Don't Let Me Go

by Rin Daniels

  Lucas pulled his aviators out from under the sun visor, slid them on his nose. “Shit,” was all he could think of to say.

  “Yeah.” Silence fell between them. The radio didn’t work, either.

  He kept telling Johnny to bring the POS by his place, but Johnny claimed his Thunderbird would get performance anxiety after seeing Lucas’s most valued possession.

  “Hey,” Johnny said, turning into freeway traffic. “You aren’t gonna, you know, hurt my feelings or nothing.”

  Lucas swallowed a laugh. “You got feelings?”

  A snort. “Only where you’re concerned, baby.”

  “Aww, thanks,” Lucas drawled, but under the scrape of humor—under the awkward—they both knew he meant it.

  Johnny shot him another sidelong glance. “So…” He raised his eyebrows. “If you don’t want to do this job, what will you do?”

  That was the problem, wasn’t it?

  Lucas grimaced, rasping the backs of his fingers against his jaw. “Don’t know. Can’t do anything without capital.”

  Johnny whistled. “No doubt, man. No doubt.”

  * * *

  If spending her day preparing to seduce a sexy mechanic was wrong, Nadine never wanted to be right again. Aside from the nerves, every part of her body prickled with electrified anticipation—with sheer will and the right bra, she could take on the world.

  Lucas Bourdin was going down.

  Well, if she was lucky, anyway.

  With Kat’s help, she’d picked up a set of lingerie in a gorgeous shade of coral, sheer where nice girls didn’t do sheer and lace everywhere else. Kat called it lickable.

  Nadine called it playing dirty.

  As she pulled into the short driveway in front of Lucas’s battered garage, Nadine checked the time on her phone. Late-afternoon. She didn’t call him this time to let him know she was coming.

  Was he even home?

  Nadine stepped out of her hybrid, easing the car door shut instead of slamming it. The old house hadn’t changed over the years, not since Lucas’s parents had left it. She never understood why he’d stayed, except maybe familiarity. The postage stamp sized yard was clipped, at least, and the chain link fence separating it from the neighbor’s tiny yard was in decent repair. He was handy.

  And handsome.

  So what if he wasn’t rich?

  Nadine glanced at the houses on either side. Both were silent and still. The left was in worse repair, but the usual Jeep in the driveway was gone. The one story houses in this area were older than Nadine was, built close together in a way that made her think of inner city blocks. Even if Lucas could wrangle up a buyer for the place, she doubted he’d make enough to do anything with the money it’d earn him.

  This was, as far as anyone she knew thought, the wrong side of town.

  She ignored the front door for the side door Lucas preferred. If he was home, he’d be in his garage, anyway. Between the car he babied and side jobs he took on, he lived in the place.

  The heels on her purple sandals clicked against the stained cement path, and she smoothed a hand over the front of her cap-shouldered black blouse. It stretched a little too snugly over her spectacularly boosted breasts, tailored to hug her ribs and sides in a flattering cut. Unbuttoning the first three buttons ensured Lucas would get an eyeful of cleavage when he looked down at her.

  Exactly as intended.

  She’d settled for jeans this time. Low-waisted, skinny-fit. They made her legs look longer in her heels and provided the ultimate foundation for her planned seduction. Nadine needed to find an excuse to bend over. The things the designer denim did to her ass were practically criminal.

  She was as ready as she could be.

  At least, she thought she was. Until she opened the unlocked side door—which meant he was home, thank God—and got an eyeful of corded muscle, sweat-slicked skin, and a mouth-watering expanse of athletic shoulders framed in an A-line tank top.

  The line of his shoulders clenched as Lucas pulled his body weight up, chin raised over a bar inset into the sturdy garage rafters. His back beneath the sweat-soaked white tank top rippled, every powerful line of his body controlled as he descended again. Tanned skin at his waist flashed as his shirt rode up over the waistband of his track pants.

  She’d caught him working out.

  Talk about playing dirty.

  The door swung shut behind her on spring hinges, thumping gently. The classic rock filling the garage didn’t mask the sound. She wasn’t even sure it’d hide the sound of her heart, slamming hard enough against her ribs to bruise.

  Lucas let go of the bar, dropped to the ground.

  Her mouth went dry as he turned.

