by Jen Greyson
With a feigned composure, I slipped off the bench and reached for my shorts. He hadn’t moved from his casual lean against the wall, so I didn’t bother to acknowledge him. I turned my back and stepped into my shorts. Luckily, I’d grabbed a matching light green, button-up shirt. As covered as I could be, I resumed my reading as if nothing was amiss.
“No need to get dressed on my account.”
I snorted and grimaced at the jolt of pain to my brain. Ignoring him, I went back to reading, spying on him from behind my dark glasses. I was too hung-over to play a part today—he was going to get the real me whether he liked it or not.
Chuckling, he crossed the deck until he was right beside me. I looked up and shivered, not quite prepared for his morning sexiness. Even hung over, he was a stunner. “Hi.”
“Good morning.” He peeled his shirt off and dropped it to the deck.
Oh shitmuffins.
I fought the rising panic. No way could I pull off composed or intelligent with him half naked. He settled into a chair beside my bench. Why did he have to sit so close? There were half a dozen other seats. Why did he need to use the one right next to me?
Dark hair curled across his chest, parting for chocolate kisses of nipples, and gathering in the middle to streak down his washboard abs. I hated him for looking so tasty. If I asked him to put his shirt on, he’d know it bugged me. And honestly, cavewoman didn’t want him to.
While I oogled Mateo, Stuart hysterically piped in some Barry White. Real freaking funny. After the song ended, he humored me and turned on some Jimi Hendrix. My feet tapped to the beat and my heartbeat normalized.
Mateo dropped his head back and draped his arms over the chair’s, relaxing into the curved back. Sunglasses hid his eyes but that sun-kissed chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and he acted like he was about to take a giant snooze. I crossed my legs and kicked his chair. He snort-mumbled, smacked his lips, and settled deeper before propping his feet against my hip. I refused to move. Especially since I was half-convinced he was faking and staring at my cleavage behind those shades.
Sipping my Bloody Mary, I did my best to ignore him and keep reading, but his breathing counter-balanced the melody of the waves.
“Cute suit.”
My head jerked up. Wow did I need him to put his shirt back on. I stuck my finger between the pages and closed the book. “Thanks. Not mine.”
“It suits you.” He snickered at his own pun. I should go, but I had a feeling he would just follow me. If we were the only two up, Stuart would make us hang out anyway. Maybe this would count toward my penance. I shifted, knocking his feet off my space and stared out over the white tops as they whipped across the ocean.
This was the problem with turning men on—it was hard to turn them off. Playing the girl in the reflection last night had been fun—even if a little unsettling—but it was time to get back to what I knew before he got the wrong idea about how I felt about him.
Especially since I didn’t even know the answer to that.
He drummed his fingers to the music. “Rinnae seems nice.”
Dropping my eyes back to my book, I flipped back a page, not recognizing a single word on the one I’d been staring at for minutes. Did he really want a response? I wasn’t up for discussing a bunch of other women. Stuart may think I was impartial, but I had my limits. Maybe that would make Mateo think I was interested in him, but I didn’t care this morning.
“Mm, hmm.” I couldn’t manage much else. Flipping another page, I counted the seconds until he got frustrated and found somewhere else to nap.
“Bought a new Charger. You’d love it.”
My pulse fluttered and I clenched my teeth to keep from blurting out a question. He would bring up the only topic on the planet that I’d be inclined talk to him about. I might be willing to forgive him for making me come on this stupid show, but that didn’t mean I was willing to forget. Not that easily. And especially knowing he’d basically been willing to write a check to get his way. His stupid charm wasn’t going to work on me either.
Our encounter last year had been enough to last a lifetime and this new one wasn’t proving to be a whole lot better. The only time I could stand him was when I was pretending to be someone else. And with a massive amount of alcohol.
