Drive Me Crazy by Kate Angell

From the Publisher

A couple embarks on a thrilling and sexy road rally adventure only to discover that their '67 Mustang has a mind of its own.

Product Details

• Read a Sample Chapter

Read a Sample Chapter

Drive Me Crazy

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-505-52559-3

Chapter One

"Women drivers!"

The man in the black Sting Ray exited the vehicle, madder than
hell. Hands on his hips, he waited, ready to kill, as TZ Blake
stepped from her candy apple red Mustang.

Ignoring him, she immediately checked the damage to her car.
There was a significant dent in the door just below the
window. Her heart sank. The '67 Mustang had been a gift from
her Aunt Elise, and TZ treated the classic car as if it were
her child. A child now with a nasty scrape.

"You took two inches of paint off my car door," the man said
to her back as he breathed down her neck.

TZ turned and came close enough to Cade Nyland to breathe the
same air. She'd seen Cade from a distance, but never up close,
and never so angry. The orange-tinted lenses on her pink retro
shades cast him in a hellish glow. His look condemned her.

She slid her sunglasses down her nose with one finger and
looked at him over the rim. In the late afternoon light, he
stood tall and solid, his nostrils flared, and his muscles
flexed. He was an imposing male animal. She knew him by
reputation alone: a bad-boy ladies' man known as much for his
bar brawls as for his sinfully good looks.

Pitch dark hair brushed the collar of his gray polo; his shirt
tucked into snug black jeans. Beneath dark brows, his eyes
bore the deepening color of twilight, blue touching black
before day became night. His mouth was sexy, even with his
nose out of joint. His jaw was set, strong and stubbled. The
man was carnal.

TZ pushed her shades to the bridge of her nose. "You should be
more careful."

"Me, careful?" He looked incredulous. "You swung your door
wide, as if there wasn't another car in sight."

"I am in a hurry," TZ cut him off.

Cade blocked her path. "We're not done yet."

"Life moves forward," TZ informed him. "Move with it or step
aside." Grabbing her straw bag from the front seat of the
Mustang, she undid the clasp and pulled out a business card.
"All Tune and Lube, ask for TZ Blake. Best repair job in town.
On me, I have a running account."

He took the card, studied it. "You carry Blake's business
card?" He shook his head. "You're an accident waiting to
happen. The way you drive, I'm sure you keep the man in
business." The man? Nyland thought her male. TZ contained her
smile. "I make him rich."

She spun on her heel and headed across the parking lot toward
Chugger Charlie's, a local beachside bar favored by the
townies. Within a very short time, the crowd would raise the
roof as rallyists and groupies kicked off rally week with a
frenzy of skin and release of inhibitions. She had fifteen
minutes until the tight butt contest.

Squinting against the sun, Cade Nyland watched the young woman
with more attitude than driving sense weave around the parked
cars and enter the bar. He fingered the business card. Who was
this female with a running account at All Tune and Lube? Hell,
he hadn't even gotten her name.

His anger had nearly gotten the better of him when he'd heard
the smack of her car door hitting his. Then he'd seen the
culprit: a coed with an auburn ponytail, three diamond studs
in each ear, and a stubborn chin. She wore shorts and a top,
two sizes too large for her slender frame. A two-inch scar ran
just below her left knee cap. She stood barefoot, her toe
nails painted a bright pink. Several toe rings band her toes,
and a gold-link bracelet encircled her right ankle.

Cade had an eye for detail, and the memory to shame an
elephant. Something about the coed bothered him. He just
couldn't put his finger on it. Not yet anyway.

Chugger Charlie's was the place to party. The bar hosted the
wet T-shirt and tight butt contests the weekend prior to the
SunCoast Run, the father of all road races. The coed had
entered Chugger Charlie's as if she'd owned the place. She
didn't, however, look old enough to drink. If she was in the
bar, he'd find her before the evening ended. He'd get her name
and the name of her insurance company.

