but in dealing with pressure and—”

  “We deal with pressure,” he interrupted. “We were doing fine before you showed up.” He leaned closer, his gaze intent. “Do not mess with my driver. Stay out of his head. You have no idea what you’re toying with. If this is some kind of revenge on your father, don’t do it. You’re hurting more than just him. Not that he deserves it, either.”

  She was appalled that he would think that of her. “I don’t—I wouldn’t—”

  Ryder shook his head impatiently. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I believe you mean well,” he said with exaggerated patience. “But team chemistry is fragile, and it’s everything when you’re trying to get to the top of a very competitive field.” His gaze actually softened a little. “Look, maybe I can find you someplace off-site to hold your little classes, and you can give them for some of the ladies in town.”

  Your little classes. Hailey ground her teeth and forgot everything she knew about serenity. “You pompous ass. You’re so sure you have all the answers, don’t you? Well, there’s a big world out there, Ryder McGraw, and for thousands of years before NASCAR or Fulcrum Racing or even the mighty Ryder McGraw existed, people were respecting the body-mind connection and the discipline involved in yoga. They were using it to gain control over their lives and improve the quality of their existence. The world doesn’t begin and end in North Carolina or inside this building, much as you seem to think so. But if you want to slap away the hand of someone who’s only trying to help, well you just go right ahead, Mr. Know-It-All Crew Chief. As for me, I’ll just make myself scarce, never mind that my father wants me involved in his life.” She yanked up her yoga mat and her bag and stalked through the door.

  Once outside, she looked around her and wondered why she’d ever thought contacting her father was a good idea. She didn’t fit here—Mr. Insufferable had made that perfectly obvious. She shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t her mother always said racing was a world unto itself?

  It didn’t matter, none of this. She wouldn’t let it.

  So why did she want to sit down right here in the parking lot and cry?

  She wouldn’t give Ryder the satisfaction. She hadn’t fought so hard to achieve serenity, only to let a man who didn’t have a clue about her life wreck it. Hailey got in her rental car and pulled out of the parking lot, wondering if this was the last time she’d enter the sacred environs of Fulcrum Racing.

  She couldn’t think about it right now. Let go. Breathe. Detach.

  Good advice, she knew.

  But at the moment, detachment seemed the most impossible thing she’d ever tried to accomplish.

  OH, HELL. RYDER MENTALLY groaned. He’d gone and done it. He was supposed to sell her on racing, not run her off.

  Sure, she drove him crazy. And she was disrupting everything.

  Especially yourself? an inner voice asked. No. He was fine, just like he’d told her.

  Coping mechanisms. He snorted aloud. He coped just fine.

  At least let me give you a massage and work some of the tension from your muscles.

  Oh, yeah. Like one thing about him would be relaxed with her hands on him. The very thought of those slim fingers on his body…

  Do. Not. Think. About. That.

  But he couldn’t leave matters like this. He had to talk to her, to reason with her, to make her see, as she obviously didn’t, how crucial the team’s performance was. How many jobs were on the line, if he didn’t succeed.

  It was what kept him waking up in a cold sweat some nights. Yes, he was competitive. What was wrong with that? Everyone in racing was. They had to be. But now it was all up to him, and the responsibility did weigh heavily on him at times.

  Not that he’d ever admit it.

  He exhaled in relief that her car was still in the parking lot, though the engine was running. He quickened to a lope.

  But when he neared her car, her head was bowed and her shoulders were shaking.

  Oh, God. Was she crying? Ryder was renowned for his cool head under intense pressure, but tears…oh, man. Drivers didn’t do tears. A little panic skittered through him.

  Her head rose, and she wiped her eyes, then reached for the steering wheel.

  “No!” He grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. “You can’t drive when you’re upset. You’re crying. It’s not safe.”

  Her head whipped toward him, then away. “I’m not crying,” she said, in a clearly tearful voice. “Go away.”

  “Look—” He crouched on his heels, so that their heads were nearly the same height. “Hailey, I—” How on earth did he fix this?

  “Please get up. Let me be.” She reached for the inside door handle.

  He didn’t budge. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  She stared straight ahead. “I told you I wasn’t crying.” Then she sniffed.

  “Here.” He pulled his lucky grease rag from his back pocket, a leftover from his days as a mechanic, and handed it to her. He never felt really complete without a grease rag, though the days when he had an occasion to use one were mostly gone. There was nothing he liked better, though, than tinkering with an engine.

  She took it from him, then did a double take. “What is this?”

  “A grease rag. But clean, I promise. Blow your nose. Your ‘not crying’ has your head all stuffed up.”

  She stared at the rag dubiously, then finally shook her head and used it as daintily as though it was fine linen. She started to hand it back, then held on. “I’ll wash it.”

  “Give it here. That’s not the worst thing it’s ever had on it.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “It’s my lucky rag. Please.” He held out a hand.

  Her lips curved slightly. “Lucky grease rag? Why, Mr. Crew Chief, are you superstitious?”

  He flushed and snatched it from her hand, then stuffed it into his back pocket. “Forget I said that,” he mumbled.

  Her smile widened, and he realized that though she dispensed smiles freely all over the shop, it was the first time s
ince the day they met that she’d smiled at him.

  And he was pretty sure he knew whose fault that was. “Have you eaten?” Then he groaned. Like she would want to go anywhere he would eat.

  She studied him for a few seconds that seemed much longer. “No. Why?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s a stupid idea. You’d hate the places I like.”

  “I’m not a snob, Ryder. I simply try to take care of my body, and I find that what I eat makes a big difference. It’s much like your engines. You wouldn’t put substandard fuel in them, would you?”

  He sighed. “Here we go again. Never mind.” He started to rise.

  “Where were you thinking about going?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea if there’s tofu served anywhere in the whole state of North Carolina. I was thinking Maudie’s.”

  “I hear everyone talking about Maudie’s. I can find something to eat there, I’m sure.”

  “I seriously doubt it. The food’s great, don’t get me wrong. But Sheila runs more to chicken-fried steak than organic fruit.”

  Her expression seemed wistful, though, so he abandoned thoughts of arguing further. “Your funeral. Come on.” He held out a hand to help her alight, then found himself not so eager to let go of it.

  He did so anyway. He was only here to extend an olive branch, not do something completely stupid. Even if those words give you a massage and the image of her hands on his flesh wouldn’t stop dancing around in his head. “My truck’s over there.”

  Her eyes widened as they approached. “All this huge truck for just—” She clapped one hand over her mouth. “I didn’t say a word,” came from behind muffled lips.

  But her expression said volumes.

  It means a lot to me for her to like this place and what I do.

  Blast you, Dixon. Ryder saw her into the passenger seat, admiring her finely shaped rear as she climbed.

  I want you to help me make her feel comfortable.

  Fine and dandy. But what about me, boss?

  Ryder sighed and rounded the hood of his truck.