by Leslie North
2
Mandy Loomis consciously unclenched her jaw and attempted to smile at the jackass crowding her space. “Walter, why don’t we step inside where it’s cooler.” And away from prying eyes.
The man who reminded her of weasel with his thin face and beady eyes flashed her a salacious grin and scraped his gaze down the front of her. “Yes,” he drew out, making her skin crawl. “I think somewhere private is better.”
Silently choking on the bile crawling up her throat, Mandy yanked open the door to the waiting room. The scent of oil, grease, and engine parts smacked her in the face, but she relaxed slightly as she inhaled the familiar smells she’d grown up with. Six black plastic chairs—three on each side—lined part of the side walls with a small table full of outdated magazines stuck under the muted TV mounted high in the corner. An old window air-conditioner rattled and threatened to quit its struggle to combat the ninety-two-degree day. She almost wished it’d give up the ghost. The electricity it took to run the thing was more than she could afford.
Marching toward the red and gray Formica counter at the back, she exhaled at the emptiness of the room. No witnesses to the nightmare her father left her in.
Mandy stomped around the counter and slammed her hands on its surface beside a register that’d been a part of the shop since her father first opened thirty-five years ago.
Walter’s lip curled the longer he studied the crowded room.
The cement floor had been mopped last weekend and the racks of inventory such as wiper blades, oil, washer fluid, etcetera, had a thin layer of dust she never seemed to lose no matter how often she used a rag. It probably didn’t look like much to a man like Walter, but it was the whole world to Mandy. It was home.
“You should just sell this place.”
“I think that’s a bit drastic,” she pushed through clenched teeth. Even if for an insane moment she entertained the notion, she wouldn’t get enough to put her in the clear. Bitterness reared its head. The garage wasn’t the only thing her father passed onto her when he died two years ago.
“Is it?” Walter crooned, rounding the end of the counter. “How else are you going to cover your debt?”
The muscle in her jaw ticked and her stomach quivered. “It’s not my debt.”
“Oh, but you own it now.” Walter stalked forward as a calculating glint stole over his blue irises. “I can help you.”
Swallowing a new round of bile, Mandy edged backwards until her shoulder blades hit the peg-board section filled with hooks for vehicle keys. “I don’t need any help.”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes and his thin lips quirked. “Is that why you’re behind on your payments?”
“I’m doing the best I can,” she croaked, gagging on revulsion.
He closed in the last few feet and purposefully placed his hands on either side of her head. Spearmint from either gum or really strong toothpaste assaulted her senses and made her need to retch stronger. “Let me help you,” he uttered, his face only inches from hers. “I guarantee you’ll enjoy spending a few hours a week in my bed.” The tips of his fingers strayed over her right shoulder and down her bicep. “In return, I’ll cover some of your debt.”
In response, Mandy slapped the old register’s keyboard. The cash drawer shot out and smacked Walter’s ribs.
Grunting, he jerked back and the lustful expression turned ugly.
Risking taking her eyes off him, she grabbed most of the twenties out of the slot, then lifted the tray to snatch the few hundred-dollar bills a customer had paid her earlier that morning. Slamming the drawer shut, she smacked the money against Walter’s scrawny chest. “It’s not the full payment, but I’ll have the rest in a week.”
Fury flaming from his irises made her swallow hard but she couldn’t back down now.
She let go of the money now clutched in his grip and flung her hand toward the entrance. “Get the fuck out of my shop.”
Ding-a-ling!
Mandy whipped her face toward the ringing bell attached just above the door and lost the ability to breathe.
It couldn’t be…
Sound faded away and her world narrowed on the vision standing in the doorway. Chance McCallister. The love of her life. Her high school sweetheart until he abandoned her. Here. In her garage. After twelve years.
Muscles in his tanned arms flexed and corded as he shut the glass door. Holy shit. He had filled out. When he left Springwell…and her…he’d been an eighteen-year-old boy, but a full-fledged man stood before her now. A well-worn blue T-shirt advertising the Navy stretched over wide shoulders and hugged his muscular torso. His six-foot-one physique didn’t have an ounce of fat and also wasn’t oversized like a puffed-up bodybuilder. No. Every amazing inch of him—from his shoulders to his defined calves showing beneath cargo shorts—was spectacularly proportioned and honed to perfection.
But his face. Jesus God, she couldn’t stop staring at the face she’d once caressed but no longer knew. Age had sculpted his jaw into a square edge and the scruff clinging to his skin made him absurdly gorgeous and masculine. Tousled reddish-brown hair in need of a trim begged for her fingers to run through its silky mess, but she managed to resist vaulting the counter to do so.
Dark brown eyes locked onto hers and refused to let her go. She shivered, lost in the spectrum of brown slowly growing darker the longer he stared. A new round of adrenaline laced with lust drowned her every cell. He’d always had a predatory edge surrounding him but now…a line of sweat that had nothing to do with the humidity trailed between her aching breasts. Now, that predatory edge had a hint of lethal danger, warning others he’d fuck you up, or in this case, just plain fuck her. Raw, against the wall, binding her wrists above her head in his strong grip—
“Is there a problem?” Chance’s eyes flitted to Walter, shattering the spell.