Cade pushed off his Vette, and took one final look at the dent
in the Mustang. He rubbed his hand over the gash. The car felt
warm, pulsing warm, in the shaded area of the parking lot. He
glanced inside, and caught his reflection in the rear view
mirror. It was set at an odd angle, tilted right instead of
left. He had the strangest sensation the mirror stared back at
him. He'd expected to see eyes ...

He rubbed one hand over his own eyes, and exhaled sharply. Man
alive, he'd just imagined the Mustang checking him out.
Perhaps he was more tired than he'd realized.

The trip from Los Angeles to northern Florida had definitely
taken its toll. He'd lived on little sleep and caffeine for
the past three months. It was all part of corporate raiding,
staying awake and one step ahead of the competition. Cade did
the convincing, sealed the deals, while his two younger
pencil-pushing brothers crunched numbers, grafted profits and
kept their white collars clean. His most recent buyout claimed
a West Coast auto parts franchise. The takeover would soon
double his family's fortune. Action Auto Parts would now
stretch coast to coast. While his father wanted him to take
his rightful place as CEO of the company, Cade felt as
confined in suits and ties as he did in a boardroom. He found
freedom on the open road. Just like his grandfather, Rayburn
Nyland, once had. To this day, Rayburn understood Cade's
restless spirit, and never called him on the carpet for
missing a meeting.

The moment he'd returned to Gulf Cove, he'd received a phone
call from the rally committee, notifying him that Jay Wright,
his partner in the race, had broken his leg water skiing.
Jay's hip-to-heel cast wouldn't fit in Cade's Sting Ray. He
needed to hire a new mechanic or his Corvette would turn into
a damn pumpkin by midnight.

He'd been told local mechanic TZ Blake frequented Chugger
Charlie's. It was further rumored two other drivers were in
need of his services. Cade hoped to connect with TZ after the
tight butt contest. He would pay big bucks for the man's time
and expertise.

Turning on his heel, he headed for Chugger Charlie's. Once
inside, sunshine slashed the archways of the open-air bar.
Tracked-in sand scuffed wooden planks while overhead, paddle
ceiling fans cooled the overheated crowd. The scents of salt
air, coconut suntan oil and two-for-one banana daiquiris mixed
with activated hormones.

A restless undercurrent quickened the pulse of the crowd. The
wild pulse of anticipation. From the doorway, Cade scanned the
crowd for the coed with the auburn ponytail. The bar was
packed, and he didn't have time to move about the room and
find her. Easing forward, he elbowed his way through the
thickening crowd toward the improv stage.

Chugger Charlie's was not his usual haunt. He preferred
atmosphere that edged the darker side of midnight. While he'd
begged off the wet T-shirt contest, he'd been strong-armed by
the rally committee to judge the tight butt competition. He
couldn't believe he'd agreed to such lunacy. He had more
important things to accomplish than casting a vote for
sweetest cheeks.

The announcer and owner of the bar, Charlie Owens, soon
spotted him. "Over here, Nyland. Judges sit front and center."

Cade dropped onto the end chair, nodded to the other four
judges, two women and two men, all of whom he knew from past
road rallies.

To his left, Cade's chief competitor, Rhett Evans, nudged his
shoulder. "Can you believe our luck? Scoring tight butts!"

Cade felt anything but lucky. "It can't get any better than
this." His sarcasm was lost on Rhett. Leaning forward, Cade
picked up his scorecard and scanned the necessary
qualifications for tightest ass. Firmness, roundness, no tan
lines.

No tan lines? He dropped the card and blew out a breath. "Sun
buns."

Directly in front of the table, Charlie Owens now stood center
stage. A burly man wearing white athletic socks and jockeys.
He looked downright ridiculous. "Bare fannies and granny
panties, boxers and briefs, five grand for the sweetest
cheeks," the announcer's voice boomed through the bar. "Clap
and cheer for the tightest rear." Catcalls and wolf whistles
rose with the music as the contestants hit the stage and
brought down the house. Cade watched as eleven women and four
men in various stages of undress bounded onto the platform.
Strip clubs had nothing on these dancers.