  He wasn’t rich. That much was true. But, wow, did he have it where it really counted. Nadine had spent the past eight years watching the gangly, sullen teenager he’d been grow up, fill out, until somewhere between affection and friendship, she’d developed full-blown lust for the man he’d become. When he stood in front of her wearing workout clothes, mouth-watering muscles exposed from shoulder to wrist, lean waist emphasized by the way he reached for the towel draped over the bar beside him, Nadine forgot things like calm, like friends.

  Like forbidden.

  One dark eyebrow shot up his forehead. “Hey.” His usual greeting. No big deal. He snagged the towel, scraped it over his face. The navy blue bandana keeping his shaggy hair back only brought sharper attention to the hard shape of his lean jaw, and the way his firm mouth quirked when he spoke.

  Lucas had dimples. She didn’t get to see them often, but she knew they were there.

  Wanting to lick one suddenly felt like an obsession. Not a new one. Just another one.

  “Hey, yourself,” she replied, cheeks warming when her voice came out throaty.

  He turned away again, dragging the towel over his shoulders and arms. “You bring your car?”

  “Yeah.” She couldn’t get enough air. It was like he sucked all the oxygen out of the garage. With his male physique. And his intense stare. And his scorching hotness.

  Was that a thing?

  It had to be.

  “Okay.” He crossed the garage like it was the most normal thing in the world to do it while she stood there looking like… looking like…

  Nadine drove the heel of her hand into her forehead. She didn’t look any different. Maybe a little more cleavage, but how was he supposed to know the difference? She was his childhood friend.

  She had to think strategy here.

  The garage was kept as neat as possible, with the usual clutter of a handyman’s dedication strewn around the place. The tools hanging up on the wall were all carefully maintained, but not spotless. He used them too much for that. The cork board installed over his table fluttered with a few old photos, flyers, and reminders. One, a bold yellow color, had curled over the pin tacking it haphazardly in place.

  Engine grease stained the floor, and boxes of things she’d never seen were shoved out of the way in the back to leave room for two cars. Only one occupied the space today, and that one rarely left the garage. A protective drop cloth covered the classic car he’d spent the better part of his life restoring. A rim of shiny red peeked out from under the hem of the crooked cover.

  She remembered when it was just a rusted out frame. It was a project Lucas’s dad had brought home one day. A project he’d skipped out on not long after.

  Lucas had lovingly, painstakingly restored it, a little at a time.

  The way he worked on that car—she didn’t know. Maybe it was all the time spent watching him run his hands over that frame, maybe it was the way something about his intensity changed when he looked at that car.

  She wanted those hands to touch her the same way. Wanted his gaze to look at her with the same burning focus.

  “Let me take a look under the hood,” he said as he draped his towel over the workbench set against the far wall.

  Nadine took a shaking breath. Why was she still standing in the door like a
n idiot?

  Her heels echoed in the garage, punctuated the music, as she strolled farther in. “No rush,” she told him.

  He shot her a quizzical look over his shoulder, sports drink in hand. “You eat yet? I probably have some leftovers if you’re hungry.”

  Oh, yeah. She was hungry. But not for what he thought.

  The powerful line of his throat worked as he drank deeply from the bottle.

  Her insides twisted up so tight, burned so damn hot, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t catch on fire from the crotch out.

  She slid her hands into her back pockets, knowing full well what it did to her chest. “I could use a drink.”

  Because he was a guy, after all, his gaze slid to the front of her shirt, and the suntanned skin framed in black. But because he was Lucas, it flicked away. “You know where the fridge is,” he said, exchanging the bottle for another towel. “I’ll check out your car.”

  Not what she wanted him to check out.

  Nadine hesitated. Her options, as she saw them, weren’t promising. If she waited for Lucas to clue in, she’d wait forever. She’d die old and cranky and virginal. If she just took matters into her own hands, stripped off her clothes right here and threw herself at him, she didn’t exactly trust animal lust to win out over the friend-zone filters.

  If he looked at her with pity, if he tried to be nice, she’d die on the spot.

  Things had seemed hella easier before they got to this point.

  She felt awkward. She felt like she was one bad call away from ruining what friendship she and Lucas had, but the way her body ached for him hurt.

