by Casey Hagen
Something had to be in it for her, but she didn’t seem to need anything. Independent, strong, and she couldn’t care less about his money. If anything, she seemed amused by it. She was going to be a tough sell. Even if he could figure out how to make it worth her while, she just wasn’t the kind of woman to take less than she deserved.
Admirable, but not entirely helpful.
She glanced over to him. “What?”
He turned in the passenger seat and hooked an arm over the back of her seat. “What do you mean what?”
She unbuttoned the top of her jumpsuit and shook the sleeve off one arm and then the other.
“You’re thinking so damned hard over there, I’m going to have to turn on the A/C. Is it the car? I’m telling you, it’s in good hands with my brother.”
The jumpsuit slid to her waist when she leaned forward, leaving her in just a black tank top. A fitted black tank top. His gaze landed on a dagger tattoo, with some sort of intricate Celtic design running the length of her sculpted arm. No tramp stamp for Jack. No flowers, butterflies, or hearts. Nope. A full blown “look at this” dagger, from shoulder to elbow.
“I haven’t thought about the car since you slid out of your truck.”
Startled eyes met his. She shook her head and laughed. “Nice line, playboy, but you’ll never convince me that I’m the kind of woman your kind finds attractive.”
“My kind? What kind is that?”
“The kind that drives an eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car, for starters. Our worlds are so far apart, I might as well strap my ass to a rocket and head for Mars.”
“I’ve got to give it to you, Jack; you have a way with words. Your mother teach you that?”
“What mother?”
He flinched. “I didn’t miss the taste of my foot.”
“Don’t sweat it. I don’t.”
Curiosity demanded he ask the question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Common sense warned him to not be an idiot, this could be messy.
He was going to do it.
Crap, don’t do it, Lathan.
“What happened to your mom?”
Yup, he just had to do it.
She glanced over at him. He couldn’t see a single bit of tension in her. Her clear eyes met his, open and unoffended. Her shoulders stayed loose and her grip on the wheel relaxed as she rolled into Placerville.
“She left. When I was three.”
“I’m sorry.” Inadequate. Yup, he had a way with the ladies.
She tilted her head at him before turning her eyes back to the road. “Why? I’m not.”
How did she manage to talk about this as though they were discussing what they had for lunch? “Really?”
“No. What kind of woman leaves her kids? One not equipped to be a good mother. To me, it’s better that she left than had she stuck around and screwed us up.”
“That’s…”
“Blunt?”
“Generous.”
“It’s the truth. We had a good life. My dad rocked the mom and dad roles. Neither one of us has been arrested. We don’t do drugs. We have successful jobs. Last time I checked, that was a decent track record.”
She made it all sound so easy. Maybe it was. Here he was, a rich family, a ton of money, and stressing how to get the last of it. It was for an honorable cause, but it was still him desiring just that much more than he already had. And how would he live up to everyone’s expectations? How would he not lose himself in the process of being what his family needed?
Then there was Jack: she seemed to have it all figured out. She was an enigma. One he was willing to spend a good long time figuring out.
They pulled up to a huge blue shop with six white-doored bays. A worn “Price’s Auto Body” sign that looked to have been repainted at least a couple times hung over the middle of the building. This was no small operation, and Jeremy had to be far more than just a mechanic. Likely, he had a team working under him; a large one. Parked next to it, between the shop and a sprawling ranch-style house, were four different types of tow trucks on a large lot. Jack brought the truck to a stop and turned off the engine.
“Let’s go talk to my brother and figure out what’s next.”
“Sounds good.”
He followed her down the driveway past a recent model yellow Mustang and a black Dodge Ram 3500 Dually, and into the house.
The screen door snapped shut before he made it all the way in, catching him right in the backside. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t expecting it. The momentum propelled him forward, right into Jack’s back. He caught her shoulders to keep her upright and they froze. The soft skin of her shoulders heated under his hands, and before he could think better of it, he dragged the tip of his finger over the dagger on her arm.
Her breath caught. “What are you doing, Lathan?”
“Not sure… it just felt right.”
She peered up at him from over her shoulder. “It’s not a good idea.”
He smiled, watching her eyes heat, and dropped his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. He just needed a taste.
“She said it’s not a good idea.”
With his lips hovering just over her skin, he glanced up to see an auburn-haired man with angry green eyes glaring at him from where he stood across the room.
Jack stepped into the room further, putting a few feet between them, and rested her hands on the back of the couch. “Don’t start your shit, Jeremy. I handled it.”
“Yeah, I saw how you handled it.”
“Lathan Kincaid, my brother, Jeremy Price. Jeremy, don’t be a dink. You still want that beer, Lathan?”
Sliding his hands into his pockets he smiled. “Sure, a beer would be great.”
“Have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”
Jeremy uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Lathan. “So, Lathan, what the fu—”
“Don’t make me kick your ass, Jeremy,” she called over her shoulder.
