by Susan Stoker
He’d slept with a grand total of two more women in the last ten years. He’d learned a bit about what women liked and how to please them from those experiences, but he’d found that it was easier to jack off than to try to woo and date women simply to get his rocks off. Nathan’s three sexual encounters had left him feeling as if he were missing something.
And now he finally knew what that something was. Passion.
He felt it simply by looking at the petite woman in front of him.
Her arms were crossed now, and her eyes had narrowed in irritation as she waited for him to say something.
“My car won’t start.” As far as enticing opening lines, it sucked, but Nathan had never been good at flirting.
“What did it sound like when you turned the key?”
Her voice was husky, and Nathan imagined it would only get huskier after she’d had an orgasm . . . or two.
He cleared his throat and tried to think about things like fixed and current assets and the profit-and-loss statement for Ace Security he was working on for the current quarter. But it was no use; his dick had gotten hard at the sound of her voice, and it didn’t want to be denied. Nathan turned so he was facing the engine again, trying to spare the woman his inappropriate hard-on.
“Not it. She. Marilyn’s her name. She didn’t do anything.”
“Men and their cars,” the woman joked.
Nathan turned his head to see her join him at the front of his car. She braced her hands on the edge of the hood and leaned over, the muscles in her upper arms flexing as she moved, making her tattoos jump enticingly. He wanted to spend hours examining them. Piecing together what each one meant to her and why she’d wanted to get them inked on her body for all eternity.
“I don’t know why men think cars are female,” she continued, thankfully oblivious to his thoughts. “Seems to me that they act much more like men. They do what they want no matter how well someone takes care of them, and in the end will always let you down when you need them the most.”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke, but continued to stare down into the wires and steel that was Marilyn’s engine. Her words saddened him and made him want to hunt down every man who’d ever let her down.
“I disagree,” Nathan said softly, his eyes trained on the woman’s face. He ran his hand over the side of the car and said, “Marilyn might look rough on the outside, but when treated right, she purrs. Not only that, but she’s mine to take care of and protect. In return for making sure she’s got what she needs to stay healthy and happy, she stands by me, supports me, and helps me get where I want to go. It’s a give-and-take relationship.”
The woman turned her head. “Are we still talking about cars?”
Nathan shrugged, keeping eye contact while memorizing everything he could about her. She was wearing a lot of makeup. Her eyes were dark chocolate brown and smoky, and met his without hesitation. Her lips were covered with dark lipstick, and long chain earrings brushed her shoulders with every movement.
“I’m just telling you why I see my car as female.”
She rolled her eyes and looked back down at the engine, her earrings swinging with her movements. Reaching forward, she bent over the edge of the hood and stood on her tiptoes to reach a wire. Her arms were stretched out, and once again Nathan’s mind sank into the gutter. His fingers clenched around the metal of the hood, and he locked himself in place so he didn’t move.
He’d only had sex in the missionary position. Of course he knew other positions existed, but he hadn’t been with any woman long enough to experiment. But in his mind he could clearly picture himself standing behind this woman as she leaned over his car, holding on to her hips as he took her from behind. His thoughts astonished him, as he’d believed himself to be immune to the lusty thoughts most men had. He’d honestly thought something was wrong with him, but this slight woman was proving that everything he’d thought about himself, and sex, was wrong.
“There.”
The word was short and to the point. She stood upright next to him and wiped her hands on her jeans.
“What?”
“That should solve your problem for now.”
“You fixed her?”
“For now, yeah,” she semirepeated.
“Damn,” Nathan breathed, impressed.
“What? You didn’t think a woman who looked like me would know anything about cars, did you?”
“Honestly? No.”
“You think I was gonna mug you?” She folded her arms across her chest now, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Nathan held up his hands in capitulation. “The thought never crossed my mind. And there’s nothing wrong with the way you look. I don’t know what you think you look like, but trust me, you’re the most feminine woman I’ve seen in a long time.”
Her lip curled up in derision. “You don’t have to lie. I already fixed your car. You’re honestly gonna stand there and tell me my tattoos didn’t make you nervous?”
Nathan’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why would your tattoos make me nervous?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Just forget it. The wires to your battery are completely corroded. The connection is shot. It’ll hold long enough for you to get where you’re going, but I highly suggest you get this hunk of junk into the shop. Remember, if you take care of her, she’ll take care of you . . . right?”
Nathan nodded absently, still stuck on her tattoo comment. “You wanna know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asked.
She looked surprised at his question but merely shrugged, as if she didn’t care one way or another.
“I thought you were the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. And that you were so out of my league, there’s no way you’d ever give a man like me a chance.”
She stared up at him with her mouth slightly agape, as if he’d suddenly sprouted wings and was about to rise up into the sky.
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Your tattoos are gorgeous. They fit you perfectly. I don’t know you, but they seem to match what I imagine your personality to be. Slightly impulsive, passionate, with a no-holds-barred attitude, and when you find something you want, you go after it with determination and don’t let anyone stand in your way.”
“Oh,” she murmured, looking away from him for the first time.
