by Emma Hart
He took a step closer to me, amusement still shining in his eyes. “I love your arrogance. I can’t wait to see you realize you’re in over your head with me.”
I pushed off the car, annoyance pulsing through my veins. One step, two steps—I was right in front of him, almost nose-to-nose. And I was rapidly giving in to my anger.
“My arrogance?” I asked in a low voice. “Are you familiar with your own?”
“I prefer confidence.” He smirked, something sparking in his bright blue eyes. “For me, that is. Arrogance definitely fits you better.”
He went to move away, but I wasn’t done.
“I grew up in this garage.”
He froze.
I pinned him with my gaze. “Whoever owns this garage bought it from my father. So since you think I can’t hack it, you should know that I was a girl in a man’s world before I was ever a woman in a man’s world.”
He held my gaze. Unwaveringly. The harshness with which he stared at me sent a shiver down my spine, but I fought it.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d affected me.
Without breaking eye contact, he tilted his head to the side, just a tiny bit. Then, he lifted one grease-coated, roughened hand to the side of my face, and using two fingertips, pushed some of my thick, unruly hair behind my ear.
I swallowed when he lowered his mouth to the side of my face, lips almost ghosting over my skin until a breath of air separated his mouth and my ear.
“That might be right,” he said in a low, rough voice. “But you’ve never been in my world, Jamie. It’s not a man’s world I don’t think you can hack—it’s mine.”
He released my hair and pulled back from me.
Goosebumps prickled across my skin. The further away from me he walked, the more I was aware of the chill that wafted across my skin courtesy of the air-con.
I took a deep breath.
For a moment, it was as if he’d stolen the oxygen from around me and blocked out the cold breeze.
For a moment, I’d almost wanted his lips to brush my skin.
And on that note, I knew I had to leave for lunch.
***
I blinked at my clock. My heart was racing a thousand miles an hour, and even as I stared at the red, LED number on the screen, I couldn’t make it out.
I gave up, instead rolling over and running my hand through the matted mess that was my hair. I could feel the sweat sticking to my body, and my feet were so tangled in the sheets I knew I’d have to change them before I left this morning.
I peered over my shoulder at the cloth once I’d gotten my breathing under control.
Five-fifteen a.m. Over an hour before my alarm, and I was awake for one simple reason.
The kiss in that dream had been all too real.
The faceless, nameless person that Sleep Jamie had been playing tonsil tennis with was identifiable by one fact only.
He smelt like coffee and motor oil.
Not a particularly desirable scent, but one that, to me, weirdly, was attractive.
I only knew one person who smelt like that, and his name was Dexter Ryne.
I wasn’t surprised. After our…moment…yesterday, neither of us had said a word to the other. God knows why he didn’t speak, but I was silent because I had a startling realization over lunch.
I was attracted to him.
Pin me down, flip me over, fuck me ‘til next week attracted to him.
I’d almost dropped my damn sandwich.
I wasn’t okay with this. He was handsome, sure, but he was also an asshole. I could say that with absolute confidence, because I, too, was an asshole.
Takes one to know one, after all.
But it was the way he’d come up to me. I’d relived it a hundred times, and I felt like a goddamn schoolgirl by the time I’d gone to bed last night.
Something which had apparently let my subconscious slut out to play.
Obviously, I’d deprived her of sexy dreams for a while.
No.
Dex.
Goddamn it.
The way he’d held his ground, kept eye contact, smoothed my hair with his rough hand. The gentle way he’d drawn me in until he’d whispered in my ear.
Whispered something that sounded a lot like both a threat and a promise.
A threat that I couldn’t hack it, and the promise that he’d prove it.
But what was his world?
Was he going to throw jobs at me he didn’t think I could do, or was he going to use another weapon—himself?
Because I could do all the first. There wasn’t a thing I couldn’t fix.
He was another matter.
I wasn’t weak. I had no doubt I’d be able to resist him, but I was also human. If I was attracted to him, I’d give in eventually. He wouldn’t win the battle of the mechanics, but he might just win the battle of seduction.
If he wanted to go that way.
Hell, maybe he wasn’t even attracted to me. Maybe he was just a touchy, flirty asshole who got off on making women feel like he wanted him. If that was true, then fine. That would make it easier if he wanted to pretend to want me.
I talked a good game.
That was my only thought as I scrambled out of the sweaty sheets. I tugged them all off and threw them into a ball beneath my window, then trudged into the shower.
If I was going to think deep thoughts, I might as well get clean at the same time.
I stripped off and threw my clothes in the laundry hamper, then started the shower. It was way too cold when I got in, but I was too tired to care. It heated up quickly enough, and once the chill had left my skin, my mind wandered back to my previous train of thought.
Dex.
What was I thinking? I didn’t like him, and just two days ago, I’d been disgusted that Haley obviously wanted to jump his bones.
Now, I kinda wanted to.