Gulping air, she gasped at the intense throbbing between her legs. Then, like a rubber band snapping, her world slammed into focus and the situation he’d just walked in on flooded back in.
Walter jammed the money in his clenched fist into his suit pants pocket and marched around the counter. “You need to watch these small-town garages,” he sneered, pausing beside Chance to peer back at her. “They don’t always deliver what they’re supposed to.”
The bell chimed again when Walter marched through the door, then he was gone, leaving her alone with the one man she’d tried to forget but never could.
The animalistic hunger from moments ago surged into fear crawling up her spine, souring the taste in her mouth. Did Chance see her give Walter the money? Had he heard anything before he’d opened the door? “What the hell was that?” she barked defensively, stomping from behind the counter.
Chance’s brows cranked down. “What the hell was what?”
“You know what.” Flustered at her stupid outburst and at the way her drenched panties clung to her swollen center, she ripped a scrunchie out of her coverall’s pocket and did her best to corral the untamable mass into a ponytail. “You waltz in here like you own the place, and the first line out of your mouth is all caveman.”
The corners of his lips tightened, but he didn’t say a word which just made her feel worse.
Why was she yelling at him? Too many emotions glutted her system in too short of a time. Disgust over Walter’s skeeviness, desperation over her father’s gambling debt drowning her, and now the shock of Chance showing up after twelve years of nothing. No letters. No emails or phone calls. Nothing, then bam! The man she thought she’d marry after high school suddenly appeared in the flesh, reminding her how she hadn’t burned like this since he’d left.
The man she needed to stay away from if she had any hope of surviving with her heart intact shouldn’t be allowed to crash her world without warning.
Okay. She did have a clue he was in town. The well-known gossips had been sure to speak loudly when they walked by, recounting how the three brothers, decked out in full military uniforms, had stood by their father’s grave t
hat very afternoon. Sometimes having a corner business on Main Street sucked. Rumors and gossip always found their way inside her garage. While the three McCallisters were sure to have been a drool-worthy sight, Mandy hadn’t expected the oldest to stand in her waiting room today.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” She cleared her throat. “I would have gone to the funeral, but…” Her mind blanked and she scrounged for a plausible excuse. “I couldn’t leave the shop. We’re backed up, and…” I couldn’t bring myself to see you yet, she silently tacked on.
Chance crossed his arms and by the narrowing of his eyes, she swore he heard the unspoken words.
Great. Could you be any more transparent about how he still affects you? Meeting his gaze, she stated what a normal person would have said from the start. “Welcome home.”
3
Chance clenched his fists to keep from snatching the hairband and tossing it in the trash. He had forgotten the punch of her wild curls always looking like she’d just gotten out of bed after a hard, satisfying night of wild sex, and that elastic bit of material ruined the effect.
His fingers also itched to unzip those coveralls and see if she still wore just a sports bra and spandex shorts beneath. She had never been supermodel thin. Thank God. She was a real woman with real curves in the most lickable places—
“…welcome home.”
He jerked himself out of the fantasy and desperately searched his mind, hoping it had caught what he’d missed. Something about his dad, but he hadn’t comprehended a thing she’d said since she’d started playing with her hair. Christ, years of hardcore SEAL training, honing his concentration and self-control, and minutes in her presence had blown it all away. They’d always had explosive chemistry, but he had hoped it had faded.
Apparently not. Why had he foolishly believed Fate would be nice to him now? That bitch known as Lady Luck had been having so much fun screwing with his life so far, what was one more kick to the groin?
He cursed his softening heart at the smudge of grease on Mandy’s full cheek and the way her coveralls already showed she’d been up to her neck in repairs. Just like old times.
Mandy never minded getting dirty and that quality among a million others had captured his young heart to the point he’d barely been able to breathe without her. Quickly becoming inseparable after an epic first meeting in high school—her freshman year to his sophomore—he had found a refuge in this garage. Escaping the escalating battles with his dad at home, he had spent all his free time here, learning everything he could about engines from Mandy’s father and spending as much time as possible with Mandy.
Until the end when she tore his fucking heart out and walked away—
“Chance?”
Straightening, he ground his teeth. He had allowed his mind to wander again.
“Sorry,” he grumbled, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Where’s George? I’d love to say hi.”
Her shoulders slumped and the light faded from her beautiful hazel eyes. “Dad, uh, died two years ago. Heart attack.”
“What?” Pain lanced through his chest and he rubbed his sternum. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d known.” He had loved that man like a second father…sometimes more than he’d loved his own. Sure, George had issues, especially when it came to gambling, but the man had always treated Chance with respect and had shown infinite patience when Chance had first started working in the garage. And now he felt like he’d lost both fathers in the same day. It took all of him not to lift his middle finger and thrust it overhead at Fate.
He’d have done his best to come home for the funeral if Mandy, hell, anyone, had told him. Regardless of how things had ended with Mandy, Chance should have been able to pay his respects to the man who’d meant so much to him. But she’d gotten what she’d wanted. No communication whatsoever.