My head throbbed. I didn’t need him flirting with me, didn’t he get that? In the light of day, the ridiculousness of my situation had been painfully clear. There wouldn’t be a repeat of last night. And there wasn’t going to be a cozy reunion—sure as hell not in front of a million viewers. I wasn’t one of these other girls, I wanted my cars and... Well, my cars—no men. I slid my gaze sideways to peer at Mateo through the corner of my glasses. He’d dropped his head back again, his chocolate gaze fixed on me.
“It’s black. Ten thousand original miles. Interior’s perfect. Thought of you when I picked it up.” A mocking smile hovered on his lips.
No, he didn’t. Hell, he didn’t think of me when we were bidding against each other. I flipped another page, a slight tear at the binding screaming my anger.
“The Nova was nice, too. Not really your style though.” His warm voice conflicted with the torture he was handing out.
I surged off the bench. I couldn’t do this today, not hungover, and not when I wasn’t 100% settled on being here. And completely unsettled about how delicious he looked.
My hands fisted and I threw my book down. “How would you know what my style is? You stomped over me so fast that night you couldn’t possibly know anything about me, let alone my style.” Fumbling to gather my things, I dropped more than I picked up. My legs trembled. I wanted to hate him.
Mateo crouched beside me and gathered my sunscreen bottle and ChapStick. His soft voice embossed the words with empathy. “Mustangs, Chargers, Challengers—fat, fast, low to the ground.”
Why was he doing this? Every other girl here was dying for this attention. We’d sucked at small talk last night, why was he trying again? And had he really paid that much attention to what I’d bid on that night? Surely he’d been to other auctions since then, even if I hadn’t. My head hurt. I couldn’t work on this problem yet. The boat rolled again and he slipped a hand beneath my elbow to steady me. I spread my feet, but my stomach flipped over. No way could I hang out back in my room. But, nowhere else was safe from him.
While I wavered, he kept trying to draw me into the conversation. “Nova’s too high and narrow for you.”
Attempting to dismiss the truth in his statement, I countered out of habit. “The ’68 was okay.” The pages of the book fluttered on the breeze. I gripped my empty glass tight against my body.
“Right, but then the body got so out of whack.” He shrugged. “Never was a muscle car guy myself. Now the exotics...” I jerked my gaze to see if he was talking about my heritage, but he was staring out across the water. “Ferrari, Jaguar, the Bentley.”
I purred, momentarily distracted by a daydream. “The Bentley... No one hates a Bentley.” Damn it. I scrambled for a hold on my frustration, but it dripped away like water in my palm. An axe blade buried itself behind my left eye thanks to my quick movements. I didn’t want to stomp across the boat to hole up in my room.
“Favorite?” Mateo dropped onto the bench, occupying the space next to where I’d been minutes before. I fidgeted and curled the glass tighter against me. Stay or go, I needed to decide. If I stayed it wasn’t to flirt, it was to talk cars. No harm in that, right? Then he wouldn’t be a man, merely a fellow car connoisseur.
Flattening my lips in thought, I shook my head, carefully. “Not really. I’d take any year. Rolls had a few nice ones, but not like the Bentley—they were all fabulous.” I picked up the book, lowered myself to the edge, and angled my legs so they wouldn’t brush his knee.
“What’s this?” Mateo scooped the book out of my lap, grazing the tops of my cradled fingers. A spiral of electricity surged up my arm, straight to my heart before dropping into my belly. I tensed, waiting for the panic, but it never cam
e, only a swirling sensation that wanted more. He’d touched me before now, but last night I’d been concentrating on too many other things, and on the pier I’d been too pissed to care about anything but the anger rocketing through my blood.
This wasn’t normal, not the cold terror that normally accompanied a man’s touch against my skin. This was... different... exciting... And that terrified me.
Exciting made me do stupid things.
Different made me forget my rules.
If there was one thing that I had to keep in place, it was my carefully constructed rules of my world. Behind my rules, it was safe.
Jolting upright, I peeled my book from his fingers, careful not to lay skin on skin. “Mine.” Turning, I headed toward solitary confinement. My stomach would just have to deal.