More to the point, I kinda wanted to know if Real Dex kissed better than Dream Dex. And that was a high bar to beat…
I smacked myself in the forehead. What was wrong with me? What the hell was I doing, standing in the shower lamenting a dream? There were thousands of mechanics in this country who probably smelt like coffee and motor oil.
Maybe I’d kissed one of them. They didn’t have faces as far as I was concerned, after all.
Yeah, I’d kissed one of those. Not Dex. Not the asshole boss who flicked my sarcasm switch before I’d even parked my car outside the garage. Not the dickhead guy who thought I couldn’t handle the job and underestimated me at every turn.
No, no, no. I’d most definitely not dreamed about kissing him and lifting up his shirt to run my fingers over his…
I needed therapy. Clearly, that was the only option presented to me at this time.
Or…alcohol and carbs would work. They were cheaper than therapy…
***
“Or quitting!” Haley snapped at me from the treadmill next to me once I was done weighing up therapy or carbs. “He doesn’t respect you, Jamie. He doesn’t believe you’re good enough. He thinks he can handle your temper, for the love of God. You can’t even handle your temper!”
“Your date went well last night, then,” I replied dryly, grabbing my water bottle.
“No. It was a hot freakin’ mess, because daddy’s boy was thirty minutes late and accused me of being rude when I wanted to leave.”
“You ordered the lobster, didn’t you?”
“Damn fucking right I ordered the lobster,” she continued. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you and your idiocy.”
“Can I remind you this job is still your fault?”
“No, you can’t. Because, if you do, I lose the moral high ground, and I look good sitting up here.”
“This job is still your fault.”
“Motherfuh.” She jabbed the button to slow it down since she was huffing in earnest now.
Anger? Exhaustion? Who could tell? Flip a coin and you’d still never know
.
She sucked at the bottle with the vigor of a two-dollar hooker until she’d calmed down. Towel in hand, she wiped her face. “Look, I was all for it, until I met the guy.”
I was sensing a theme here…
“He’s an ass, James. And now you’re attracted to him?”
I refrained from pointing out she was like a panting puppy with a dog treat when she first laid eyes on him.
“And yes, I appreciate I was a little googly-eyed when I met him,” she added, one finger lifted in my direction. “But this is not good. You cannot be attracted to someone who undervalues you that much.”
“I know tha—”
“He’s a self-righteous little prick who needs to be taught a lesson.”
“That’s wha—”
“How do you work with him? Just thinking about him is making me angry.”
“Can I speak now?” I forced out, getting off the treadmill.
She blinked at me. “Sure. Sorry. I got carried away.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“I know he undervalues me. I know he’s a self-righteous little prick. But I’m not saying I’m going to bonk his brains out for the next six months.” I pushed the door to the hall open and let her pass. “I was actually asking your advice on how to deal with working with him and being attracted to him before you went off on your tirade.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
“Well, this is awkward.” Haley pushed open the door to the dressing room and held it for me. I thanked her and passed. “I don’t know, if I’m honest. I would say just avoid any situations where it might get a little bit heated—”
“So, don’t speak to him at all.”
She paused. “Mm, yeah. That was a bit of a turn on the other night at dinner. Is that how you’d foreplay?”
“Haley. Not helping.”
“Sure, sure.” We grabbed our bags from the lockers and headed for the showers. “But still, watch out for that.”
“Thanks. Observant of you.”
She grinned. “Just remember that no matter how hot he is or how tingly he makes your lady bits, he’s a sexist asshole who doesn’t have the capacity to give you the respect a badass chick such as yourself deserves.”
I paused outside my shower room. “Wow. They should hire you to give motivational speeches to college students.”
She glared at me. “Go fuck yourself,” she said, then slammed the door.
“Not a bad idea!”
Chapter Eight – Dex
I kicked the fridge shut and glanced at the clock. I had one hour of peace left before the red-lipped pain in my ass showed up to start work, and I was going to relish every second of it.
Mostly because it was seconds where I wasn’t thinking about what she’d taste like if I kissed her.
I hadn’t meant to get so close to her yesterday. In fact, I didn’t want to be anywhere near her, but when she’d stood up against me and dropped the bombshell that this was the garage her family used to own, I couldn’t stop.
She’d been too close.
Too tempting.
I could have walked away, but she had a terrible habit of making some of the things she said sound like a challenge. If there was one thing I couldn’t walk away from, it was a challenge.
The biggest problem?
Jamie was a challenge.
A loud-mouthed, confident, damn tempting challenge who didn’t wear pants unless they were sassy.
I wanted to see it—see her—through. Figure it out. Figure her out. Figure out why she was so damn headstrong and confident and determined to prove me wrong.
Nothing could or would make me believe she needed to be in my garage. Nothing would make me change my mind on that.
She was a liability. It was harsh, but it was the way I felt. And as long as I was in control of hiring in this place, that’s the way it would be.
Maybe that made me an asshole.
I never pretended I wasn’t one.
I stirred the sugar into my coffee. The spoon clinked against the countertop when I dropped it down, and I picked up the steaming hot mug.
My foot tapped against the floor.
