by Taryn Quinn
She stepped back and swallowed more coffee. It didn’t do much to clear the desire haze now wrapping her brain in layers of Brad-scented cotton. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m starving.”
“Not for me, apparently.”
“Brad—”
“No, I get it. Furtive night fucks are one thing. Kisses in the morning another.” His tight smile as he turned away made her ache for him, and this time not just his body. “I’m on my way to work. Catch you later, babe.”
She frowned and stared at his retreating back. “Wait a second. I have to go into work today. Who’s going to stay with Kim?”
“I’m not a damn invalid!” Kim yelled, clomping up the stairs.
Sara rushed to help her. Brad had already slammed his bedroom door. So much for his being interested in helping his sister. He was probably poking the eyes out of the stuffed macaw Sara had bought him at the sanctuary gift shop a few weeks ago. Right then, she didn’t blame him.
As she helped her best friend shuffle to the bathroom, she heard Telly’s distinctive call from the bedroom. “Oooh, uhh, ooh!” Not again.
Kim’s eyebrows knitted. “What’s up with your bird?”
Sara’s face flamed. “He’s hungry. I forgot to bring up his food from downstairs.”
“Come in hard!”
She yanked on Kim’s arm. “Hurry.”
“Sounds like he’s horny, not hungry.” Kim elbowed her in the ribs. “Maybe he needs a woman. Aww, a pair of lovebirds. Wouldn’t that be cute?”
She nudged Kim up the hall. “No. The bird’s celibate.”
“Huh. Sounds like you lately.”
Sara licked her lips as Telly started chanting about coming again. A small smile curved her lips. “Yeah. Like me.”
Sara turned up the radio and tapped her hand on the wheel to Joan Jett as she drove home from work. It had been a four-aspirin kind of day. A potential patron had pulled out of the benefit at the last minute, leaving her with a hole to fill. The fundraising dinner was a big part of what kept the sanctuary going, and donors were hard to replace this close to the event. She’d spent way too long trying to come up with a solution, though she’d finally zeroed in on a potential target. Then she’d had a grant proposal to review. After two hours of fine-print fun, she’d gone with the two-fisted remedy of a raspberry latte and a chocolate bar. Even her usual stress buster of visiting the simulated rainforest hadn’t helped. Irritable birds and a cranky Sara apparently weren’t a good mix.
Now she’d have to spend the night sequestered in her room, listening to her bird recount the previous night’s lovemaking. Talk about creepy. And embarrassing. She would not succumb to lustful urges, even those provoked by her sex maniac conure. She’d wanted time to think, to mull, as it were, and she was taking it, calmly. There would be no drama in her love life or her household.
Ohmmm.
She cruised down the big hill that led to home, trying to concentrate on the breeze in her hair and the pleasant fact that her cold had receded to a mild tickle at the back of her throat. Everything was going well. Super, actually. As soon as she got home, she’d kick off these heels from Hades, shed the pencil skirt and dig out her fuzzy bunny slippers. She’d make a big green salad and—
Her damn car had stalled at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill.
Exhaling deeply, she turned off the car and turned it back on, fully expecting the engine of her sedan to roar to life. Veronica had never been anything but reliable, even on the long drive across the country. She didn’t believe for one moment that she would pick today of all days to break down.
She cranked the engine twice more and got nothing. Not even a stupid click.
“Goddammit.” She climbed out and gave Veronica a good kick in the tires. Now what? She was only a quarter mile from home, but what about her heels? She really did not relish walking any distance in them. And what about her car? Maybe Triple A could come check it out. If she had Triple A, which she no longer did since she’d been encouraged to drop it by her sexy, way-too-persuasive, entirely-too-good-with-his-hands roommate who insisted he’d be able to service her vehicle whenever she needed it.
Except right now, when she happened to be avoiding him like some adolescent girl with a crush.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” she muttered, her thumb hovering over the number Brad had programmed into her phone for his shop.
