SweetlyBad

by Anya Breton

  “A Ferrari?” Jared exclaimed, paying her little mind as he stared at the Italian car. “Where the hell did you find that?”

  Oil was smudged beneath his right blue eye as though he hadn’t checked his face since he left his garage. The dust coating Jared’s dark hair gave him the illusion of being older than his nearly forty years. He hadn’t changed since they’d dated.

  She gave him the barest of answers in her most stilted tone. “Broken down on the side of Route 9. What do you want?”

  “Someone told me they’d seen a fancy car towed into your garage. I came to check it out. You should really tow it over to my place. Foreign cars aren’t your thing.”

  No pause between his statements of fact and his insults. The guy knew how to butter up a girl. How the hell had she ever gotten involved with him?

  “I’m not towing anything to your place, Jared. And I can handle foreign cars just fine.”

  His lips flirted with a smirk. “That’s not what I heard from Hettie Hoffman.”

  Erica maintained her blank expression as best she could, no matter how much she wanted to throw an air impact wrench at his head. “Hettie’s Toyota was fine when it left here.”

  He scratched at his chin as if he were deep in thought. “Say, how did you manage to have it break down the day after she visited you anyway? Use duct tape again?”

  “I’ve used duct tape once…on your car because you said you couldn’t afford the expensive muffler but didn’t want me to put the cheaper one on.” Memories of their time together rushed in when she’d have rather remembered anything else. “And you told me to use the duct tape!”

  That duct tape had held for months until he’d finally gotten around to ordering the muffler. Erica had done a fine fix even with tape.

  Erica kicked her hip out, settling her weight onto it. “What do you want?”

  Jared dragged his covetous gaze from the car. She needed to remember to double-check the lock on the garage tonight and make sure the security system was armed. Then again…if Drew slept on the cot, he’d be an effective burglar alert.

  “The offer is still on the table.” Jared said what she’d known he would. “A hundred thousand and you won’t have to worry about this place again.”

  “I don’t worry about this place now,” she lied. Every day brought a new worry. But what was life without a worry or two?

  “You could kick back, relax,” Jared said as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “On a hundred thousand dollars? That would only keep me a few years—”

  He cut in with a snort. “Your bills can’t be that bad. You’re living in your father’s house. It’s been paid off for centuries.”

  “There’s property tax and a yearly insurance bill.”

  “Property tax is a killer,” Jared acknowledged. “But that can’t be more than a few grand a year. You’d be set for life on a hundred thousand dollars.”

  He was living in a dream world. Erica shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what you offer, I’m never selling my father’s business.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Never say never, Erica. You’ll sell. Eventually.”

  Had Jared intended to sound ominous?

  She’d meant what she said. He could throw any amount of money at her and it wouldn’t change her answer. Even if she became desperate, Erica would sooner close the place down than sell it to the likes of Jared Berry.

  Unwilling to continue their argument, Erica adopted her sweetest voice. “Thanks for stopping by. Have a good one. Buh-bye now.”

  He tossed his head back as though he had hair to flip around. “Ah, don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

  “I haven’t been your sweetheart for seven months, Jared. Now get out or I’m calling Kevin.”

  “The sheriff?” Jared chortled like a cartoon villain. And then he verbalized the laugh like a true asshole. “Hah. What’s he gonna do? I fix their cars.”

  Her jaw ached from the force of her scowl. “Only because you quoted them an absurdly cheap rate. Next time it’ll be different.”

  Ohhh, he really pushed her buttons. Erica turned her back on him, hoping he’d get the message. Arguing with him never got anywhere but it was so hard to ignore his jibes.

  Scuffs against the concrete implied he’d moved. Unfortunately they were toward her rather than away. Something smacked against her ass. Erica yelped, jumping a half foot forward.

  “As sweet as ever,” Jared said and sauntered away. “See ya ’round.”

  If only she could argue. But in a town with fewer than two thousand permanent residents and only one general store, she was certain to see her ex.

