At noon, she brought me a sandwich and a cold soda, leaning against the bumper of the Camry.
“Don’t you work on any motorcycles?”
“Yes.” I chewed and swallowed. “A bunch are coming in this week. Autos are the bread and butter, though.”
“Any restorations?”
“I finished one last month. Shipped it back to the States. It was a beauty.”
“What kind?”
“Vintage Harley. 1977 XLCR100.”
“Nice.”
“I have two others coming—a Ducati and another Harley. One is a partial restoration, the other a complete. I work on those over there.” I indicated the third bay. “Spray booth is behind it.”
“You do it all?”
“Every last bit. I’ve got a reputation for being one of the best. I only take on so many a year, and I handle the whole thing.”
“Paperwork?” she questioned with a lift of her eyebrow.
“All done and paid. I keep all those files separate in the bottom left-hand drawer.”
“Do you keep pictures of the restorations?”
“Actually, yes—not a ton but always before and after. There’s a camera in the drawer I use with a memory card. Each file has my concept sketches as well.”
“Oh, I could use those for the website.”
“So, you really know how to do all that, ah, stuff?”
She waved her hands. “Easy peasy.”
Her use of odd sayings amused me.
“Well, knock yourself out.”
“What’s the most iconic motorcycle you’ve ever worked on?”
I stiffened, then forced myself to relax. She had no idea what she was asking me. I kept my voice neutral.
“An 1952 Indian Chief.”
“Wow. My father loved Indian motorcycles.”
I took a long drink of the cold soda. “They’re classic.”
“Did you ever ride one?”
I almost spat out my answer. “Yes.”
She looked around the shop, changing the subject, which cooled my ire. “Are there any photos from when your dad ran the shop?”
“I think there are some in the storage room.” I scratched my beard, thinking. “Or in the boxes in the barn.”
“Can I look?”
“Like I said—knock yourself out.”
“Holy moly, that’s awesome. Retro is in.” She pushed off the bumper and patted the hood. “I don’t have a work order listing in the computer for this one.”
“There’s no charge.”
“Maxx, you can’t be doing favors for your friends.”
“It’s not for a friend. It’s for you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then realized what I had said. Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“That was my mom’s car. My dad bought it new. She didn’t drive much, and he kept it in pristine condition. When she had her first stroke, they put it in the barn. I’ve kept it maintained, even planned on selling it at some point, but never did.”
“You’re going to let me drive your mom’s car?”
I wagged my finger. “I expect you to take care of it. It has a lot of sentimental value.” Bending forward, I stroked the still immaculate paint job. “And it’s a great little car. It’ll do the job.”
She blinked at me but didn’t say anything.
“The truck is too big for you, Red. This is compact—like you. It makes sense.” I growled playfully at her. “And I won’t waste my time driving you around.”
As soon as the sentence was out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. I barely had time to brace myself before she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me. And as soon as her mouth touched mine, I gave in. I wrapped my arm around her waist, lifting her, palming her ass as we kissed. I slanted my mouth, kissing her harder, deeper, and not caring about my plan. She obviously didn’t care about my tone, and I didn’t care how bad an idea this was. Right now, it was pretty damn great.
She plunged one hand into my hair, tugging and stroking. The other, she used to clasp the back of my neck, holding me tight. I wrapped my free hand around her ponytail and yanked at it, pulling her head back and kissing my way across her throat.
“So sexy in my shirt, aren’t you, Red? Acting all sweet and demure. You got anything on under those tight little yoga pants?”
She rubbed against me, gasping as I licked my way up to her ear. “No.”
“Jesus,” I bit out, eyeing the Camry and wondering if there was enough room to fuck her in the back seat.
“Hey, Maxx! Yo, where you at?” a voice yelled.
We broke apart, staring at each other. I set her down, and before I could say anything, she turned and hurried to the office. I heard the door slam just as my one o’clock appointment showed up.
“There you are,” my next customer, Tim, said, walking through the garage door.
“Hey,” I responded, hoping I sounded fairly normal. I walked around the Camry so the car separated us, praying my erection would diminish and my breathing would slow. All I could think of was if he had been five minutes later, he would have walked into a whole different scenario. One he wouldn’t forget.
I glanced past his shoulder and saw Charly headed down the hall, no doubt to go work in the storeroom. It was good planning on her part. If I kept looking at her, I was going to rid of Tim, shut the garage door, and have her.
Out of sight, out of mind—right?
I ignored the chortles in my head.
I made it through the afternoon, staying busy with customers. I even followed protocol, typed up the invoices, collected payment, and left the information on the desk for Charly. I didn’t want to have to listen to another one of her “I told you” lectures.
I pulled down the overhead door just before four, not wanting to be around in case anyone showed up with an emergency. I was tense, my body still taut from earlier.
I decided to go and work out rather than heading into the house. Rufus followed me to the converted barn, lying down in the wide entranceway after I rolled open the large wooden doors.
One side of the barn was storage. Things from the house my parents had left, some of the boxes I had packed of their possessions and brought back after they had passed. There was some furniture, boxes of papers, and extra things from the garage. There was now a large empty spot where the Camry used to sit, covered and protected. My bike was parked beside the doors.