A screech of brakes made her look up to see Kim’s next door neighbor’s bright blue Mustang idling behind her poor car. Dustin wasn’t a bad guy, he just happened to be the type she’d learned to steer clear of at all costs. He flashed a blinding, fake smile at disturbingly frequent intervals, had a bad comb over, and possessed the requisite grabby hands. Not to mention the hot car he drove that was supposed to magically erase twenty years and add approximately three inches of penis length.
But maybe he could take her to a service station that wasn’t Brad’s. If so, she might rethink her less than flattering assessment.
“Hey there, little lady,” Dustin said in a booming voice as he slithered out of his car with a creak of arthritic knees. “Your spark plugs a little dusty or something?”
Or perhaps not.
“Not sure what’s going on. Could I have a ride, please? In your vehicle,” she added with a quick smile. “My car appears to be dead.”
“You have Triple A?”
“No. Drop me off at O’Halloran’s if you wouldn’t mind. One of the guys can come back here to give me a tow.” Seeing Brad might stir up all sorts of feelings, but she’d take her chances with her libido over extra minutes spent in a cramped space with Wide Toothy Smile.
Especially since her skirt was just tight enough to have earned more than the standard leer he usually aimed her way. No, this was a full-on visual assault.
Amazing her bottom didn’t have burn holes.
Dustin shook his head. “O’Halloran’s is a small operation. Not a lot of techs there, and I know you must need your car fixed right quick. Let me bring you to the Quickie Lube on Route 16. That’s where I bring my ‘Stang.”
Route 16? Miles and miles away? Oh hell no. Her smile flashed again. “Thank you, but O’Halloran’s is the best in the area. If you’re not headed by there, I’ll call Brad—”
“No, no need for that. I’m here, aren’t I?” He patted his noticeably puffed chest. Telly didn’t strut around half as much as Dustin Winters did. “Here, get on in, Sara dear.” He held open the passenger door with a flourish and motioned her inside.
After turning on her sedan’s hazard lights, Sara hurried around the car and murmured her thanks. It was only a three-minute ride. What could possibly happen?
Other than a few near knee grabs, a thick-fingered arm pat, and a heavy whiff of tuna fish breath as Dustin leaned across to open her door once they arrived at Brad’s shop.
He insisted on coming inside with her though she asked him—damn near begged him, actually—not to. The last thing she wanted was for Brad to go all caveman and start asking why they were together. Not that she’d ever witnessed Brad going caveman, but the guy had more than enough testosterone that it wasn’t a leap to imagine he might. Add in their awkward morning after, and things probably would be strained enough without any unnecessary fuel for the fire.
Dustin marched up to O’Halloran’s door and held it open, ushering her inside. She tried once more to get him to leave as she stepped onto the paint-spattered concrete floor. “Thank you, Dustin, I appreciate it, but—”
Her voice died away at the blast of music and the clear baritone filling the humid space. The Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride” had been turned into a rocking anthem and played at a decibel that probably would’ve frightened away the customers, had there been any but her. And she wasn’t frightened by the sounds and sights, she was mesmerized.
Brad stood with his foot on an overturned barrel and his hands wrapped around a shiny wrench that had become his de facto microphone. He sang with his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he really were on
stage. His hips rocked to the beat, and an infectious smile spread across his gorgeous face while he wailed through the song in a way she doubted the Beatles had ever anticipated.
Sara’s heart sped up to locomotive speed, and she gripped the strap of her purse, barely able to keep from rushing across the room and tackling him. How in God’s name had she ever resisted him for a minute, never mind months? He sang with complete inhibition. Totally in the moment. Completely absorbed and happy. The way he did everything else.
Especially the way he made love.
She couldn’t keep from grinning while the last notes faded away and the couple of mechanics around Brad laughed and smacked him on the back. Without conscious intention, she started to clap, continuing even when Brad’s head swung sharply in her direction. His eyes widened to take her in, then shifted and narrowed at the sight of the man crowding close to her side.
Ignoring his suddenly tightened jaw, she strode forward and gestured to his battered boots. “So where’s your tip jar? I want to show my appreciation.” The sentiment came out huskier than she’d intended, and she swallowed at the hungry look that stole over Brad’s face.
