by Alex, Demi
Hottie
By Demi Alex and Tia Fanning
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Hottie
Copyright © 2012 Demi Alex and Tia Fanning
Edited by Andrea Grimm and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-584-7
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: September 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To the Hotties in our lives!
(You know who you are.)
xoxo
Tia & Demi
Chapter One
One Hot Mechanic
“I’ll take my chances,” Phoebe declared, strutting her ass through ninety-plus degree heat toward an old, not-so-trusty clunker of a car.
The pink metal glistened in the searing noon sun, taunting her with the false allure of a cool, reliable vehicle. But the stuff beneath the hood told a different tale. The stupid car royally sucked. It couldn’t go farther than ten miles without a pit stop for a drink of water.
She should have known better than to trust it. Hell, even the old man who sold it to her had warned her not to take Mary Lou too far or push her too fast. He’d said his late wife’s Caddy, which he claimed still smelled like her perfume, might be pretty to look at, but was more decrepit than he. And that was saying something. The old geezer had one foot in the grave.
“I think you should reconsider,” the hottie mechanic offered, trailing behind her. “It’s not safe. As I told you before—”
“Enough.” Phoebe stopped dead in her tracks and spun around. She stared him down—or up, if she wanted to get technical about it. “Look, I get it. But the truth is I don’t trust you. I think you’re trying to rip me off, and quite frankly, I’m sick of men trying to take advantage of little old me.”
Whistling to hide his laughter, the sex-on-legs mechanic clearly weighed her words, shaking his head and sucking in a loud breath. Strangely, he didn’t look offended; he just looked…disappointed, she guessed.
He wiped the back of his hand over his brow. “I like your bluntness, but I promise you, I’m being honest in my evaluation and fair in my pricing.”
With a roll of her eyes, she turned on her heels and continued toward the driver’s side.
“Miss Morris—”
“Dude, really. Even if I believed you, I couldn’t afford you.”
She opened the car door, squeaky hinges and all, and slid behind the steering wheel. She didn’t bother to put on the seat belt. It was broken. She turned the key in the ignition, and with some persistent pedal pumping, the noisy engine finally flipped over.
Hottie sauntered to the open door and squatted, resting his elbows on his gorgeously thick thighs, showcasing the talent of ink on his arm. At six-foot something, in a sullied uniform that fit snug around greased-up muscles, her mind drifted to something other than her car trouble. In Phoebe’s fantasy, Hottie was offering her another way to pay him for his services.
And then he spoke and ruined it all.
“This vehicle is nothing short of a deathtrap. I’d prefer you didn’t get behind the wheel. Let me fix it. I think we can work something out—”
“Geez.” She held up her hand. “You’re hot and all, but seriously, let it go. While I was just imagining sleeping with you as well, I don’t think you could live up to my fantasy. Lord knows I don’t want you to spoil it any more than you already have, so I’m going to pass on your offer and get the hell out of here.”
Cocky amusement flickered over his face. His blue, almost-gray, eyes sparked. “Wow. I love your candor.”
“Yeah, thanks,” she muttered, adjusting the mirrors. Now, if Hottie would just move out of her way so she could close the damn door.
“But,” he continued, “I was thinking more along the lines of a monthly payment plan on parts, and I would forgo the labor.”
Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Hot and exhausted, Phoebe was in no mood to consider stacking more bills on her already considerable debt. No matter how good he looked, smelled and sounded, she had to move on.
She shook her head. “Look, I promise I’ll stop at the next town. The clunkette here will make it that far before she needs more water or something, right?”
“It’s not gonna happen, sweetheart. The next place worth stopping at is Sayville, sixty miles out.”
As if agreeing with his assessment, the car sputtered, coughed a few more times, and shuddered in the throes of a slow death.
Couldn’t anything go her way? Why wouldn’t the damn engine give her a tiny break?
Hottie cocked his head toward the shop. “Come inside and we’ll figure some numbers. I promise, no rip offs.”
“I appreciate the payment plan, but I’m not sure when I’d be able to pay you.” Scanning the desolate horizon, Phoebe swiped a drop of sweat trailing into her cleavage and fanned herself. “Hell, if I’m honest, I’ll probably never be able to pay you, and I don’t feel right about that. I think it’s best if I just leave, take my chances and pray that I make it to the next city where I can trade this beautiful POS for something uglier, but more reliable.”
“POS?”
“Piece of Shit.”
Dane West wiped the back of his hand over his brow. The damn woman was going to be the death of his dick. If she didn’t stop being so fine, without even knowing it, his woody was sure to crack at the base and fall on his foot, breaking his toes from the fucking dead weight.
As she stared past the front windshield, he admired her pretty, yet pouty face crowned by red waves. He’d definitely enjoy twisting his fingers in the silky locks and pulling her head back, exposing the smooth moist skin on her neck. Like strawberry candy in a pretty wrapper, she was both hard and sweet, and he wanted her so bad he could taste it.