The other side, I’d turned into a workout area. I didn’t need a lot of fancy equipment. I had my weights, a treadmill, and a fitness trainer that did the job of several pieces. There was a shower in the corner for after I finished my workouts, some speakers for music, and a small fridge for cold water. After warming up and doing a full set with the weights, I turned on some music and hit the treadmill, finding my rhythm and forgetting everything else.
Until Charly walked in.
Her hair was a burst of fiery red with the sunlight behind it. It hung well past her shoulders in a mass of curls. She was wearing those damn cute shorts again, her legs looking trim and shapely. I narrowed my eyes at what she had on over top of the shorts but kept my pace.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
She glanced down as if she didn’t know, then fingered the denim sleeve. “I found these in a box in the storeroom! Aren’t they great?”
I held back a groan. At one point, my father had denim shirts made for the garage with the logo on them. It had silver snaps instead of buttons and was faded and soft from years of washing. I had forgotten they even existed until now. The old logo was stitched over the pocket, giving it the retro look Charly said was so popular.
But the mechanics never wore them over a tank top with the tails tied up, exposing a sliver of stomach.
My steps faltered a little. “You aren’t wearing that getup in the shop,” I grumbled, forgetting my earlier rule about keeping my voice neutral.
She pursed her lips. “Yowsers—what a prude. Spoken like the elderly curmudgeon I imagined
you to be, Maxx.”
“Not a chance, Charly,” I warned.
She shrugged, not caring what I had to say on the subject. Then she tugged on the fabric knot. “Will you rip them off if I try?”
I almost face-planted. With a curse, I hopped off the treadmill and wiped my face with a towel.
She didn’t wait for a reply, instead wandering to the other side of the barn. “Wow, there is a lot of stuff here.”
I grunted, unable to get the image of peeling that shirt and shorts off her body and having my way with her again.
She stopped, staring at the motorcycle parked by the doors. “Is this yours?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a Harley guy?”
“One of my faves. I had a Ducati.” I paused. “But I don’t anymore.”
She ran her hand along the gleaming paint. “It’s beautiful. You did the restoration work?”
“Yes.”
She admired it, touching the chrome, checking out the multitoned black frosted paint and the custom airbrushing detail. She ran her hand along the hand-stitched leather seat.
“It’s a 1983 HDFXRT,” I offered.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, then moved on farther into the barn. I watched her with interest, wondering what else would catch her eye. I liked watching her move.
She stopped, staring up, a gasp of delight escaping her lips. “Oh my god!”
I shook my head to clear it, then went over to see what had delighted her so much.
She was looking up, her head bent back so her hair fell almost to her ass. I wanted to touch it. Her hair or her ass—even better, both.
I glanced up at the bicycle hanging from the rafters. It was old, the seat wide, with a basket on the front. I remembered my mother going to Littleburn, returning with groceries she’d picked up in the basket. Sometimes, it would be filled with wild flowers or berries she’d pick.
“The bicycle?” I asked.
Charly grabbed my arm. “Oh, Maxx. Could I borrow it? Please? I would take good care of it!”
Her reaction was surprising. It was just an old bike—she seemed more excited about it than the car.
I rubbed my chin. “I’ll have to replace the tires, and you’ll need to clean it up, but yeah, if you want it.” I looked at her. “You don’t want the car?”
“Of course I do. But with this, I can explore and get some exercise at the same time.” She flicked her hand in the direction of my exercise area. “I don’t like that kind of workout.”
I reached up and lifted the bike down, inspecting it. “I’ll check it out, and once I’m sure it’s safe, you can use it. The chain is loose, so I need to tighten it.”
“Can I paint it? I’ll polish it all too.”
It needed a good coat of paint and some TLC. “Sure.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Oh good, a project.”
I had to chuckle over her enthusiasm for the old bike. I set it to the side. “I’ll order a couple of tires and check it out.”
She beamed at me. Her smile was wide and bright, completely disarming me. It was honest and real, and I found myself smiling back at her. Without thinking, I pushed a curl back over her shoulder, stopping at the feel of the silk of her hair on my hand. I froze, threading my fingers through the curls, rubbing them between my fingers. Our eyes met and locked, the instant heat from earlier returning. I tugged on her neck, bringing her close. She sighed, her eyes drifting shut as I lowered my head and kissed her. Slowly, our lips moved, tasting and giving. I ran my tongue over her bottom lip, and she opened for me, her body quivering as I brought her tighter to my torso.
How she affected me so quickly, so deeply, I would never understand. I wound my free arm around her waist, needing her closer. Wanting to taste her more. Feel her body molded to mine. Despite the height difference, we meshed as if sculpted for each other. Her breath filled my head, fed my lungs, nourished my soul. I bent, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around me. I stumbled to a covered chair, sitting down, Charly straddling me. Our mouths never separated, our groans mingling, our passion growing, morphing into a living, tangible bubble of heat around us. I ran my hands over her legs, slipping my fingers under her shorts, feeling her readiness. She rolled her hips, making me hiss as she slid against my erection. My tongue explored her mouth, discovering all of her. She whimpered as I undid the ties on the shirt and cupped her breasts. Our fingers grasped and fumbled, and moments later, I was inside her, the heat of her wrapping around me.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “Condom.”