“Yeah.” She scratched her nose, leaving behind a film of dirt. “I inherited the garage and the house.” Something flitted across her eyes and hardened her jaw, but he had no clue how to interpret it. Thrusting her shoulders back, she lifted her chin. “How are you?” Her skin flushed. “Stupid question given where you were earlier. I mean, how was it…overseas? Are you just visiting or home for good?”
Crossing his arms again, he shifted his weight evenly over his boots. “I’m retired, but I can’t say I’m home for good.” He shrugged. “I’ll know more once I figure out my next steps. As for how it was overseas…” A million responses flew to his tongue but he cut them all off and hit her with the hardcore truth. “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s in the past.”
Her eyes softened. “According to the veterans I’ve talked to, it’s never really in the past.”
Wasn’t that the truth? A person could leave a hard battle behind him, but the scars never went away. Not the scars from the action he'd endured overseas, or the scars from how things ended between them.
He resolutely closed his mind to that fateful time when they’d screamed at each other until he’d stormed away, only to come back the next day with a ring in pocket, certain they could figure things out. But she’d coldly broken up with him before he could utter a word.
The love they’d once shared had transcended words, but it had also been felt with all of the experience of a teenager. Now, he had matured, survived in places even Hell would reject, dealt death and shook hands with the grim reaper a time or two himself. Those days with her seemed like some idyllic dream. He couldn’t deny she had sliced him to the soul and he’d never fully recovered, but being in her presence again, the maelstrom of emotions battering his body bore a whole new level of intensity. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself moving beyond the hurt and falling in love with her again…or admitting he never fell out of it—
Nope. That shit stops right now. Clapping his hands, he smirked at her jumping, and hoped to cut through the tension. “I’m here on business.”
Surprise lit her face. “You are?”
“Yep.” He rubbed his palms together. “Vince ordered some parts for me last week and one of them should be in today.”
Whirling, she marched toward the counter. “You must be the delivery from this morning.” Rounding the counter, she disappeared a second, then popped back up with a medium-sized box. “There was no specific name on it, and I hadn’t had a minute to open it yet.”
“I’m hoping that’s my carburetor.”
Wielding an industrial razorblade, she sliced through the tape with ease. “It sure is.” She grinned, widening the flaps. “What’er you working on?”
Chance ambled to the front of the counter. “Years ago, Dad bought a ’67 Ford Mustang Shelby at an auction.”
Mandy whistled. “Nice.”
“Oh yeah.” Leaning against the edge, Chance shrugged. “But I have no clue why he did it. He was never a mechanic. Handyman, definitely, but engines were not his thing.”
Mandy laughed and the musical sound drilled right into his soul. “I remember when he tried to repair your lawn mower.”
Laughter rumbled Chance’s chest. “He messed it up so bad—”
“We had to scrounge engine parts from the scrapyard—”
“To piece the mower back together,” Chance finished, just like old times.
Mandy beamed and shook her head. “Didn’t he have a Mustang when he was a teenager?”
“Um, yeah.” Chance cleared his throat, caught off guard that she’d remembered a detail he’d probably only mentioned once in some inane conversation. “Not a Shelby, but I guess that was a dream car of his. Either way, I’m determined to get her running.”
“Then I have no doubt she’ll be purring in no time.” Flaming red spots broke out on her cheeks and Chance knew exactly what had crossed her mind. The same thought that had invaded his. All those times he made her purr…and scream.
“Have a drink with me tonight,” he blurted, then blinked at the words echoing back at him.
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him like he was an engine running with
out pistons.
He started to retract the impulsive offer, but stopped. Before he scheduled the lobotomy he surely needed, maybe he should actually see where this crazy impulse of his led them. A part of him—the side still bleeding from her rejection years ago—wanted to show her what she gave up. But also, he needed to understand why she’d walked away. He’d always wondered if she’d thought he couldn’t hack it in the Navy. This way he could show her that he’d excelled, and that it had shaped him into a man he was proud of.
The masochistic side of him apparently thought it’d be great fun to sign up for immersion therapy. Maybe if he spent more time with her, he’d realize he wasn’t actually still in love with her. That their off-the-charts chemistry was all that remained…
Idiotic for sure, but at this point he’d try anything to firmly put the past behind him.
“We can catch up unless you don’t—”
“Okay, sure,” she answered over his lame attempt to give her an out.
She bit her lip, and he wanted to suckle the abused flesh. “Um. That is if you really meant to ask me out.”
No. “Yep.” He nodded like a stupid bobblehead, then grabbed the box. “Lunar Brewing Company still around?” he asked, naming the pub that crafted their own beer as part of the ambiance. They used to hang there a lot when they weren’t in the shop or finding private places to screw each other senseless.
Memories clouded her eyes and her grin widened. “Sure is. I’ll meet you there. Seven okay?”
“Perfect.” He pivoted and forced himself not to run for the door. He had to get out of there before he did or said anything else.
On the sidewalk, he nodded to a group of ladies in their sixties strolling toward the retail shops. Two acknowledged him while the other two lifted their chins in old-fashioned snubbing. The second they moved past him, a flurry of harsh whispering floated in the air and one woman even peered over her shoulder back at him, then continued whatever exaggerated story of his youth she was recounting.