He snorted and yelled into the kitchen to her, “You can’t beat me up.”
She shed her jumpsuit somewhere along the way and reentered the living room with two long-necked bottles of North Stigmata, a specialty beer from a local brewery, and wearing a faded pair of thigh-hugging Levi’s paired with the sexy tank top.
Jesus.
“I can too beat you up, and you know it. So cut the crap.”
“Yeah, well, you fight dirty,” Jeremy mumbled.
Sibling banter. He missed that the most. He and Liam had only been two years apart, and best friends growing up. They did everything together. Sure, they had the occasional fight, but nothing they didn’t solve with a fist or two before going back to best friends again. It had really only happened a couple times, over girls. Not surprising with how close they were in age.
He missed him all the time. When the hell was the gaping emptiness going to finally go away?
Jack handed a beer to Lathan. “Here, sit.” She pointed a finger in her brother’s direction. “You taught me well. Now, enough of that, let’s talk business. Lathan has a Porsche 918 Spyder out there that needs a bit more than a Band-Aid.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow and scratched the short beard on his chin. “No shit?”
Lathan tipped back the bottle and took a few gulps. “Yup. Banged her up good rolling over debris in the road. Jack said I should trust the repair to you. I guess all I need to know is why I should trust you with it.”
“Because I’ve worked on them before.”
Lathan leaned back and assessed Jeremy. His gaze was as open and honest as his sister’s. “You hold a certificate?”
“I hold four. My training was in exotic cars before I had to take over Price’s. If you need references, I’ve got them in spades.”
Had to take over Price’s? There was a story there. “Your training? Have you worked on anything exotic since then?”
“I finished a McLaren P1 two weeks ago. Million-and-a-half-dollar car. Idiot drove it right into the corner
Jack grinned before taking a long swallow of her beer. Her slim throat worked as she swallowed, and for a moment Lathan forgot what the hell he was doing. Just one tug of that long ponytail and he could expose that pretty skin.
“So, you want me to take care of her or not?” Jeremy asked.
Lathan cleared his throat and tore his gaze from Jack. “That would be good, thanks!”
“Well, since that’s settled, Jack, drop it in bay one, and I’ll start on it first thing in the morning. Now, I need my beauty sleep, so I’m going back to bed. Jack, can I see you for a minute first?”
“Sure.”
They stepped into the kitchen and, yes, it was rude, but Lathan listened in.
Jeremy scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Stony Hollow Rehabilitation called today. They want to know what our plan is for Dad.”
She braced her hands on the counter as she leaned back against the sink. “He’s staying in the home.”
“Did you find a pot of gold I don’t know about?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“We have enough for three months. We need to have an alternate plan before time is up.”
“We can sell a truck.”
“We could, but I don’t think downsizing is the way to go. We need to start considering other places.”
A pang in her chest made her wince. “The other places sucked.”
He sighed. “I know. Look, we’ll figure it out. I just wanted you to know.”
Before she let it get to her, before she let the burden drop in the middle of her chest, yet again, she reached for the fridge. “I need another beer.”
He nodded to the living room. “Don’t get loaded around that guy. I’m not sure I like the way he looks at you.”
She snorted and popped the top off of both beers she’d pulled out. “I’m twenty-eight. Let the big-brother routine go.”
He tugged her ponytail, something that used to drive her nuts, but now that he did it less and less, she found comforting. It was the little things that told her she wasn’t alone in this. She may be practically an orphan, but she had Jeremy. “Never, brat.”
She kissed his cheek. “Pinhead.” Then she left him standing in the kitchen and returned to her guest.
She took a guess by grabbing two beers. If Lathan didn’t need another one yet, well, he would just have to catch up. Her steps faltered when she spotted him lounging on the leather sofa, his ankle crossed over his knee, one hand over the back of the couch, the other holding his beer as it rested on his knee.
Her eyes locked on his and there it was again. The heat. The attraction. The thousand different ways they were mismatched and the chemistry that just didn’t care about logic.
She stopped before him, her steel-toed boot bumping into his impossibly shiny dress shoe with who knew what designer name. She didn’t know about these things and didn’t care. She probably couldn’t pronounce it anyway.
“More?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She bent to set her beer on the slate coffee table and out of the corner of her eye caught the way his gaze flickered down her shirt as she did. Not much to see there. She wasn’t flat, but Sports Illustrated certainly wasn’t calling either.
“Here, I’ll take that.” She reached for his empty beer and, as she handed him the fresh one, their fingers brushed. His lingered. All the female parts of her she’d tried to suppress since she met him flared to life. It didn’t matter what lie she told herself. Her body wanted him.
Breaking the contact, she took the empty to the kitchen and returned. Not one to play coy, she grabbed her beer and dropped to the cushion next to him. Why fight it? She might was well enjoy the zing while he was here. He would be gone soon enough.
“What are we doing?” she asked, and took a long drink.
“Just enjoying a cold drink and each other’s company.”