CHAPTER
THE OFFICE TURNED out more than spectacular. Stuart must have chatted with McComb, because when I fired up the computer, a handful of emails were already waiting. I took another sip of coffee and almost felt human.
Not a single girl had surfaced yet, but every now and then someone ran down the hallway and I’m pretty sure retching noises were coming from the bathroom next door. I shivered. At least my hangovers only came with headaches. Puking was my least favorite thing on the planet—except maybe Mateo.
I shook my head. In this room, there was no thinking about him. This was my sanctuary, and that went for thoughts too.
Scanning the documents attached to McComb’s first email, I sagged in relief. My first real project! Goodbye stupid reality TV. Oh, I was going to love being a lawyer. I hit print and danced in my chair while sixty-seven pages appeared in the tray. Scooping them up, I bit the cap off a red pen and padded to the couch. Maybe I could get McComb to send over my books for next semester so I could get my pre-work done while I was here too.
“Tell me about your cars.”
I jumped, sending papers fluttering to the floor. Last time I’d come back from the bathroom, I hadn’t sealed the door tightly. And now I’d let in a cockroach.
Shoulder propped against the door, Mateo leaned casually as if awaiting an invitation. Fat chance. I scooped up pages and tried to put them back in order. “Why do you care? Why do you keep bugging me?”
He shrugged and used the momentum to shove away from the door. “I’m interested in cars, and I’m interested in you—seemed like a safe conversation.” He knelt beside me and picked up the final page.
I stood, shaking. I couldn’t find a balance around him. Being around him was like that blasted teacup ride at the fair that spun and spun. The moment I thought I’d found center, he spun the ride the other way. He wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in making me a pawn to his game. Getting me on this show had been a power play and nothing more. He didn’t know the deal I’d made with McComb, or the one with Stuart. I’d accomplished those on my own—in spite of how he’d tried to destroy my career. He didn’t care about consequences. He probably didn’t think his actions had undesirable ones. He got what he wanted, and as far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered. “I have work to do. Please leave.”
He surveyed the room. “This is some office. Doesn’t look like being on the show crimped your life at all.”
I seethed and stepped closer, yanking the page from his hand. He didn’t let go and it ripped down the center. “Get. Out.”
He lifted his hands, palms out. “Look. The girls are in bad shape. They’re hung over and seasick. Stuart says the medic has ordered them to stay in bed today. As you can guess, that’s not good for TV. I don’t know what I said to upset you, but Stuart’s not okay with us being apart since we’re the only two upright. He asked me to come smooth things over.” He spread his hands to encompass the entire room. “Admittedly, this caught me a little off guard.”
I bristled. He hadn’t come on his own accord. That was twice that he’d admitted Stuart had forced him. Last night, I’d genuinely wanted to know why he’d done this to me. Now I cared less than I cared to know the mating rituals of East African maggots. I glared. “Not everyone is on this boat to win your heart.”
His head jerked, but he recovered quickly and smiled. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Friends don’t force friends.” And they don’t risk millions either.
I flipped off whatever part of my subconscious was bringing that up now.
The teacup spun the other way.
If I was mad, that meant he mattered. My anger cooled instantly. But I didn’t want to hang out with him.
“I’ve tried to apologize.”
Yes, he had. That still didn’t make it okay. I gripped the sides of the teacup and tried not to puke.
He stepped closer. “I meant what I said. I like you. You like cars. After last night...” He looked away and ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “This morning was nice. I thought we were having a friendly chat... It’s nice to talk to someone about something close to my heart.”
Weird things happened to my insides. My heart softened because I got it, but my guts twisted and roiled. I didn’t want to get to know him. I didn’t want him getting to know me. Some secrets weren’t meant to be shared, and I’d been stupid for letting him think... Well, whatever last night made him think.
I sighed and hugged the contract to my chest. If I didn’t go along, then I’d have to deal with Stuart, and he held the ultimate bribe—one he could easily take away. Stomping to the desk, I set the contract on the desk and pressed my palms into it. “Chevelle, Nova, GTO, Mustang, Lincoln, Cobra, Cuda, Challenger, Mustang, Charger.”