“Me? I’m a nerd. I’m more comfortable with my spreadsheets. Sexy women never seem to take a second glance at me, and I’m not fishing for compliments, just being factual. So, no, I wasn’t thinking that you’d know anything about cars when I turned around and saw you. I’ve got two gallons of ice cream in a cooler in my trunk that I need to take into the office, and my nine-months-pregnant sister-in-law would kill me if it melted. So, yeah, I’m thrilled you know something about cars because the only thing I know is how to turn Marilyn on and that I need to fill her up every two hundred miles, or she’ll let me know I’m neglecting her.”
Nathan knew his words were full of innuendo, but he couldn’t stop himself.
The fascinating woman in front of him licked her lips, but he didn’t think she was purposely trying to be sexual. Which, of course, made it all that much more sexy.
“Yo! Sis! We going or what?”
Nathan turned his head to see a boy with black hair hanging out the window of a classic car. He had no idea what make it was—he really didn’t know cars—but it looked sleek, shiny, and well cared for. The kid’s upper body was hanging out of the front seat, his hands braced on the window frame.
The woman in front of him didn’t respond, but reached around and pulled a card out of her back pocket. “Your car really does need some work. I’m happy to help. I work at Clayson’s Auto Body off Wolfensberger Road. It’s a bit out of the city, but if you’re interested . . .”
Nathan immediately held out his hand and took the business card. “I’m interested. I’ll call for an appointment tomorrow.”
She nodded and gave him a small smile. It wasn’t the smirk th
at had been on her face earlier. The one meant to keep people away. This was genuine and open.
“I’ll make sure to tell my boss you’ll be calling . . .” Her voice trailed off once more, this time in an obvious attempt at getting his name.
“Nathan. Nathan Anderson,” he readily supplied, expecting her to reciprocate.
“Later, Nathan.” She nodded at him and backed away toward her car.
Nathan opened his mouth to say something else, anything to prolong their chat, but she’d turned away and was striding confidently toward her car. He took a moment to admire her ass in the tight jeans as she walked, but didn’t say another word as she climbed into the driver’s side and drove out of the parking lot without another look back.
Reluctantly, and rather bemusedly, Nathan closed the hood of his car and got back inside. This time Marilyn started up without any issues, just as the woman said she would.
Looking down at the business card in his hand, Nathan swore he could still feel the heat of her body in the paper. Clayson’s Auto Body. There was a picture of a car with its hood up on the front along with the address, phone number, and e-mail of the business. He turned it over absently and froze.
Written on the back was a hastily scrawled note that simply said, Tell ’em Bailey sent you.
It was obviously something she’d written ahead of time on all the cards she carried, but that wasn’t what stopped Nathan in his tracks.
Bailey.
Was it a coincidence that the woman he’d been searching for over the last few months was also named Bailey? He and Alexis hadn’t found hide nor hair of Donovan’s ex-girlfriend. And they’d looked.
Was it possible that the petite dynamo who had knocked him off-kilter and made him feel lust for the first time in his life was the Bailey they’d been searching for? And what about the little boy? He knew his brothers thought it was possible the kid was Donovan’s, but he hadn’t been convinced then, and after seeing the boy, wasn’t convinced now.
Nathan had more questions than answers as he pulled out of the supermarket parking lot. The second she’d handed him the card, he knew he’d be calling the shop as soon as they opened simply to give him an excuse to see her again. But he’d also been obsessed with finding the elusive Bailey for a long time, and he had a feeling she’d just miraculously fallen in his lap.
Chapter Two
Bailey Hampton absently nodded and responded to her brother Joel as they drove home from the supermarket. She’d seen the man staring down into his engine as if it held the answers to the meaning of life and simply couldn’t walk away.
She tried to tell herself it was because it was an opportunity to bring business to the shop, but there was more to it than that, and she knew it.
There was just something about the man that did it for her. Even though he so wasn’t the kind of guy she’d ever been attracted to. He’d been honest in his evaluation of himself. He did kinda look like a nerd, but there was something else she saw lurking behind his eyes. Passion. And not just for sex. Somehow Bailey knew that when he found something he liked—be it math, food, friends, family, or a woman—he put one hundred percent of himself into it. And that intrigued her.
Her choice in men had sucked, like really, really sucked, so she supposed it was probably a good thing that Nathan was as different as night and day from the men she’d been with in the past.
Bailey wasn’t a saint. She’d slept with way too many men to count, including her English teacher her senior year—it had been the only way she’d passed his class.
She’d grown up in the poorest part of Denver and had barely graduated from high school. She’d become involved with the Inca Boyz at fourteen and had slept with most of the guys in the gang over the years. At first being around the gang members had been exciting, the danger and drugs was exhilarating. But as she’d gotten older, day after day of life around the gang was the same. Drinking, doing drugs, breaking into people’s houses, having sex with anyone who wanted it when they wanted it, and she’d become more and more dissatisfied.
She sometimes wondered if the loss of her mother when she was little had somehow contributed to her needing attention and affection from men. But at some point the feelings of excitement and belonging she got from being around the dangerous men in the gang had morphed into powerlessness and degradation.
