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This chapter is dedicated to my friend @AlanaAlbertson - she's totally helped me so much in my publishing journey!

SAVANNAH

"Oh, come on!" Dante roared and waved his hands in the air in a wild gesture. "That's ridiculous. Like I'd ever date her."

"You should be so lucky," I shot back.

He sneered. "Like I'd ever want the likes of you."

"Arrogant jerk." Turning to Bronson, I demanded, "Is this a joke?"

"Nope." Bronson shook his head. "I've talked it over with our publicist. We can probably keep the reporters occupied with this fake story for a while. Maybe for the entire season, if need be."

"The entire season?" Dante asked. "That's six months."

Bronson shrugged. "Admittedly, it might cramp your style with other chicks. I'm sure you'll manage, though."

It was so annoying to hear Dante's grunts and grumbles in Italian and I rolled my eyes in his direction. Not only was this lunatic of a team owner trying to entice me into a charade of a relationship, but also Dante clearly hated me and loathed my mere presence.

"How do you know I won't go to the reporters and tell them about this little plan?" I challenged, figuring at this point, I had nothing to lose by showing my scrappy side.

Bronson smirked. "Read your employment contract. Non-disclosure clause. You can't talk about anything to anyone outside the team. I'll sue you and your rich father for everything you have if you do."

I exhaled, pushing my lips out. I couldn't get my father involved in this. Not only would he be disappointed in me, it might be a scandal for his company. "And if we refuse?"

Bronson lifted his shoulders again and smiled cynically. "I can get another tire changer. And another driver."

My eyes went to Dante, and I watched his mouth drop open. His hands, which rested on the seat next to his muscular thighs, balled into fists.

"I'll let you two talk it over in private, but I trust you'll come to the right decision. I'm headed back into the conference area, but you two get comfy alone, mmkay?" Bronson stood, pausing, his head ping-ponging between me and Dante.

"The two of you do actually make a gorgeous couple."

He grinned and strode out of the cabin and I snorted out loud. I sank back into the plush leather seat and swiveled to stare out the window. What had I gotten myself into with this team? I wanted to weep in frustration, but wouldn't. Especially not in front of Dante, that loser. Yes, I was calling the four-time world champion a loser in my mind. I might tell him to his face, too, in about five seconds.

No way could I go along with this. I sighed audibly, but the noise sounded more like it came from a strangled ferret.

Eagle was my in, my ticket to a career in motorsports. And my father was sponsoring the team. Daddy had told me he needed the visibility the sponsorship afforded. Something about appearing strong and confident to shareholders. I didn't want to burden him any more than I already had.

I'd have to call him and Mom to explain the photo. As my mind spun, I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my forehead against the cool oval window of the plane.

If I did say yes, I might be able to leverage the situation. Maybe I could turn this into an opportunity to learn more about the sport, then jump to another, more scrupulous team next season. Pretending to be Dante's love interest would be a matter of a few public appearances, nothing more.

Right?

And after all, I was a good actress. I'd pretended I was healthy and happy during years of beauty pageants, when I was anything but. How difficult would it be to act the part of a sports star's girlfriend?

Life is about is putting on a happy face and acting the part, my mother always said.

I hated when my mother was right. And it dawned on me: there was another advantage to this fake relationship. By pretending to be Dante's lover for a season, my mother might stop hounding me about finding a boyfriend and getting married. She'd lay off her nagging about me working in a man's world. My fake relationship with Dante would end, and Mom would me the hell alone to grieve the breakup, buying me even more time.

I lifted my warm forehead from the window and opened my eyes. Dante was across the table and had swiveled his body in my direction. His eyes were filled with a disquieting fierceness.

This would be so much easier if he wasn't incredibly handsome.

"We're going to do it," he said in a steely tone.

In that instant, because of his insistence, I changed my mind. What had I been thinking? If I went through with this stupid proposal I'd be the laughingstock of the team. Of all motorsports. No damned way. Not for this arrogant jerk, who clearly hated me.