“This is a shit idea.”
“Maybe, but only one way to find out. So what’s the deal with your dad?”
“How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
She nodded. “He has an aggressive form of Alzheimer’s that’s stealing every last part of him, one piece at a time.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. I hate to say it but I’m just relieved he’s in the care facility, because I just couldn’t do it anymore.” She rolled her head to the side and eyed him openly. “I couldn’t wake up one more time and watch my father die before my very eyes. If that makes me weak, then so be it.”
“The last thing I think of when I look at you is weak.”
“Yeah, well you don’t know me.”
“I know plenty.”
“Really, Casanova. Hit me with it then. Sum me up in a neat little package.”
“Strong, responsible, loyal, forgiving, generous, and hands-down the most beautiful women I’ve seen in my almost thirty-five years.”
“God, you’re old.”
He laughed and brushed his fingers over her ponytail.
“I wish I was half of that,” she said.
“You’re all of that. What if I told you I could help you?”
“I’m not a charity case. So, no.”
“I’m not talking charity; more like a mutually-beneficial arrangement.”
“Uh-huh. If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”
“It won’t be a cake walk, but it will solve your problem and a problem I’m having of my own. If I don’t marry in seventeen days, I lose my trust fund. That money is promised to a project I’m working on in Kenya. If I don’t deliver, a lot of kids are left hanging with no way to get an education. I can’t let that happen.”
Jack tilted her head. “You’re funding a school. I didn’t see that, but now that I know, I’m not surprised.”
Lathan squirmed. He didn’t want recognition; he just wanted to honor his obligation. “How much is it going to take to provide care for your father for the rest of his life?”
“If we keep him where he is, in a facility that takes exceptional care of him…it could run a half million by the time all is said and done.”
“Not a problem.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not. What’s it going to cost me?”
“A year.”
“I don’t follow.” She knocked back a healthy swallow, ready to be done with the riddles.
“You and me, married for a year.”
That did it. She sucked in a breath, and beer, leading her into spastic coughing fit. She doubled over with her head between her knees. Lathan grabbed for her beer and set it on the coffee table while rubbing her back with his other hand. As her gasps evened out, her focus shifted from the discomfort in her throat and her watering eyes to the large hand rhythmically tracing over her back.
Marriage. Jesus. Obviously, she figured one day she might get around to it. You know, when she figured out what to do about her dad and had the financial freedom to enter into something long-term. Of course, that meant finding a guy she didn’t mind looking at every day for the rest of her life, too.
That might be an issue. She didn’t do long-term. Never had. Her longest relationship had been just over six months. First, he’d seemed upset that she wasn’t one of those typical females who started leaving this and that at his place in an effort to insert herself into his life. Then he started bringing bits and pieces over to her house. When he added his shave gel preference to the grocery list she and Jeremy kept on the fridge, she booted him out of her house and out of her life.
She didn’t shed a tear or feel a twinge, because, apparently, he just didn’t matter that much to her. One day, he would realize she’d done him a favor.
“Is the prospect of being married to me for a year so horrifying that you can’t speak?”
“Yes, but probably not for the reason you expect.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I��m shit with men.”
“That’s your argument?”
“What if we don’t have chemistry?”
He grunted. “That’s just weak.”
“Well, we don’t even know if we like kissing each other.”
“So let’s find out.”
She leaned away from him and shook her head. “What? No.”
“What’s the matter, Jack? Scared?”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
He stood then, and gave her a grin that ratcheted her internal temperature up a good ten degrees. “Spiders?”
“No.”
He took a step toward her. “Snakes?”
She shook her head, setting her ponytail swinging. “Nope.”
“The Bogeyman?”
“Please? What are we, five?”
“Then let’s dispense with the playground banter and test the attraction that’s been simmering since the minute you stepped out of that rig of yours.”
She waited a beat, then two, with her heart thudding heavy in her chest like it was pumping through molasses. “Fine, one kiss. If it’s any good, I’ll consider you offer.” She held up a finger. “Consider!”
“Consider this, Jack.”
Before she could take a breath, he had hooked those long fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth under his. Warm lips fit perfectly over hers. His confident tongue slid inside her mouth to toy with hers. She burned from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. Her scalp stung. Her nipples tightened painfully. Her body readied itself for complete domination.
The damned attraction was off the charts, and unlike any attraction she had ever experienced. The humming she thought was low in his throat, no, oh God, it was her. She wrenched her lips away from his, mortified to see both of her hands fisted in his shirt. She had pulled one side free of his pants.
He stood there staring at her, his chest heaving. “Chemistry is not a problem.” Headlights shone into the living room window as his ride pulled up in front of the house.
“You work tomorrow?”
“I have a four-day weekend.”
“Good.” He scrawled an address on the back and handed it to her. “Here’s my card. If you want to take me up on my offer, be here, tomorrow, 6 p.m.” Before she knew what he was doing, he laid a gentle kiss on her forehead and was gone.
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