by J. A. Coffey
“And it keeps you in spare parts, no doubt.” He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the musk of his cologne over the acetone and motor oil in the garage.
“The yard and my family do.” Wow, Kane Maverick was really, really good looking. The kind of looks that turned her knees to petroleum jelly. For a moment, she thought he might try to kiss her, but he wasn’t staring at her, exactly. More like…over the top of her left shoulder at Bo. “Just got a new shipment from Cali today, so if you don’t mind, I’d li—”
He squinted. “Are those spark plugs?”
“Yeah.” She stuffed away the surprising flare of disappointment that blossomed in her middle. “Milk glass. I liked the color, and the shape is the perfect visual texture for wool.”
Now those eyes of his were fixed on her face. “Clever.”
Her knees went gooey again. She propped herself on the edge of the platform, feeling her cheeks burn. Darn her fair skin! She never could hide a flush of embarrassment, shame or pleasure from her features. “Thanks.”
Seemed like all she could do was thank him. Her tongue cleaved to the top of her mouth and she found herself both wondering if Kane would get bored and leave—and worrying that he wouldn’t.
In fact, he was watching her with a bemused expression as if he knew exactly what she’d been imagining and why.
Anna jammed her hands deep into the pockets of her overalls and retreated to her work bench. “So, now you’ve seen everything. Does that satisfy the qualifications for entering the show?”
A shadow crossed over Kane’s features. “I wouldn’t say I’ve seen everything you had to offer. I haven’t seen you in action yet.”
Action? She’d love to oblige him in all sorts of ways. But this was Kane Maverick. She couldn’t afford to get in over her head again. She cut the flames to her fantasy.
He was toying with the strap of her protective mask, left discarded on the platform. “Exactly how good are you?”
His words awoke a fluttering sensation in her middle. “I’d say I’m one of the best when it comes to automotive art.” That was an understatement. Her instructors at The Art Institute had nothing but praise.
While she wasn’t one of the most established sculptors in the world by any means, she’d never seen or heard of anyone else who did what she did. Created what she did. One other—a European artist who made tiny steampunk animals out of old watch parts—barely came close, so there was no harm in letting Kane know exactly what she had to offer.
Especially if it helped her chances of getting into the exclusive summer show.
“Good.” Kane stalked over to her. He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm, but lightly calloused, surprising for a wealthy playboy with a possible case of affluenza. “I think you might be the perfect person for the job.”
A spot in The Mav? It was a dream come true, spoken from the dreamy lips of Kane Maverick himself.
“You do?” She hated the breathy excitement that threaded her voice, but she couldn’t control it any more than she could stop the rush of warmth burning in her abdomen at the touch of his hand on hers.
Kane’s fingers tightened as he pulled her toward the front of the garage. “Come with me. I need your help.”
Chapter Three
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Annabelle’s ever-changing eyes darkened with what he thought might be anger. “You want me to what?”
Was she insulted by his request? Oh, she was mad all right, he just didn’t understand why.
“I need you to repair my fender before my father gets wind of the damage.”
“You’re crazy.” Her hand jerked out of his and she clenched fists on her hips. Kane ignored the warning catcalls and chuckles from the guys at the garage who were looking on with amusement. Any more interest from them, and Kane would have to spring for popcorn.
“C’mon.” He gave her his million-dollar grin.
“No.”
Ouch. She hadn’t even paused before responding. He wasn’t sure why he cared what she thought or why he felt so insulted, but he did.
“You wrecked your dad’s car. Man up and take some responsibility, sheesh.” Her expression was disgusted and…disappointed? But that made no sense.
He fumbled for an explanation. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. You are a master craftsman. Anyone can tell just by looking at your work.”
“There are any number of garages that could order you a part and fix this. You’ve got the wrong gal.” Her lips thinned, an angry slash in her pretty face.
“That would take too much time. I can’t take the car home like this. My father will be furious and...” He stopped himself before he inflicted her with his angst—his fear that the fragile progress he’d made with Pops today would be destroyed. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship you probably don’t want to hear about.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Besides, I…trust you.”
“Why? You just met me.”
“Because.” He gestured to the salvage lot. “You’ve spent your life surrounded by classic cars. You obviously know your stuff. And…” He paused.
“And I’m one of the few people your father hasn’t got under his thumb?”
Damn. Could she see completely through him?
“Maybe.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.
“You know that’s not exactly true. I need to be in the summer show at The Mav, Kane. My whole career hinges on not pissing off your father.”
What did the summer show have to do with this? As far as he was concerned, her art ought to catch fire wherever she debuted it. “That makes two of us. I’m in charge of the selecting the pieces for the jury. Maybe you should be more concerned about helping me.” Wasn’t that how business deals worked? You scratch my back, and I’ll…
“No. Way.” The words sounded like curses from her rosy lips. She seemed really miffed for someone he’d just offered a job. Unless she’d misunderstood his offer.
“Wait a minute. You didn’t think I was coming by to offer you a spot in the show already did you?” He tried to remember exactly how he’d phrased his request.