"No. We're not. It's insane."

His nostrils flared. It would have made me giggle if the situation wasn't so serious.

"Look, Savannah," he said, his smooth voice taking on a distinct edge. "I'm not one to, how do you say in your language, sugarcoat things. I am not happy you are part of this team. But we're going to have to work together on this."

I pressed both hands to my chest as if he had tried to mortally wound me. "Really? Why are you unhappy? What have I done to you?"

He shoved his hair back from his forehead, a fascinating motion because the planes of his masculine hand looked so stark against the thick, black strands. "It's not what you have done to me. It's what you could potentially do to this team. But that's no matter now. We're being forced together."

With wide eyes, I spoke in a fake, honeyed cadence reserved for debutante balls and sorority soirees. "Such anger. Goodness. You must have been really damaged by a woman to have these strong feelings. I'm so sorry. Maybe you should explore your feelings a bit with a professional. It's not healthy to hold negativity inside."

"I can honestly say no woman has ever damaged me."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I was used to sexual, inappropriate banter because I'd majored in engineering and had been around guys for years. I could easily give as much as I could take. Open hostility or questioning my abilities because of my gender, well, that was foreign territory. Dante was not only rude, but also insufferable.

Now I had to go along with this whole ridiculous deal, just to spite his ass and annoy him for six whole months.

"Maybe you need to explain, uh, mansplain to me. After all, I only have an engineering degree. Please. Clue me in. What harm am I causing? At this point, I don't want to be here. You're the last man I want to be around. But I'm offended you think I'm bad for the team."

His dark brows drew together into a savage scowl. I'd never seen a man look so sexy while scowling, and the thought made the corners of my lips lift.

"What? You think this is funny?" he hissed, his eyes growing darker. "This is my career you're playing with. My life. It's in your tiny girly hands every time you change my tire. Don't forget that, Savvy. This isn't a glorified internship for me, as it is for you, a rich daddy's girl from America."

He said my name with such animosity that I reared back. Of all the resistance I expected on the team, I never imagined it would come from the star driver. Dante's jaw set in a rigid clench and he straightened his shoulders. How could I think a caveman like this was sexy? I needed to unpack my feelings about this later, but for now, I was ready for combat. I pursed my lips primly.

"I don't think you're in the best position of evaluating my employment and motorsports connections, Mr. Annunziata. If I recall, your own father is a player in the auto industry as well, and from what I've read, the press made similar allegations about you being the beneficiary of nepotism when you were starting out."

I licked my lips and noticed his eyes flicker for an instant toward my mouth.

"I'm going to ignore your insubordination to your driver because of the circumstances. We're going to have to work together and go along with Bronson's stupid idea. But here's how I feel. Women don't have any place on a team unless they're in a revealing outfit and holding an umbrella over my head while I do interviews."

As I laughed, I studied his smooth, olive skin, his arrestingly graceful yet powerful neck and his earlobe. It looked so soft and downy that I desired to take it in between my lips and tug.

Where had that thought come from?

"Bless your heart," I said in a soft voice, playing up my Southern accent.

Dante's eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Annunziata. That's something we say in the South in the United States."

Surely an Italian wouldn't know Southerners used the phrase as a caustic comeback, a polite way of saying You're an idiot.

I grinned and rose from my chair to saunter up and down the aisle. Might as well make him sweat a little as I made up my mind. Prick.

"You don't need to call me that," he grumbled. "Dante is acceptable. Mr. Annunziata makes me sound old."

Chuckling, I sank onto the long sofa flanking one wall of the plane. Unbuckling his seat belt, Dante stood and crossed the aisle to sit next to me. He was close, too close, and I could smell his lime-spice cologne.

"Please?" His tone was different now. Soft and silky. He wrapped his hand around my wrist. "Look. I might not want you on the team, but I guess I need you now. For my survival. For the championship. Don't you want to be part of a winning team?"