He set aside the wrench and flicked off the radio. The sudden silence was deafening. His employees, most of them wearing blue overalls and ball caps, had all fallen mute at her and Dustin’s arrival.
She glanced down at her outfit. Yes, she was dressed professionally, but did she stick out that much? She didn’t want to make Brad’s friends uncomfortable.
“In front of all these people? Dr. Carmichael, you surprise me.” Though another smile replaced the one that had fled his face the instant he’d seen Sara, there was no mistaking the hardness of his features as he turned toward Dustin. “Winters. Never seen the likes of you at our humble shop.”
Dustin sniffed. Literally sniffed. “That display you put on could be why.”
Brad’s smile widened. “Aw, come on, man. I was gonna ask you to duet with me. How about ‘The Bitch Is Back’?”
She hid her smirk behind her hand and coughed delicately. “Dustin gave me a ride because my car died. He’s probably got a lot of important things to get to. Don’t you, Dustin?”
Dustin frowned. “Actually, no, I—”
Brad’s amusement disappeared. “Your car died? Where?”
“Not far from here at all. At the bottom of Stockholm Hill.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” He looked from her to Dustin. “Unless you have an arrangement with Winters I don’t know about.”
And the caveman arrives, right on schedule. She lifted a brow. Engaging him in sexually charged banter when there were witnesses wasn’t smart. Hell, when there weren’t witnesses it wasn’t smart either, at least until she came to terms with how she wanted to handle this situation. “I came here to see if one of your techs could go get my car. Is that possible?”
He walked around the counter and grabbed a set of keys off a hook. “I’ll go get your car. The waiting room’s empty.”
‘“We’re about to close—” one of the other mechanics interjected.
Brad silenced him with a look. “You’re off the hook, Masters, and not because it’s quitting time. I’ve got her. Get out of here.”
The guy immediately adopted a hangdog expression any puppy would envy. “Boss, I can stay. Was just saying.”
“It’s all right. I know Brit’s got a big night tonight. Piano recital, right?”
“Yeah. Her first. Her and her momma are about to burst.” The mechanic glanced at Sara and gave her an apologetic smile. “Pardon me, Dr. Carmichael. I got a little ahead of myself.”
“No problem.” She glanced at his nametag and returned his smile. “Enjoy your night, Kevin.”
“Thanks. You sure, boss?”
Brad waved him on. “Hug Brit extra hard for me. Now get out.”
Sara glanced around and realized the rest of the mechanics had vanished. There had only been a handful of them, but they’d scattered like rats. Either because it was quitting time or because Brad had leveled Dustin with some sort of pee-laced death ray that had struck him dumb. Maybe they were afraid of getting hit by stray male pheromones.
“You need a ride back too, Winters?” Brad jingled his keys. “Otherwise, I’d like to get to Sara’s vehicle before dark.”
Dustin looked at Sara as if Brad hadn’t spoken. “Are you sure you’d rather not go to Quickie Lube? Much more professional service there. I’d be happy to drive you.”
“I bet,” Brad muttered.
“No, I’m fine here. Thank you for the ride, Dustin. I appreciate it.”
With a noise that sounded dangerously close to harrumph, Dustin left. His Mustang roared out of the lot a moment later.
Brad tucked his keys in his pocket and took his sweet time wiping his hands. She had no doubt his slowness was intentional. The guy sure knew how to stew. “Ready?” he asked, finally picking up his keys again.
“Sure.” She gripped her purse. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He led her out and locked the door, affirming her opinion that the place had emptied out shortly after her arrival. She’d always been good at clearing rooms. “You sure you’ll be okay in my truck?” He glanced at her slim skirt and heels. “We do have a waiting area. Nothing fancy enough to suit ice-dick Winters, but it’s clean.”
She hated that she wanted to giggle. First, because she shouldn’t be laughing at the moniker “ice-dick” after Dustin had been nice enough to give her a ride. Secondly, because she knew to do so would encourage Brad’s macho posturing. Something he seemed to have a handle on all on his own.