She was more than a sex toy. More than just someone to hang on the arm of the president and look pretty. She wanted more, and she was slowly coming to the realization that she deserved it.
She’d started tinkering with cars in middle school. Bailey used to hang out at the auto body shop her pa worked at after school, and had slowly picked it up. Her pa used to say she could take any car from the junkyard to the highway. And he’d been right. He’d died when she was twenty, and she’d suddenly found herself in charge of her little brother. At first she was pissed. She was the girlfriend of the president of the Inca Boyz gang—she didn’t need a kid to worry about.
But as time went by, she’d learned to appreciate Joel’s easygoing nature and personality. He was open and loved everyone he met. It had been tough to find and afford childcare, so she’d starting bringing her brother along when she hung out with Donovan and his Inca Boyz crew. It had been the worst mistake she’d ever made . . . and she’d made some big ones in her life.
Within two years, Joel’s sunny disposition had changed to closed off and angry. Bailey hadn’t understood why until the day she’d walked in on Donovan and Joel sitting on the couch watching hard-core porn on Donovan’s laptop while Joel puffed on a joint.
She’d never brought her brother around the gang again and had started making plans to get away from Donovan and the gang life once and for all. She might be white trash and have done lots of things she now regretted with the men in the Inca Boyz gang, but there was no way she was going to let Donovan turn her sweet brother into a junkie, asshole killer like him.
So while Donovan and his two brothers were away doing something that was probably illegal, Bailey fled. She’d packed up everything she could fit into her restored 1969 Chevy Chevelle and headed south.
She’d gotten hired on by a man named Clayson Davis in a small auto body shop outside of Castle Rock. It wasn’t far enough from Denver for her comfort, but it would have to do until she could save up enough money to get farther away. Bailey’s ultimate goal was to open her own shop, but for now she was content to be left alone, to do an honest day’s work, and to raise her brother the way Pa would’ve wanted.
“. . . don’t ya think?” Joel asked, bringing Bailey back into the conversation with a jolt.
“Sorry, I was thinking. What was that?”
“For my birthday party . . . it would be cool to have it at Chuck E. Cheese’s,” Joel repeated.
Bailey mentally cringed. There was no way she could afford it. The plan was to have Joel’s tenth-birthday party at Philip S. Miller Park. It was near their house, had great trails, and there was a lot of free stuff Joel and his friends could do. She would have snacks, and they would invite everyone to bring their bikes.
“Maybe next year, bro,” Bailey said. “You were all excited about the park. What happened?”
Joel looked away from her and out the side window and shrugged.
Bailey sighed in frustration. She knew Joel was having a hard time acclimating to the new school. He was the new kid, and as much as she hated to admit it, Donovan’s actions had damaged her brother. Joel was confused and didn’t understand why they’d moved. It broke her heart, but she just had to give him time, and love, and hopefully he’d get back to the person he’d been before Donovan had tried to turn him into an Inca Boy.
“Did you give out the invitations to the kids in your class?”
Joel didn’t turn his head and merely shrugged again.
Bailey tried again. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, bro?”
“Rob’s birthday party is next week, and he’s having it at Chuck E. Cheese�
�s.”
Bailey felt herself tense. The feelings of inadequacy and failing her brother crept up her throat. She forced them down and, in a voice that was huskier than normal, said, “Just because he is doesn’t mean that you have to. It’ll be a nice change to have yours somewhere different.”
“He laughed when he saw my invitation. His were from the store and were cool,” Joel mumbled.
Shit. Bailey put her hand back on the steering wheel and tried not to let the tears that had welled up in her eyes spill over. She and Joel had spent one evening making his invitations. She wasn’t much of an artist, but she’d managed to draw pretty good bikes on the front of each of the twenty-two invitations. They’d laughed and joked with each other as they’d created them, and it was a memory she’d hold in her heart forever.
But now that memory was tarnished. Joel was embarrassed by his invitations. She knew money mattered, but back when she was growing up, it hadn’t become an issue until middle school. Apparently in today’s society, it mattered much earlier than when she was a kid.
Bailey frantically thought about what she could say that would make Joel feel better. “I’m sure all the parties are held at that pizza place. Yours will be unique. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
Joel merely shrugged and kept his eyes on the passing scenery.
Her attempt at cheering him up was lame at best, and Bailey knew it. Kids were cruel. It was part of the reason she’d begun hanging out with older boys, and why she’d been sucked into the gang life. She’d been made to feel welcome, despite the fact that her pa was a mechanic and they didn’t have much money. Despite the fact that she didn’t have the most expensive clothes. Despite the fact that she hadn’t lost her baby fat until she was a junior.
Bailey pulled into the driveway of their rental house, which was conveniently located near the auto body shop. The house was small and had two bedrooms and a main living area. The kitchen was tiny, but since Bailey didn’t cook, it worked for her. She was making enough to keep Joel and her fed as well as clothed . . . if buying clothes from Walmart counted as clothed, but compared to where she’d been a few short months ago, it was perfect.