  “You could do better than him.”

  Drew. How lovely.

  Erica tried for a smile but was certain whatever expression landed on her face was a wan one. Before she could reply that she knew she could do better, hence why she’d dumped the guy, Drew opened his mouth again.

  “You’re really quite attractive given, well…” He gestured up and down her.

  She allowed a single brow to arch. Did he mean given her weight? Or perhaps given her occupation?

  Drew failed to explain what her failure was.

  She dropped the wrench aside. “Given, well…what?”

  He glanced at the heavy tool she’d discarded and then cleared his throat. “Um…your figure.”

  Erica resisted the urge to pick up the wrench. So she wasn’t model thin. So she had to shop in the women’s section of department stores to find jeans that fit her thick legs. She’d like to see a size two do what she did all day long without collapsing. He could deride her appearance, it wasn’t going to make her feel bad. She got enough of that from her sister Tina.

  “For your Ferrari’s sake I’m going to take that as the misguided compliment I think you meant it as,” Erica said. “So what’s it going to be? Chinese takeout or pizza delivery?”

  His answer was instantaneous. “Pizza. Definitely pizza.”

  “You order it. I’ll pay.” Erica started for the back of the garage. “Get extra meat.”

  He coughed, a strange, strangled sound as if he were laughing, and then headed off to the office.

  Chapter Three

  Someone would help him. Drew was sure of it. He just had to think. Food should have made it easier to do. But a quiet stomach wasn’t helping his concentration.

  He wasn’t called the Air witch playboy of New Hampshire for nothing. Several hearts had been broken. Half the coven was in love with him and more infatuated ladies were spattered around the country. Which could he count on?

  And why couldn’t he remember their names? This would be so much easier if he’d kept notes on his paramours.

  “Cindy? It’s Drew.”

  “Drew who?” was the feminine response.

  “Drew Haizea.”

  “Haizea? The priest over the Manchester coven?”

  That hadn’t been the response he’d expected. Obviously this wasn’t the Cindy he’d spent two days with holed up in a seaside cottage.

  “His brother.”

  “The younger brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” The dull response was followed up with, “I heard you’re on the rogue list.”

  “It’s a misunderstanding. My mother is trying to teach me a lesson.”

  There was a small laugh. “Some lesson. She wants you dead?”

  He lowered his volume so the mechanic wouldn’t hear him in the other room. “I don’t think anyone will actually try.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that. I gotta go.”

  “Hold on—”

  Silence. Drew didn’t throw his phone. Not after what he’d had to do to get the damn thing back together. Instead he pulled up his contact list and tried another number.

  The response was largely the same. For all his prowess, he was shockingly forgettable. Or perhaps they knew who he was but would rather not admit it. Pride made people behave strangely.

  “I want to help, I really do, b
ut I can’t risk the Haizea dragon’s wrath,” Cindy number three said when he phoned her. This must have been the one from the cottage. “She’s too powerful.”

  Amanda Haizea shouldn’t have been powerful. She’d never held a position of authority. She’d assumed the role of priestess after his brother left the coven in a lurch. It wasn’t rightfully her position but no one had complained.

  Maybe he should complain. Would they listen to the opinion of a rogue witch?

  They had better. He wouldn’t have been marked rogue if it hadn’t been for his mother.

  “Thanks anyway,” he muttered, clicking the phone off.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have ignored his mother’s phone calls when she begged him to head back after the week with his fiancée. But Elizabeth had been content to stay another week. He’d been intent on a campaign to bed the newlywed next door.

  Where the hell had Elizabeth gotten a video camera anyway?

  Time to broaden his horizons. Drew checked his entries for other witches. He’d had one hell of a night with a Fire witch last year. Her name started with a Y. Yvette? Yvonne? There were six other Y names to choose from. He really needed to add notes in the future.

  “Yvette? It’s Drew Haizea.”

  She disconnected the call once the surname left his lips. Another Air witch?