It would be his pleasure to learn how many licks, or sucks, it would take to reach her soft, creamy center. What a treat it would be to have her melting in his arms as she breathed “thank you, Master”.
With a sudden burst of renewed determination, Miss Phoebe Morris turned the key. After four attempts to get it restarted, and a string of muttered curses, the engine finally turned over.
Damn thing. No way was he letting her on the road in such a vehicle.
“Come on, Miss Morris. Let me help you. You know there is no way this baby is going to cross the state line—”
“Two state lines,” she corrected, reaching around him to close the car door. “I’m trying to get two states over.”
“This poor baby isn’t going to cross any state line, let alone two,” he amended, trying not to laugh at her stubborn persistence. “She needs a bit of loving. Let me patch her up and pump her full of fluids, so you both can make it without a meltdown. I bet a working air conditioner would be something nice to have in this heat.”
The car wasn’t the only one in need of loving. The weariness in Phoebe’s gaze rimmed her brown eyes with bright pink that stood out against her skin like a flare on the side of a country road. Despite the woman’s defiant bravado, he could tell she was tired, vulnerable, and, if he was rea
ding her “sleeve” right, brokenhearted. Even if her car was perfect, he wouldn’t want her to leave—or better put, he wouldn’t let her leave. Something about her hit him straight in the gut.
“I’m good,” she insisted, even as the car died yet once again.
She turned the key in the ignition. The damn engine sputtered to life again, but this time with a great deal of steam and smoke. Puffs of gray poured from beneath the hood and the front end shook like it was spiking a hundred and three fever.
“See? We’ll be just fine,” she announced as she waved off the fumes. Despite the forced optimism in her voice, the apprehension in her gaze was undeniable. She was worried about driving the battered pink tank; she was just too proud and stubborn to say so.
Mulish. He shook his head. Too stubborn for her own good.
Miss Morris had no idea how incredibly enticing she was, which made his erection that much stiffer. But no matter how hard and heavy he might be, and regardless of the way she made him feel, his arousal was second to her safety. It was too dangerous, and he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to her because he failed to convince her to let him fix things.
“I’m still concerned,” he replied. “Mind if I make sure the oil cap is screwed on tight?”
“Go ahead. Whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged her nonchalant consent, her chest swelling between her crossed arms. “Just make it quick.”
Concealing a grin, he took his time popping the hood and propping the heavy cover to stand open. The more time he wasted, the greater chance he had the engine would stall again while still in his drive. He’d rather she be stuck in his care than stuck on the side of a deserted two-lane highway.
Assuming she’d be able to handle the malfunctioning vehicle and pull off the road safely, there was no way of knowing how long she’d be stranded before a Good Samaritan stopped to help her. Good being the key word. A pretty woman alone, miles from civilization, was no match for some asshole with ulterior motives.
“Miss Morris,” he called, pretending to search the tattered machinery and giving her a chance to make a logical decision. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”
“Positive. I’ll be fine.” She paused, rubbed her palm over the steering wheel, and smiled. “We’ll be fine.”
The woman was definitely too proud for her own good. He’d have to do something about her self-destructive doggedness. A few instructive stings on her shapely ass would do her wonders.
Glancing above the open hood, he grinned. Impatiently playing her dainty fingers over the steering wheel, she chewed on her lower lip and met his gaze. He’d bet she was holding her breath, praying the car wouldn’t disappoint her in his presence again, all the while knowing she was setting out in a fucking deathtrap.
Dane ducked his head, fiddled with the oil cap, and reached behind the carburetor and disconnected the coil wire. The engine stalled.
A muffled “mother fucker” assaulted his ears, followed by a slam that was loud enough to vibrate the air around the now peaceful car.
“What did you do?” Phoebe demanded, marching up to him with fury blazing in her eyes.
“Now, see here Miss Morris—”
“Don’t give me some bullshit story.” She stuck a stiff finger against his chest. “Matter of fact, don’t say a fucking word. Just fix whatever you just broke.”
Dane suppressed the urge to flip the spitfire over his knee and spank the wasp right off her tongue. While vulnerable, Phoebe was by no means weak or stupid. Of course she realized he’d sabotaged her car, and damn right she was going to call him out on it. But call as she might, he wasn’t giving in to her temper tantrum.
Smart, brave, beautiful…and stubborn. Man, she was stubborn. Perhaps too stubborn for her own good. She was in dire need of a good lesson or two. And, if she didn’t remove that finger—
“Now, asshole,” she urged, thumping said finger harder. “I don’t have all fucking day. Fix what you broke!”
Enough. In one fluid motion, Dane captured her hand and took it to the opposite side of her body, effectively turning her about and drawing her back to his length. She squeaked as he curled a firm arm around her waist and pulled tight, pressing her ass into his groin and trapping her soft body along his pained hardness.
