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next few minutes, they studied each other openly. She saw little change. There was a bit more gray in his beard, a bit less hair on his head, but his eyes were the same clear blue she had first seen ten years before. He had been fifty then, and she had thought him ancient. As Lance Matthews’s chief mechanic, Charlie Dunning had ruled the pits like a despot. He continued to do so now as the head of Kirk’s team.
    â€œStill skinny,” he said in disgust. “I should’ve known a few years wouldn’t put any weight on you. Don’t you make enough money to eat by taking pictures?”
    â€œNo one’s been leaving chocolate bars lying around for me lately.” She pinched his cheek as she spoke, knowing he would suffer torture and death before admitting he had planted chocolate bars for a skinny kid to find. “I missed you at Kirk’s party the other night,” she added as he shuffled and grumbled.
    â€œI don’t go to kids’ parties. So you and the fancy lady are going to take in the Indy and the rest of the Grand Prix races this season.” He sniffled and set his mouth in a disapproving line.
    â€œIf you mean Pam, then yes, we are.” Foxy decided Charlie had nearly perfected irascibility. “And she’s a journalist.”
    â€œYou just mind that neither of you gets in the way.”
    â€œYes, Charlie,” Foxy said demurely, but his eyes narrowed at the gleam in hers.
    â€œStill sassy, too. If you hadn’t been so puny, I’d have taken a strap to you years ago.”
    Grinning, Foxy lifted the camera and shot a full-faced picture. “Smile,” she suggested.
    â€œSassy,” Charlie repeated. As his lips started to twitch he turned and lumbered away.
    Foxy watched until he had disappeared into the crowd before she turned around. She gave a small gasp as she bumped into Lance. He rested his hands briefly on her shoulders as his eyes locked with hers. She had managed to completely block out the interlude on the glider, but now it all came flooding back in full force. The mouth, which had been hungry on hers, twitched in a half smile.
    â€œHe always did have a soft spot for you.”
    Foxy had forgotten everything but the dark gray eyes that watched her. As his smile grew, touched now with arrogance, she jerked out of his hold. He was dressed in much the same manner as she was, in jeans and a T-shirt. His hair danced on his forehead as the breeze caught it. Mentally she cursed him for being so wickedly attractive.
    â€œHello, Lance.” Her voice was marginally friendly with overtones of aloofness. Foxy was pleased with it. “No reporters dogging your footsteps?”
    â€œHello, Foxy,” he returned equally. “Taking a few snapshots?”
    â€œTouché,” Foxy muttered. Turning away, she lifted the Nikon to her face and became absorbed in setting the aperture. She thought she must have gained an extra sense where Lance Matthews was concerned. His presence could be felt on the surface of her skin. It was both uncomfortable and arousing.
    â€œLooking forward to the race, Foxy, or has it lost its charm?” As he spoke Lance tangled his fingers in the thick softness of her ponytail. Foxy wasted four shots.
    â€œI heard Kirk won the pole position in the time trials. He knows how to cash in on that kind of advantage.” When she turned back to him, her face was calm, her eyes cool. One kiss, she told herself, was nothing to be concerned about. They were still the same people. “I imagine as the owner, you’re pleased.” His smile was not the answer Foxy was looking for. “I’ve seen the car. It’s very impressive.” When he still did not reply, Foxy let out a frustrated breath and squinted up at him. “This conversation is fascinating, Lance, but I really must get back to work.”
    His hand curled firmly around her upper arm as she turned to go. He watched her in silence,