  He tried Yvonne and got a recording. The voice was familiar—thickly foreign, sexy and definitely the Fire witch he’d met. He left a message for her to call him back because he wouldn’t mind meeting up again, whatever the case.

  Maybe he ought to try a few guys—not for sex, of course. But they might be willing to take on his mother if Drew promised money when he got some.

  “Geno? It’s Drew Haizea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m in a bit of a bind. Stranded out here in Stoddard. Any chance you could give a guy a ride?”

  The guy snorted. “Man, I live in New York now. Sorry.”

  When had that happened? They’d hung out every week…when Drew was fifteen. Shit.

  The second male he tried was local but merely laughed at the request before ending the call. That cot in the other room was becoming a certainty. Drew didn’t want to spend the night sleeping in a garage. Even if it was an air-conditioned garage.

  Drew’s finger hovered over his brother’s contact list entry. Aston wouldn’t have cellular service in the middle of the Atlantic. Moreover, what would he be able to do from a sailboat? Aston was no longer priest. He had no power in their community.

  That brought Drew to the last person who could help. Sean, the priest of their neighboring coven, was a shoo-in for the recently vacated position of high priest. The high priest could remove Drew’s name from the rogue list, yes. But Sean wasn’t high priest yet. Given that Sean was Amanda’s rival and longtime nemesis, any suggestion Sean made would be promptly discarded by her. Drew could forever kiss his inheritance goodbye if he dared enlist Sean’s help.

  He fell back against the molded plastic chair and rested his skull on the warm window behind him. His attention went to the stained ceiling tiles. There’d been a leak. She probably ought to have that looked at.

  “Got it, Terrence.”

  Drew popped upright. The mechanic was closer than he’d realized. She stepped into her office with her cordless phone pressed to her ear. Her single-minded focus was for the computer. Several clicks, three web pages and another set of digits entered into the phone passed before she spoke again.

  “This is Erica Pearce up in New Hampshire. I understand you’re the only Ferrari dealer in New England. I’ve got one in my shop that caught fire earlier tod—”

  He sat forward in the uncomfortable chair.

  “Wow,” she said. “Really? Ferrari did that?”

  What? What did Ferrari do?

  Drew braced his feet on the linoleum rather than go for her phone.

  “Sure. One second.” Erica clicked about on the keyboard. “Andrew Haizea. That’s H-A-I-Z-E-A.”

  He clenched his palms together, threading his fingers when all he wanted to do was make her put the call on speaker.

  “Is that so?” Erica swung back, pinning him with a look he’d seen on his mother’s face countless times in his youth.

  Disappointment.

  No. Not her too.

  Drew pursed his lips.

  “Yeah, it’s in my shop,” she said to whoever was on the phone. “Stoddard, New Hampshire. It’s on the west side, a good hour and a half from Boston.” There was a pause. “Oh. Yeah, it does make sense that we’d be out of your tow range. Would you reimburse the owner if he had the car towed down there?”

  He wasn’t going to fidget. Drew would sit patiently until he discovered how screwed he was.

  “Would Ferrari reimburse me if I did the work here?”

  That couldn’t be good.

  “No, I’m not Ferrari certified but—” The space between her eyes knit together as she listened. “Ferrari built a car that caught fire. Of all the cars I’ve built, none have caught on fire. Sounds like I’m doing better in that regard.” Erica twisted back to the computer. There was a small snuffle. Drew didn’t know her well enough to decipher what it meant. “Yeah. I understand. I will. Thank you.”

  She plopped her phone on its cradle. Drew stared, willing her to explain what had happened.

  “Well,” she said, pivoting toward him. “That was the Ferrari dealer in Boston, where you bought your car.”

  Yes. He’d gathered that much. Drew clenched his thighs impatiently.

  “They said there’s a known issue in your model of Ferrari and that they’ve been calling you for the past seven months about bringing it in to have it fixed under warranty.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he said, though it was an absolute lie.