“I’ve been here before, you know. And your big truck doesn’t scare me.” Deliberately she ran her gaze up and down his body. She took advantage of his astonishment and grabbed hold of the passenger door before he could, hauling herself inside with only a minimum of awkwardness.
And if she flashed a little leg while doing so, oh well.
He joined her in the cabin and pulled out of the lot. “You could’ve called me. You should’ve called me rather than him.”
It was awfully difficult to think straight when Brad’s oddly arousing scent of motor oil, a hint of sweat, and his spicy aftershave had overtaken her brain. “You think I called Dustin?”
“Didn’t you?”
She sighed and tugged at a loose thread on her skirt. “Look, Brad, we slept together. You didn’t slap a cuff on my ankle or a band on my ring finger.”
He shot her a glance that could’ve frozen hot lava. “Duly noted, Doctor.”
“Oh, stop it. I’m just saying there’s no need for…this.” She waved a hand between them. “But for your information, I didn’t call him. He drove by. I was going to call you.”
Brad didn’t say anything more until he’d hooked her car up to the hitch on the back of his truck and they’d returned to the shop. “I’ll drop you off at the house and come back here. It’ll be ready for you in the a.m., assuming I don’t need parts.”
“But it’s past eight. The shop’s closed.”
“I’m the boss, remember? And you need a car tomorrow for work.” He mopped his grease-stained arm over his forehead, ruffling his already distractingly messy hair. “Go home and watch some TV with Kim. Unless you have other plans.”
Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms. “No. I don’t have plans. Not tonight anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the benefit’s getting closer.” She resisted the urge to scuff her toe over the asphalt as she peered up at him in the thin yellow beam of light over the door. “Are you coming with me or not?”
Cocking his head, he scratched his jaw. “Sure that won’t cramp your style? Since I don’t clean up nearly as nice as you do,” he drawled, taking his own slow perusal of her body.
“Don’t be daft.”
“Can’t help it, sweetheart. I don’t have a fancy doctorate. My only education’s in what I can do with my hands.” He flexed them and hooked his thumb
s in the pockets of his jeans. “Though I don’t get a lot of complaints there.”
“More childish posturing.” She shook her head and turned around, of half a mind to walk home even in her heels. It was a nice night, warm and breezy, and the house wasn’t far. They both could stand to cool off, far away from each other. “Give me a call when you’re ready to—”
She wasn’t expecting his hand to lock around her arm or for him to haul her straight back into his chest. Goddamn, it was like a brick wall encased in sleek muscle and smooth, golden skin. She remembered exploring it with her fingers. Her tongue.
“Going somewhere, Doc?” His sultry question stirred the hair beside her ear.
Her breath lodged in her throat, the same place her pulse was beating like a hummingbird on Red Bull. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Says your brain. Your body? Not so much.” Proving his point, he dragged his wide hand down the front of her silky blouse, veering upward to blatantly cup her breast at the same time he nipped her earlobe. She let out a sound that wasn’t quite a moan, but it also wasn’t a protest. “Your nipples are already hard for me.”
Though she knew he routinely wiped his hands—at least in her presence—she checked her pristine blouse to make sure there were no visible fingerprints. Not that she even cared about harming the fabric. She’d rather not advertise the “I got felt up” factor. “We’re standing in the parking lot of your business.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Idly, he circled his hips and brought her ass in direct contact with the hard column in his jeans that was most certainly not his wallet. “Kinda hot, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t easy to pull off disdain when he had his fingers on her painfully stiff nipple, but she refused to give up without a fight. “I’ve never needed to get my thrills in public.”
“So let’s go inside and get them there. I have a nice, wide counter we could put to excellent use.”
God, she was tempted. “We were in the middle of a fight.”
“Were we? Maybe that’s why I’m so goddamn horny. Or it could be this skirt, wrapped so tightly around your ass that my balls haven’t stopped throbbing since you stepped into my shop.” He stroked his finger along the edge of her thong through her skirt, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering. “You’re wet. You know you are. This isn’t only me feeling this.”