His cock jutted against her rear, but she didn’t fight to get away from him. Instead, she sighed and grew still, as if waiting for instruction. He made her wait until she rested against him, and he heard a second breath of acceptance escape her mouth.
“I’m only going to tell you this once, Miss Morris.” He pressed his lips against her ear and spoke slow and low. “I won’t tolerate your disrespect. Understand?”
Shifting her slight weight from one foot to the other, she nodded.
“So, this is what you’re going to do: you’re going to go inside the office, get something to eat from the fridge, wash up and rest. You will not talk to me again about this damn deathtrap you call a car until I place the keys in your hand.”
The subtle change in her demeanor and body was immediate. There was no misinterpreting the relaxation of her shoulders, the softer flow of her breath, the slowing of her heart rate, and the shift in her concentration. He’d garnered her rapt attention. She was poised, but not tense.
“I mean it. Not a single word. Am I clear?”
She leaned into him, a little heavier, as if testing to see if he’d bear her weight, which he definitely could and did, holding her closer. Satisfied by his reaction, she melted against him and tilted her head more, giving him better access to her neck.
Could it be? Could a little submissive be hiding beneath that obstinate attitude she tossed about?
“I need to make sure we understand each other. Let me hear you say it, Phoebe.”
“You’re clear,” she yielded. “Crystal.”
He could almost hear “Sir” or “Master” in the pause she added to the end of the first reply, right before another soft exhale. He wondered if she’d said one of those titles in her head.
“Go on then.” Dane released his hold and nudged her forward. “Get inside. Make yourself comfortable and be at home.”
He needed physical distance to maintain his control. If he inhaled her sweet vanilla scent any longer, he’d spew in his pants like an adolescent.
She peered up at him from beneath long lashes, all sulky as she walked to the passenger side door. She reached in, retrieved her backpack, and without another word, sauntered off toward the shop.
Yep, that woman was going to be the death of his dick.
Chapter Two
Two Hot Hours Later
Dane dropped the hood on the pink Cadillac. While drivable, it was nowhere near safe, so he made sure it couldn’t start. He’d have to order more parts to make it a reliable vehicle, and he’d only let her drive it once he’d made sure it wasn’t dangerous to do so. A glance at his watch showed it was late afternoon, which meant it was too late for same-day processing. Even if he ordered immediately and shipped overnight, there would be a full day’s delay before arrival.
Too bad for her. She was stuck with him.
Good for him. He had the opportunity to make it right for the lady. He had the chance to set her straight and prevent a disaster of her own making. He also had the chance to do what he’d once failed at. He’d learned a tough lesson from previous mistakes.
Was he insisting on helping her in order to selfishly appease his guilt?
No. No matter what it was for him, he had to take charge. Her stubbornness required his intervention.
Washing up in the shop sink, he weighed his next move. How much was enough? What did she need? What did he want?
Miss Morris had taken his warning to heart. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of her since ordering her inside the office. He wondered if her gorgeous stubborn ass would object to him taking her home and letting her sleep in his guestroom. He didn’t mind paying for her to stay at an inn, but he could keep a better eye on her at his hou
se.
After drying off, he sought out the woman who’d shockingly pushed him further than any other since he’d returned to the States, but to his surprise, Phoebe was not in the office. He swept his hand down his face, questioned what was different about her. Phoebe Morris was like a drug, and he couldn’t get her out of his system.
The low, vibrating hum of running water sounded from the beyond the far wall. Dane smiled, his imagination toying with the idea of how he’d find the sexy Miss Morris playing with his garden hose, searching for some relief from the oppressive heat.
He stepped out the back door, but his imagination hadn’t prepared him, or his tortured cock, for the sight that greeted him.
Clad in white panties and a white tank, Phoebe rinsed the suds from her hair like a slow-motion wet dream. Holding the hose high in one hand, she used the other to smooth back her long, fiery tresses. Water poured over her face, cascaded down her neck, and splashed off her shoulders. The tank top’s thin material absorbed all it could hold and molded to her tits like transparent shrink-wrap, showcasing the luscious globes and offering a teasing view of the silky skin beneath.
Phoebe opened her eyes and turned his way. Her gaze settled on his aching crotch and she smiled, bringing the hose between her breasts. The damn woman was playing with fire.
Dusky nipples jutted as water sluiced over the translucent fabric and washed the collected suds away. Bubbles glistened in the sun, trickling from her stomach to her hips, slipping over the slight part between her thighs, and running the length of her smooth legs before collecting in a soapy pool at her feet.
The throbbing ache in his groin broke the thrall, forcing him to tear his gaze away from the titillating vision. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dane glanced at the large metal drum that served as her dressing table. Her open backpack revealed a rolled towel, a small computer tucked between assorted and very colorful clothing, and some miscellaneous toiletries.