Rumpshakin' rocked the stage as the contestants played to the
crowd. The crowd responded wildly, jostling for a clearer view
of the stage. Contestants' names rose on an exuberant chant.
"Sweet cheeks" became the call of the wild.

Cade shook his head. Surrounded by foot stomping and heavy
breathing, the sensual tension built like an orgasm. He wished
the contest over. He was in need of fresh air. A man bumped
Cade from behind. "Tight ass, TZ!" he hollered near Cade's
ear. "Tease me, baby."

TZ? Cade shifted on his chair and craned his neck. Which male
dancer was TZ Blake? Hopefully not the pretty boy in the
shamrock briefs. The man looked more vanity mirror than grease
monkey.

"Give us all you've got," the announcer rallied the
participants. "The judges are about to narrow the stage to
five finalists."

"Christ, only five?" the man next to Cade sounded panicky.

Five ... Limited on time, Cade set his jaw and turned as
serious as the situation warranted. He evaluated the buff
behinds. While he liked the tanned toned thighs on a leggy
blonde, her thonged derriere lacked the roundness of a perfect
ten.

In a bid for finalist status, one redhead bared her breasts in
an attempt to draw the judges' eyes from her cellulite to her
magnificent chest. Cade mentally gave her points for
distraction. The redhead should have won the wet T-shirt
contest.

The male competitors, while all hard-bodied, didn't hold the
appeal of feminine fannies. Cade left the male scoring to the
female judges.

Toward the back of the gyrating melee, a flash of hot pink
boxers caught his eye. The erotic sway of the dancer's hips
held his glance until he was forced to blink. Contestant
number nine held a subtle sex appeal over the other dancers.
The sheer silken fabric couldn't hide her flawless curves.
Flat stomach and tight ass.

She danced barefoot, her toenails painted a bright pink. A
strobe light caught the glint of her toe rings and ankle
bracelet. Cade straightened on his chair as he skimmed her
white crop top and his gaze claimed her face. With each shake
of her head, wild auburn curls brushed the natural hollow of
her cheeks and the flirty fullness of her mouth.

The coed from the parking lot! Scantily clad, she had a
knockout body, a solid nine, pushing toward a ten. For a full
thirty seconds he allowed her appeal to stroke him physically.
He then swallowed hard and schooled his body against the
attraction. While she was hot, she was also young. Too young
for him. At thirty-six, he liked his women seasoned, older and
wiser and aware of their actions.

The coed had also hit his car door and conveniently forgotten
to give him her name. At least he now knew where to find her.
He couldn't miss her on the stage.

As the temperature in the bar rose, sweat beaded his forehead.
Cade slipped a strip of leather from the pocket of his black
jeans and tied back his unconventionally long hair. He further
searched his pocket for a pack of Doublemint, removed a stick,
and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully,
attempting to keep his cool in the overheated room.

"Tan lines, TZ!" Someone deep in the crowed shouted. "Bare it
all, baby!"

Cade cringed. He wasn't interested in seeing another man's
butt. Not now, not ever. Slouching slightly, he stretched out
his long legs and yawned.

Bored, was he? TZ Blake caught Cade Nyland's yawn before he
covered his mouth. A very sexy mouth if he'd relax and smile.
He looked anything but happy. He appeared downright put out.

Prior to the contest, while waiting offstage, she'd seen Cade
enter the bar and transverse the crowd. He'd walked with
designated purpose, ignoring female double-takes and bold
winks. The man had a healthy following of rally groupies.