“Of course not,” she scoffed, her cheeks pink. “I mean, I was hoping you’d be blown away by my stuff, but…”
“I am blown away. By more than just your talent.” Ugh, he hadn’t meant to admit that out loud to her.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “See this area on your fender? That will take ten to twelve hours of time alone to fix. Unless you’d prefer to wait and see if the guys here can locate a replacement?”
“No.” Not only could he not afford to hide the car that long, but the parts were all serialized. He’d be destroying the value by tearing off the front fender and replacing it. “Not if the original can be salvaged.”
“Oh, it can be salvaged all right. But not by me.”
“Why not?
“I just can’t.”
“I’m not asking for any favors. I fully intend to pay the going rate. Hell, I’ll pay more.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Gah!” Kane threw up his hands in frustration. The woman was being ridiculous. He was so close to fixing this mess he could smell the hint of redemption emanating from the small salvage garage. Taste it, like the flavor of acid and motor oil on the back of his tongue. “C’mon, Anna. This car is a piece of art, and you’re an artist. You need to be the one who works on it.”
Anyone else would jump at the change to help out a Maverick. Seattle and the surrounding areas had all benefitted from his family’s money and generosity. What the heck was her problem?
“I won’t do it,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back into the garage. Her work boots clomped on the floor like a Clydesdale.
Damn it, she was walking away from him. Most women giggled and deliberately bumped into him, hoping for a chance to lock eyes with him off set. Or more. He wasn’t used to women turning their backs on him,
unless they were asking for help with a zipper.
“Please, Anna.” He caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”
She glanced down at his hand, and he removed it at once, still feeling the tingle of her warm body on his palm. Once freed, she glared up at him.
“I need you.” He had to make her see reason. She was the only one who could help him. And he was damn certain he could help her.
“You don’t,” she insisted.
“What if I made you an offer you can’t refuse?”
“Such as?” Her eyes narrowed. She was like a lit fuse, ready to go off at a moment’s notice.
Well, he couldn’t offer her a spot in the show. He planned to do his damndest to get her art into The Mav regardless, but he still had to present his selections to the panel—and his father.
“Don’t.” She halted his thoughts before he could even voice them. “Don’t you dare offer me a spot in the show in exchange for this. I want to get in on my own merits, Kane Maverick. The merits of my art.” She sounded remarkably like his mother when she used that scolding tone.
“I wasn’t going to…” She really could see through him. “Ok, fine. Would you just name a price? Any price. Please, Anna. Just think of all the spark plugs you could buy.” He took out his wallet. “How often do you get the chance to work on a 1969 Dino?”
“I don’t know. How often are you going to wreck yours?”
He bit back resentment. “Oh, come on. I didn’t wreck it. Hit and run. Barely a scratch.”
Sure, he’d grown up wealthy, and his first real job had been a lucrative TV show, but he wasn’t some irresponsible trust fund asshole.
Was he?
“You call that a scratch?”
“I have a witness. You wanna call him, make sure I’m worthy of your help?”
“Fine.” She was quiet while the flames in her cheeks faded to pink, then named a figure that was less than he probably deserved but more than he’d expected. “That’s how much my time is worth.”
He didn’t flinch. “Done.”
Now it was her turn to blanch.
“Wait, wait.” She backtracked. “It’s not just the cost. It’s the time, Kane. Between my work and the community center summer camp starting up, I barely have time to devise some kid-friendly art lessons, let alone purchase the necessary supplies, make sure the space is set up, teach the kids all week…” She exhaled noisily. “Taking you on right now is just too much.”
She was stretching and they both knew it. But she was a vision, standing there, reciting reason after reason why she couldn’t do what he asked, ticking the items off on her slender fingers. Long fingers with short, tidy nails that didn’t interfere with getting the job done. Fingers that were accustomed to hard work, attached to hands that he found himself wanting to hold.
He forced himself to ignore his urges, to listen to her words.
“As you see.” She sighed. “I just don’t have that kind of time to give you.”
Kane thought for a moment. “What if I gave some of that time back to you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How?”
“Agree to let me pay you for the repair to my fender, and I’ll help you with the summer camp.”
“You?” Her dark brow arched. She shifted to one hip, as if deciding whether to take him seriously or run. “Work with kids? No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” He lowered his voice. “It’s not like I don’t have experience.”
She shook her head. “Prove it.”
“The producers booked me into every home decorating superstore they could find, teaching all kinds of workshops. Mini-stepping stones, bird houses, a toy work bench. You name it, I did it.” The producers had been after the advertising the show, but whatever. He liked working with kids, because they weren’t asking him to take off his darn shirt. He beamed at her. “I probably have more experience than you.”
She eyed him, still skeptical. “I doubt it. I’ve got impeccable references. And I work alone, Maverick.”
“A solo artist against a gaggle of summer campers?” Kane gave her a winning smile. “Who wouldn’t want an assistant for that?”
“Pfft.” She made a noise. “You’d be doing all the grunt work. Cleaning up. Hauling stuff.” She stalked back toward his damaged car.