  “Unfortunately they won’t send a truck up to get the car and they won’t reimburse you for a tow. They also won’t let me do the work because I’m not certified.”

  “How much would the tow cost?” Drew didn’t know why he bothered to ask. He didn’t have a dime to his name.

  She rubbed her palm along the back of her neck. “Around seven hundred dollars.”

  Yesterday seven hundred dollars would have been a drop in the bucket. Aer, he had several pairs of shoes that cost twice that. Today…today it might as well have been seven hundred thousand dollars.

  Drew dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t have even that much.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. And then Erica’s voice softened. “We’ll figure something out.” She cleared her throat. “I gotta close up.”

  Fragrance hit him as she walked by—fragrance he’d blocked until then. Though there was a slight scent of oil and sweat, Erica’s overwhelming odor was sweet like buttercream and strangely sexy. What would she smell like fresh out of the shower? Or better yet, just after sex?

  She strode across the driveway purposefully, her lush body shifting in her jeans. The fitted tank top did nice things for her breasts. Would they look bigger or smaller without her bra? His dick stirred yet again. Why was his body behaving as if he’d been in a dry spell?

  The situation contributed. It had to. After being marked as a rogue witch by his own mother, Drew didn’t want to be alone tonight. He didn’t want to be alone any night, but tonight would be especially rough.

  He’d earned a night on the curvy mechanic’s cot with his pathetic show.

  Maybe he could earn a night in her bed if he turned up the tale of woe. It was definitely worth a shot.

  Erica eyed the blond warily. He had a plan. She didn’t know the guy but that gleam in his hazel eyes couldn’t be good. And the attention he paid her breasts hinted it was a plan that involved sex.

  So not going to happen.

  She hadn’t listened to him going through his contact list of women without learning a thing or two. The guy was a player. Straight up. And she wasn’t playing.

  “Do you need help bringing anything out?” he asked, nice as you please.
>
  That megawatt smile was suspicious.

  “No. But thanks.” The mound of pizza crusts to the left was a sore spot in her vision. That would look bad if a customer stopped in. “If you want to clean up the pizza stuff before tomorrow, that would be great.”

  “Sure.”

  The phone rang. Two minutes to close. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. Nonetheless, Erica groaned at the number displayed.

  “Pearce Auto-body, this is Erica. How can I help you?”

  “It’s Tina,” a familiar high-pitched voice said by way of a greeting. “I need you to babysit. Brad got called in to work overtime and I have a Pampered Chef party to go to.”

  Pampered Chef? Tina never cooked…unless spaghetti and jar sauce counted as cooking. Erica baked. She would have liked to be invited to a Pampered Chef party. Not that she could afford any of it.

  “Uh—”

  “Please, Erica. Ever since Dad passed I haven’t had much fun.”

  Erica rolled her eyes. It had been the same refrain for the past two years. She knew better than to argue that Tina had fun at least once a week while Erica babysat her rambunctious children. Another guilt trip was not what Erica wanted to hear.

  “I know you’re not doing anything,” Tina said.

  It was a Friday night. Erica could have been doing something. Like the blond had said, she was attractive. She’d had a boyfriend at one point. Having another one wouldn’t be unheard of.

  Erica’s gaze shifted to the figure draped over one of the chairs. She could easily use him as an excuse to get out of babysitting her nephews.

  “Don’t be so selfish,” Tina said. “You got everything when Dad died. All I want is one night out with my friends.”

  Erica got everything when Dad died because Tina already owned a house and because Tina didn’t know a carburetor from a piston.

  Erica relented with a small sigh. “Okay. But I need some sleep. You can’t be out late.”

  “I won’t be.”

  She pressed her eyelids together. A silent sigh slipped from her lips at the singsong phrase Tina had regularly used in their youth.

  Erica massaged her temple with her left hand and put the phone back with her right. She was going to need a beer to make it through the night without tying her nephews to chairs.