While judging the contest he'd looked far too serious, except
for the moment he'd recognized her from the parking lot. A
flash of surprise, then pure lack of interest. That pricked
her vanity. Didn't he know how to have fun? He shouldn't be
judging a contest that got his briefs in a bunch. If he even
wore underwear. The man looked uncivilized. He was also bored.
Something inside her clicked. She wanted him awake and
watching and as wild as the crowd. It was time to shake the
party animal's cage. Moving to the front of the stage, she
slowly pivoted, showing her backside. Curving her body into a
sinuous S, she slinked to the floor and back, then rotated her
hips. Her hot pink boxers slipped down her buttocks with each
rotation.

She whipped the audience into a frenzy. They wanted skin.
"Moon! Moon!" The men hit their knees and prayed out loud to
see her bare backside.

They didn't get their wish, however. Keeping a firm hand on
the front elastic at her waist, she teased and tempted, but
never fully revealed. When the song ended, she had Cade
Nyland's full attention.

"Score, score, score!" the announcer pressed the judges for
their cards.

TZ held her breath as Cade crossed his arms over his chest and
tucked his hands beneath his armpits. He sat low on the chair
and chewed his gum, the slow roll of his jaw, contemplative.

"Pass up your scorecards," Charlie directed.

The other four judges handed over their scores.

"Mr. Nyland?" the announcer prodded.

Cade scanned the contestants, his gaze eventually returning to
TZ. He pursed his lips, picked up a pencil and tapped the
eraser end on the scorecard. He was slow to rank his choice
for tightest butt. Once completing the task, he stood and
handed his card to the announcer.

The crowd shifted restlessly, awaiting the results.

"What are our chances?" Kimmie Thorn, TZ's closest friend
since elementary school, came to stand beside her. Wearing a
nude St. Tropez v-string and tiny tube top, she left little to
the imagination.

"One in fifteen," TZ counted for her friend.

Kimmie was all smiles. "Your sexy swivel brought the judges to
their feet."

Every judge but Cade. "What do you know about Nyland?" she
asked.

"That he's a loner and a known heartbreaker," Kimmiereplied.

"What about Rhett Evans?"

"Stockbroker and sharp dresser."

"I want him to father my children."

TZ started. "You don't even know the man."

"Just one look," Kimmie said simply.

And TZ understood. From the moment Kimmie became interested in
boys, she'd sworn she'd know her husband at first glance.

"Rhett's my ride to Key West." Kimmie licked her lips. "I plan
to make his Dow Jones rise."

TZ was not as optimistic as Kimmie. "Flag me down if the stock
market falls and you need a ride home."

"What are you driving?" Kimmie asked.

"The Mustang."

"I'd rather walk."

"The car runs just fine."

"When it wants to. It's left you stranded so often Checker Cab
is on your speed dial," Kimmie reminded her.

"The 'Stang needs a lot of work."

Kimmie grinned. "How's the vibration? Still orgasmic?"

"It still vibrates after a change of tires and front end
alignment." TZ brushed her hair off her forehead. It had grown
warm on the stage. "I wish I had time for all the repairs."

"My wish is to win this tight butt contest," Kimmie said.
"Where's the announcer?"

TZ glanced at the beer stein-shaped clock that hung over the
bar. Fifteen minutes had passed. Two minutes later, the
announcer waved a piece of paper at the contestants. "All
tallied."

Charlie's ear-splitting whistle gained the crowds attention.
"Bring your hands together for the winners of the preliminary
round. First of the five in no particular order, number two,
Kelly Knight."

Kelly bounced forward, a brunette in a raspberry thong and
matching halter top. The crowd applauded their approval.

"A big rear cheer for number six, Kimmie Thorn," the announcer
continued. Kimmie hugged herself. "I made it!" Pleased to be a
finalist, she blew a kiss to the judges. Judge Rhett Evans
pretended to catch her kiss.

"Luck of the Irish, number thirteen, Chad O'Brien, step
forward." The announcer motioned the man in the shamrock
briefs to join Kelly and Kimmie.

Chad actually blushed at the female squeals. The announcer
grinned broadly. "Fourth of the five, number one, Shell
Litton, come on down."

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Drive Me Crazy
by Kate Angell
Copyright © 2004 by Kate Angell.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---