“You said mustang twice.” A smile hid beneath his words. He clicked the door shut and made himself at home on the couch. So much for keeping this a Mateo-free area.
At least there weren’t cameras in here. Whatever we said would stay between us—which meant Stuart wouldn’t let us hide here for long.
I turned. “I have two.”
“An original and the new reworked style?”
I raised my eyebrow. New was for showoffs.
He chuckled. “Just checking. But, I’d like to hear about them.”
“You already said the muscle cars weren’t your style.”
“No, but you are.” The soft richness of his voice slid beneath my skin. I struggled with my battling emotions and crossed my arms.
“Sangria, I know you don’t believe this, but I genuinely want to be friends. That’s all. You’re obviously not interested in me—in any way, let alone as a love interest. I’m fine with that, because that wasn’t why I asked you to come on the trip.”
“You didn’t ask—you ordered. And you weren’t respectful enough to approach me directly. You went behind my back. That’s a horrible way to make friends.” Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Once again, this was about what he wanted. Maybe I didn’t want to be his friend. But that wouldn’t occur to him. That obnoxious part of my brain screamed at me to shut up so I’d finally know why he’d done this.
I shoved it down in the teacup and held it beneath my foot.
“Right. I’m sorry I went behind your back, but you’d made it perfectly clear that you wouldn’t come willingly. I didn’t know how else to get you on the boat. I was out of time. And I needed you.” He held up his hands before I could shut him down. “Not in a sexual way—“ He paused and looked away. “I need you as a companion. You know me—all of me—and I know a little about you, enough that you’re someone I want to spend more time with. You’re a bright, spunky woman who loves cars. I was hoping for a safety net—someone not involved and desperate to be the next Mrs. Dargus.” He held out his hand in invitation to sit. “It was a selfish move. Six weeks is a long time. My longest relationships have barely lasted that long. I knew this would be tough on me, and I’d need a confidant I could chat with. Since Stuart’s keeping everyone until the finale, no one will have to know you’re not a contestant.”
One hurdle down. Not that I’d been planning on being o
ne, but if we were on the same page, that made our interactions easier. And he’d stop flirting. I relaxed and settled on the far edge of the couch. I hadn’t talked cars with anyone since Dad. If Mateo kept his promise—and his hands off—I could deal with chatting. “The Chevelle needs brake work, the Goat’s waiting on new wheels and tires, the ’66 Mustang needs a paintjob, and the 64 ½ is getting a new engine.”
“Nice. What else?”
Like a muscle-relaxer, talking about the cars soothed my stiff spine and I settled deeper into the couch.
“The Hemi in the ‘Cuda is being rebuilt.” Words flowed from me like he’d slipped truth serum in my coffee. I traced the seam of my shorts. “And then there’s the 1970 Dodge Challenger—“
“Don’t tell me it’s in Plum Crazy.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. That car was a treasure, and I knew it. For me it held memories, but a lot of collectors wanted it bad. I tilted my head. “Of course.”
He slowly shook his head, disbelief clouding his eyes. “That’s some collection.”
“Some days I feel like it’s a barn full of unruly stallions. When I’m in the shop, the air hums with the horsepower.”
“The shop, as in your shop?” His upper body canted forward.
Oh sure, now I had his interest.
I quirked an eyebrow. Was he going to scoff at a girl who knew how to turn a wrench? “Growing up, my dad was seriously into cars. He left me the shop.” I shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to part with it.”
Mateo’s face softened with concern and his hand stretched toward my knee. When I flinched, he withdrew and settled it on the cushion between us. “I’m sorry, how long ago did he pass?”
“Three years.”
He lifted his hand again, and a deeply hidden part of me longed to let him enfold me into his strength. though memories would always be close to the surface with this topic, I needed to steer it away. It was too soon.
I cleared my throat. “We bought some of them together. He taught me everything I know.”