I heaved a long sigh, ignoring how his words—I need you—made my heart crash against my ribs. And unknowingly, he'd tapped into the one thing I loved: competition. If I had a chance to win, anywhere, I'd do everything I could do make it happen. Video games with my brother, soccer in elementary school, pageants. I loved to win.

Admittedly, faking a relationship with the world's richest athlete might be a step too far.

"Why should I go along with this? It's humiliating. Aren't you shocked by this proposal?"

A part of me wanted to wrench my wrist out of his grip, but he worked his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers. Desire whispered through me. I'd never felt such an intense touch from a man. He squeezed gently and I swore my blood heated up as it coursed through my body.

"Aren't you getting a little cozy with my hand?"

He grinned, obviously trying to turn on his Italian charm. "Shush. We're getting to know each other. Anyway, listen. Teams lie to the press all the time. There's all sorts of tricks and half-truths flying around." Dante went on, mentioning the name of a famous retired driver, adding that he was gay.

I frowned. "I thought he was dating that Hollywood starlet, the one in the action movies."

Dante shook his head and squeezed my hand again. "Nope. A total publicity stunt."

Wow. Apparently there was a lot I didn't know about the inner workings of the sport, and how it was packaged to the world. I glanced into Dante's deep, dark eyes and was shocked to see he wore a serious, pleading look.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"This is my last year in racing. I have to take over my father's company next year when I retire. This is my final chance for a championship."

I tried to ignore the warmth of his body. He was wearing shorts and his muscular thigh pressed against my jean-clad leg. I looked down at our tangled hands and a rush of sheer eroticism went through me. My pale skin practically glowed next to his golden olive hue and I imagined how our naked bodies would look when pressed together. The fantasy made me unsteady and I focused on my sneakers.

"And why should I help you win a championship? Especially when you don't even want me on the team?"

He sighed. "I'm going to have to put my biases about you and about girls in motorsport aside. I recognize that and it's a shortcoming. Look, I have the chance to be among the greats. This is my last opportunity. Do you know how much it means to me? I once made a promise to someone important to me that I'd try to reach this milestone. I'm so close, Savannah. I'm willing to put everything aside and practically sell my soul to the devil for a fifth championship."

This was all about him. Selfish jerk. Still, the way he said my name made me melt. And I understood a competitive spirit. My brows knit together and a pang of jealousy went through me at the thought that someone was so important to him that he would pretend to be in a relationship with a total stranger to fulfill a promise.

"Who? Who did you make the promise to?"

"My sister. Right before she died."

"How did she die? How old was she?"

He shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to get into it right now."

I nodded slowly, squeezing his hand. How could I say no? How could I resist such determination and drive?

"Okay. I'll help you. Let's do it. Let's pretend we're lovers."

The corners of his mouth turned up.

"Thank you." He paused and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. "You know, this actually could be fun on many levels."

My pulse kicked and surged. Could he detect how fast my heart was beating simply by touching me? His hand let go of mine and went into my hair. Taking a strand, he wound a curl slowly around his finger. It was exactly what he was doing to my insides: making them coil. The only thing I could do was bite my lip because I was frozen in place about what would happen next.

"Maybe a kiss to seal the deal?" Dante asked in a velvety, low voice.

Whoa. The exact thing I wanted was obviously the wrong thing to do. Especially on the team's plane. Kissing this arrogant jackass, who obviously hated me and just wanted to use me? No way. Even though his lips looked so soft and kissable. No damned way.

"Don't even think about it." I wriggled away from him and launched off the sofa. I flung myself in my seat. "Go tell Bronson I'm on board. Do it quick, before I change my mind."

His laughter rang in my ears as he rose and walked to the back of the plane, opening the door to the back room where the others were gathered.

Plucking a magazine out of my bag to distract myself, I realized with dismay I'd worried about all the wrong things when considering the bizarre proposition. Instead of thinking about my career, my reputation in the motorsports world and my mother, I should have also considered my own fragile heart.

How could I—a virgin with virtually no experience with men—be in such close proximity with this infamous playboy athlete and not succumb to my desires or his charms?

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