How the fuck was I going to get through the next three weeks? She’d worked for me for all of two days, and already, I was thinking about all the ways I wanted to flip her over and fuck her senseless.
I was attracted to her beyond belief. There wasn’t a time I glanced over at her working that her red lips or blue eyes didn’t make me think things I had no place thinking.
Like how she’d look with her lips around my cock and those eyes looking up at me.
How her ass would look if she were bent over the hood of that Mustang she drove, with my fingers digging into her ass cheeks.
How she’d look if my face was between her legs and she was halfway through coming all over my tongue.
I reached down and adjusted my jeans. My cock was hardening at the thoughts that were running through my head. That was something I had to get under control.
Not that my cock had ever fucking listened to me.
I’d tried to make it listen, but it never did.
Damn thing had a mind of its own.
I rubbed my hand down my face. Fucking hell. I was slowly getting obsessed with the woman I worked with, and she was everything I hated.
She was mouthy. Determined. Strong. Confident. Unafraid to challenge me. Unhesitant to call me on the bullshit I spewed every now and then. She was a force of nature—the human equivalent of a hurricane that ripped through a state viciously.
Except I had no doubt she had the ability to rip through a person, too.
I sipped the coffee.
I had to rethink this. Had to get these thoughts the fuck out of my head. There was nothing good about any of this.
Fucking hell.
I’d said fuck more times in the last forty-eight hours than I had in my entire life.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
That wasn’t helping, given that was what I wanted to do to her.
I put my cup on the coffee table and threw myself on the sofa. Springs creaked beneath my weight, but I ignored them as I got comfy and pulled the cup onto my lap.
It burned my skin under my jeans.
Fucking machine.
I rested the mug on the arm of the sofa and stared out of the window where she’d park that Mustang of hers. It matched the color of her eyes to perfection.
Was that its original color or coincidence?
Shit, why the fuck did I care?
All I should be caring about was replacing the fuel injector in my grandpa’s Dodge Ram. The fuel injector that was delayed from the supplier and sending him ten shades of fucking insane.
That reminded me. I needed to call them right about now.
I took a huge gulp of my coffee and grabbed the phone.
***
“Motherfucker!” Jamie’s voice echoed across the garage.
I straightened and looked toward the door. “Hi.”
“Don’t you ‘hi’ me,” she snapped, kicking something that looked a lot like a screwdriver across the floor.
It skidded and landed a few feet from me.
Yep, screwdriver.
“Hello?” I offered. “Howdy? How’d you do? How are you? Bonjour? Ciao? Hola?”
She nailed me with a stare that would make granite soften. “Hey,” she replied. “Do you usually leave your tools on the floor?”
I gazed around at the tool-strewn floor of the garage. “Do you not look where you’re walking?”
“That’s it!” Bending down, she retrieved a tiny wrench from the floor. “I’m getting this cesspit under control!” Turning, she threw it at a box, only for it to bounce off the metal surface and back onto the floor.
The clang echoed through the garage.
“My god!” she shouted.
Except, it was more like a screech than anything.
“How do you work like this? There are tools everywhere.
Do you believe you can run a reputable garage when the only thing you can find without looking is the coffee machine?”
I opened my mouth to reply.
It didn’t matter.
“Your wrenches are all over the place. Your screwdrivers are so screwed you’ve basically fed them to hookers. Your toolboxes are so unorganized you make teenage boys look tidy. And don’t get me sorted on your paperwork!” She jabbed a blood-red nail my way. “Did you fix Senator Yale’s car last week or last year? Was Mayor Reynolds’ truck last month or in January? Did you take tow Alistair Walter’s bus on August fifth or April fifth?”
I opened my mouth once again.
“My God!” she carried on yet again. “This is not how you run a business, Dexter Ryne! I don’t care if you pay your taxes. I don’t care if you pay me on time. This isn’t a freaking big city. You keep your customers in order and you make them feel like they’re all you have. Do you understand that?”
Another open-mouthed attempt was all I shot her way.
“You tell Senator Yale you remember his previous issues and you need to check it over even if you’ve forgotten. You tell Mr. Daniels that you can charge his battery.” She prodded her finger at me. “You—”
“Shut up,” I said wearily.
Jamie bristled. “What?”
“Shit up,” I repeated.
She stared at me.
“Unless you’re going to tell me something about this godforsaken town I don’t know, shut the fuck up,” I continued. “I don’t know what the hell wormed its way up your ass this morning, but you have thirty minutes to make sure it wriggles its way out of your asshole.”
She stared at me.
“And while you’re getting rid of that worm infestation…Tidy those wrenches, would ya, darlin’?”
“Oh my God!” she shouted as I shut the staff room door behind me.
Hey.
Life was a minefield.
And she was a whole damn battlefield.
Chapter Nine – Jamie
“Spineless, selfish little prick.”
I slammed four wrenches into the box.
“Weak little dickhead.”
I snatched up three crosshead screwdrivers, yanked open a drawer, and threw them against the metal base.