“On birth control,” she assured me, licking at my neck. “Safe. So, so safe.”
She moved and I cursed. I grabbed her hips and guided her, lost to everything unique and perfect about this small piece of time.
The sunlight in her hair, the way the dust motes danced in the beams around us. The way she bit her lip as she rode me, tiny gasps of pleasure escaping her mouth. The feel of that glorious hair brushing my knees as I watched her tilt back her head and find her release. The feel of her, all around me. The sights, the sounds, the sensations of this moment, forever locked into a memory. Knowing I would never again see this barn the same way or look at this chair with simply a passing glance. She would be etched into all of it.
She cried out, gripping my shoulders and calling my name. I thrust into her heat, holding her down as I came, a long, low groan rumbling from my chest. Tendrils of pleasure shook me, wrapping around my spine and exploding in bright shards of light behind my eyes.
She fell forward into my chest, her head buried in my neck. I brought her close, resting my chin on her head. Neither of us spoke, lost in our thoughts for a moment.
My plan had backfired big-time. Instead of keeping her at a distance, I had kissed her senseless by lunch and fucked her before dinner. So much for my bright ideas.
She lifted her head, looking up at me, her green eyes soft. I had to smile at her. “Gonna ask me for a secret, Red?”
“I’ll give you one,” she replied.
I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m listening.”
“I think you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Especially for an old curmudgeon.”
I chuckled.
“Your turn.”
“I don’t think you’re so bad yourself, Red. Aside from this horrid hair color and all the dots all over your face.” I winked to let her know I was teasing, then on impulse pulled her in for a hard hug. I grimaced at the feeling of something sharp digging into my skin.
“Ouch,” I growled. “What’s in your pocket?” I rubbed at my chest. “A knife?”
“Oh!” she said. “I forgot. I found this in the storeroom too.” She pulled something from the pocket on the front of the shirt, holding it out on her palm. “I know it’s rare. Did you find it for that restoration you did on the Indian bike?”
I stared at the iconic Indian logo emblem. It had been the crowning piece missing from the bike when I last saw it. The final fragment I’d searched long and hard for.
Except I never got the chance to affix it. I thought it had been stolen along with the bike.
Flashes of that day hit me. Coming home early. Finding them together. The fight. Waking up to find them gone, along with the bike.
My entire world crumbling around me as lie after lie was revealed.
My stomach knotted, and a tidal wave of anger hit me. The feelings of rejection, scorn, and humiliation hit me all over again.
I grabbed the piece of metal from Charly’s hand, barely controlling my emotions. I lifted her from my lap, almost pushing her off in my haste. I dragged up my boxers, grabbing my sweats and pulling them on.
“Maxx,” Charly asked. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length. “Don’t touch me,” I spat out. “Stay away, Charly. This time, I mean it. No more.” I waved my fingers between us. “Whatever this is stops now. I brought you here to do a job. Do it and stay clear of me.”<
br />
I turned and walked away, ignoring the shocked, hurt look on her face.
Chapter 13
CHARLY
His words echoed in my head as he stormed away. I watched him enter the house, the screen door slamming against the brick. I tugged on my clothes, feeling remarkably calm considering what had occurred.
I stood in the wide-open expanse of the barn doors for a moment, the sunshine warming my face. I glanced at the beautiful restored motorcycle beside me. Brought back to life with care and passion by Maxx’s hands. The same hands that seemed to know exactly where to touch me and how to give me more pleasure than I had ever experienced.
The same hands that pushed me away.
Even when he was shouting, his words intended to frighten and hurt me, all I could see was the pain in his eyes. The fear of getting close—too close—to me was evident, even if he refused to admit it. The woman who had been here before had done a number on him.
Rufus loped over, his golden coat gleaming in the light. Crouching down, I stroked his head, feeling the warmth from the sun on his skin. He was a great dog. Docile, friendly, happy to hang around the garage all day, trotting over to see customers, lying outside, his tail wagging, lifting his head in greeting. He often sat in the office with me, and this afternoon, he’d lain in the doorway while I worked on organizing the storeroom.
My thoughts returned to the metal emblem I had found. There was obviously a story behind the seemingly innocent badge. I knew they were difficult to find, just as the heavy iconic bust of the Indian head some models had affixed to the front tires were rare. They were lost, broken off, or rusted away. My dad had one once, a long time ago in his shop. But where it went, I had no idea. He probably sold it.
I stood and went back into the barn, wheeling the bicycle I had found toward the garage. I loved the old-fashioned look of it, with the wide basket on the front and the big padded seat. I would enjoy exploring the countryside on it on my days off. My steps faltered, and I stopped as a terrible thought hit me.
What if Maxx decided I was too much trouble and ended my employment? My chest constricted. I’d been here less than a week, and I already loved it. Working in the garage, organizing things, and yes, bossing Maxx around, were all part of it, but it was the simplicity of it all that I really loved. The quiet of the small place. The feeling of safety. Seeing the stars at night and not hearing the constant sound of traffic.
Revved to the Maxx Page 12
