Full Throttle VBT!


Fast cars and a smokin’ hot passion…
Rex intends to own and drive his own car, but that will cost him millions up front. Last season was a disaster, thanks to a nasty break up, but it taught him a lesson and helped sharpen his focus on what he needed to do: Win every race. And stay away from pretty girls. The last thing he needed was to learn that his new head mechanic, Jimmy James, was the gorgeous redhead pin-up walking around his pit like it was some kind of dance floor.
Gail “Jimmy” James is the first female NASCAR mechanic. As if competing in a man’s world isn’t tough enough, her bombshell figure bellies her genius IQ, and the pit is no place for either. Nothing Jimmy knew about Rex Henderson the driver prepared her for Rex Henderson the man. But Jimmy has no time to dwell on her feelings as strange mechanical problems curse Rex’s car. Whether sabotage or her own mistakes, Jimmy must stay one step ahead of trouble if she’s going to keep her job, and keep her driver alive…

 

Rex rounded the corner of the long row of garages headed for No. 14’s stall and glanced back. No one was in sight. The crew still had to be at the motor coach. He wanted to reach No. 14’s stall before they did and give Gail a piece of his mind—in private. He couldn’t wait to hear the cock and bull story she had in store for him.
The damn RV had picked a fine time to break down. The eve of their first test laps with the latest modifications, and their new hotshot mechanic had missed the bus. To top it all off, Rex had been forced to do a song and dance to convince Duff and the rest of the crew Randy hadn’t sold them a bum RV. As it turned out, the problem had been an electrical short in the rat’s nest of wiring feeding  the passenger cabin, which was a factory defect and had nothing to do with Randy.
He strode past stalls to the entry next to the rollup garage door at the front of his stall and stomped inside. The car sat parked to the side, and tires and tools were neatly stacked against the wall.
Rex halted at the back of the car. Gail was nowhere in sight. Dammit. She had probably gone out with the rest of the crew. Or had she not arrived at all? The lockers. If she’d been there, her work clothes and toiletries would be stowed in her locker.
He sidestepped the car and hurried to the back of the garage. He reached the locker room door and eased it open. Gail stood in bra and panties between the bench and the door, her skin milky white against black lace. Her breasts, partially hidden by her arms as she inspected the lens of a camera, filled the bra to overflowing. Her panties barely covered the soft curls that pushed against the silky
fabric. His heart kicked up a notch, sending warmth to his groin. He broke into a sweat. She hadn’t seen him. He could still make a clean getaway.
Gail’s gaze shifted to him. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a silent gasp as the camera clicked and a blinding flash lit the room. Spots flared in his vision. He blinked. She fumbled and dropped
the camera.
Rex lunged for the camera. His foot slid and he flung his arms out to grab something. She yelped. His left arm crashed into the lockers. Gail clutched at his pants as his right elbow slammed onto the bench. He hit the concrete floor so hard the air whooshed from his lungs. A bottle toppled off the bench onto his chest, but his gaze remained glued on Gail’s breasts nearly falling out of their black lace bindings as she toppled and fell on him with a grunt, her mouth stopping a hair’s breadth from his. A cold wetness oozed between them.
She blinked, breathless, then shoved off him, straddling his belly. “Don’t you ever knock?” Rex gulped air back into his lungs and looked down at the wet patch on his shirt. A crushed shampoo bottle. Gail gasped and grabbed the right cup of her bra, jerking it into place. Rex’s mouth went dry.
He yanked his gaze from her chest to her flushed face. “I didn’t know you were here,” he croaked. Anger smoldered in her eyes and her mouth snapped open—footsteps sounded outside the door and her head snapped up. Horror replaced anger. Rex twisted his neck to look at the door as it opened. Brent, Ricky, and Alex stood in the doorway. Their mouths dropped open in unison. A second later, three other men peered around their companions and stared.
Rex glanced back at Gail. A jolt of electricity zapped through him. She stared at the guys, frozen, her legs tight against his waist, her ass centered on top of his hard on.
“Rex,” Brent drawled, “you couldn’t even wait for her second week on the job?”
Rex sat up. Gail threw her arms around his neck. He grabbed her waist and yanked her close. Through the soft crush of breasts, he felt the pounding of her heart. She snatched her arms back as if he
were on fire and jammed a palm on his chest as she started to scramble to her feet. Shock was overridden by the erotic crush of her thighs against his belly. She froze, realization visible in her eyes,
and Rex knew she understood that standing up might be worse than remaining partially hidden by his body.
She ducked behind his chest and screamed, “Get out!”
“No way.” Ricky peered over Brent’s shoulder on his tiptoes.
“Out!” Rex yelled. “Get the fuck out, before I kick your asses, then have you fired!”

 

T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story The Pickle My Little Friend, and has evolved into over a dozen works, which includes their new series The Phenom League, and
Daphne Du Maurier winner the romantic thriller For His Eyes Only.
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