“As it so happens, grunt work is my specialty.” Much to the chagrin of his wealthy family. “C’mon. Say you’ll do it.”
Every fiber in his body wanted to win her good will. Working beside her for the next few weeks would beat the hell out of closeting himself inside The Mav and studying the show applicants. Helping her wouldn’t stop him from living up to his father’s expectations, either, because he’d skim portfolios and electronic submissions during the hours he wasn’t with her. Might have to give up partying, but the thought didn’t bother him at all. In fact, the only thing that did bother him was the possibility that she might refuse.
She ran another speculative eye over his damaged fender. She crouched down, testing the metal, locating the attachment screws on the underside. Finally, she stood and brushed off her hands.
“Okay. But for the price we agreed on. No connection whatsoever to my entering the summer show.”
He wanted to fist pump the air, but settled for a polite nod. “Deal.”
She held up a pointy finger in his face. “One more thing. You do what I say, when I say. I won’t put up with any reckless behavior, Kane. This is my reputation at the community center. Little Jasmine Anderson is in this class, and you know who her grandparents are.”
He certainly did. Associates of his father. They weren’t business rivals, but they ran in the same social circles. He’d grown up a few years behind Anderson’s sons. Jasmine must be one of their daughters. “I do.”
“Then you know I can’t afford to have some player mess it up for me. Keep your shirt on.” That last part had her looking like she wanted to chew rocks.
She thought he was a player? “I will.”
“And…no one can know about this.”
“What about them?” Kane gestured to the garage workers, who suddenly found something else to occupy their interest as Anna blasted each of them with a dark look.
“Tito and Aldo won’t talk. But if the time comes that my work is accepted for display at The Maverick, I can’t afford people thinking I…you know…got some kind of special consideration.” She was almost mumbling by the end; it was like watching a car sputter and run out of gas.
“Special consideration?” Then it struck him what she meant.
She meant sleeping with him.
Which meant she was thinking of sleeping with him. Maybe not in this exact moment, but if the possibility wasn’t there, the thought may never have occurred to her. Kane’s face went hot, then cold, then hot again.
He shook her hand, gritting his teeth as the silky pleasure of her warm skin fueled his musings. “Ms. Thomas, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“It’s Anna.” She withdrew and kicked at a bit of gravel. “My friends call me Anna.”
“Okay then, Anna.” She wanted things friendly? He could think of a hundred different ways he’d like to be more than friendly. Whatever was going on between them, it was a fine, new start.
Chapter Four
He needed to stop thinking about her.
Kane flicked on the television for white noise and went to pour another cup of coffee.
After he’d agreed to trade his grunt labor for Anna’s skilled craftsmanship, he’d parked his car in the back of her salvage garage and covered it with a drop cloth to protect it from dust and prying eyes. She’d helped him fill out his volunteer application online, leaning over his shoulder with her hair smelling pleasantly of gasoline and girl. Then she’d brushed her hands together and kicked him out of her garage claiming she needed to get some work done on her sculpture. He’d caught the city bus, then the ferry back to Bainbridge Island, until Matt and Nate could swing by and drop him at home.
> “Dude, we’re pub crawling tonight. You in?” Nate asked.
“Nah. Too much to do.”
“You’re becoming your old man, bro.” Matt pulled a face as Kane slid out of the passenger seat. “Later.”
Kane watched as they sped off. Somehow between meeting Anna and being responsible for the summer show, he just didn’t have the heart for bar-hopping.
Now, here he was, skimming through show applicants and trying to pin down the precise color of her eyes. Kane rubbed his chin and stretched. He needed to get a grip, but somehow she’d invaded his thoughts like a dandelion poking through cracks in the concrete.
He clicked over to his mailbox to find his community center volunteer approval email came through, so it looked like things were a go.
I’m in. See you on Monday? he texted her, looking forward to seeing her next week. Maybe he’d spend his weekend swapping out some annuals in the flower beds near the mailbox. His mom could never have too many marigolds.
His phone buzzed when her text message came through.
Just took the bumper off. Looks more involved than I thought. Probably take a week. That cool with you?
A whole week? The thought of telling his father about the accident and destroying their uneasy truce was unbearable. Kane’s gut twisted.
Anna’s social media profile pic was one of her sculptures, Little Miss Muffet. Kane smiled. He couldn’t imagine that firecracker afraid of anything as mundane as a spider. And as long as she could fix the damage and return the vehicle, he didn’t mind the time he’d spend with her in the summer camp, but still he felt guilty not coming clean to his father.
After he’d made things right, he promised himself, he’d confess everything.
He was just about to punch in a reply when his father strolled into the kitchen wearing his favorite weekend golfing shirt and said in a deceptively calm voice, “The Ferrari’s missing from the garage.”
Kane almost choked on his Seattle’s Best. He tucked his cell into his back pocket. “I drove it yesterday, so getting it detailed.” He wasn’t forbidden from driving any of the family vehicles, precisely, but that wouldn’t stop his father from pitching a fit if he knew about the Ferrari.