  She ran a hand through her hair, pulling the loose waves back from her face in wordless uncertainty. “Lucas, I—”

  He stabbed a finger against the garage door switch. The sudden thrum and rumble of the mechanism drowned out her voice.

  Nadine lost what courage she’d managed to gather.

  She fled through the open door to his house, heels clacking loudly against the scuffed linoleum of his kitchen in accusing counter to her speeding pulse.

  “Coward,” she hissed as she opened the refrigerator. A blast of cool air hit her in the face, easing the fire in her cheeks. All at once, her knees gave out, leaving her crouching in front of the open refrigerator, fingers clamped around the handle.

  Her insides swirled with nerves and anticipation. The flesh between her legs felt soft and lush and overly sensitive, like it did when she stroked herself to orgasm. Her lungs couldn’t get enough air, and despite all of that, she couldn’t bring herself to take that step.

  To make that leap.

  She stared at the neat rows of bottled beer, at the tinfoil wrapped whatever—steak or something—balanced on top of what Nadine thought of as bachelor tupperware. A bowl, probably with mac and cheese under the foil cover.

  The beer was new enough, only one missing from twelve, that she knew he’d bought it especially for last night.

  Because he cared like that. Because no matter how much he bitched or grumbled or seemed unwilling, he always let her do what she wanted.

  Because he…liked her? Maybe?

  Liked her enough to service her car for free. To put up with her incessant phone calls.

  To not stare at her cleavage, like no red-blooded male ever.

  But what did it mean?

  Outside the open garage door, her car door shut. Nadine buried her face against her knees, hanging onto the refrigerator door for balance on her precarious heels, and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll have to take it out for a test drive to lock down the cause of that vibration.” Lucas’s voice preceded his footsteps into the side hallway. Masculine, deep, it rubbed against places in her body that he didn’t even know existed.

  But she wanted him to.

  “It’s there,” he assured her, “but subtle.” Callused fingers caught the top of the open refrigerator door.

  Her head tipped back, snagged on the blunt fingertips caught against the white plastic trim. She didn’t have to look at his face to know he was probably staring down at her in that unique mix of inquisitive and patient—like she was a zoo animal trapped behind a wall of glass. Or a particularly interesting puzzle.

  Anything but a woman, really.

  His eyes were an extremely light brown, the kind of color people called tawny or amber—that evoked comparisons to golden-eyed cats or sun-warmed honey.

  She loved his eyes. Loved the scruffy five o’clock shadow that darkened his jaw and made him look like the quintessential bad boy she knew he wasn’t. He didn’t even have pre-requisite bad-boy tattoos. He hadn’t ever made the commitment. Tattoos cost money, and whatever he saved, he put into his car. She loved that, too.

  She even loved the way the bridge of his nose went slightly crooked at the bridge, even though he’d earned it in a fight back in eleventh grade. A fight that had put him on juvenile probation for a year.

  Her parents had gone out of their way to mention it. To remind her how badly her childhood friend had fallen, how good it was she didn’t get caught up in his lifestyle.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here.

  She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  “Are you going to pick up a beer or count them?” he asked, and a lazy thread of amusement laced through his voice. “You’re refrigerating the kitchen.” He reached across the door, and Nadine inhaled sharply as his arm snaked under her nose to snag two bottles by the necks.

  He smelled like sweat and a little like engine grease.

  Her thighs pressed together around the heady surge of awareness that pulsed between them.

  What would he do if she licked his arm?

  Probably not find it all that sexy, she realized. Not in this position.

  Super awkward, even.

  She rose, stepping back to let him swing the door closed. That left nothing between them but the boundary he’d labeled BFFs Forever.

  As she watched, he dragged the hem of his tank top up to wipe at the sweat gathered on his neck. It revealed the rock-hard abs he worked hard to keep, all chiseled muscle and golden flesh.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d have labeled him as a serious sadist.

  Nadine’s throat ached as she swallowed. Her fingers twitched to slide under the hem he let go of, to map out every ridge, every line, every twitch and flex of his chest. His body.

  Her vision narrowed.

  “Out of the bottle okay?” He asked every time. Like maybe he expected her to one day be too good to drink like he did. Two quick twists against the edge of the scarred counter top popped the caps off. He lifted one to his mouth, tilting the other at her. It drew her attention to the flex of his biceps.

  “Unf.” Her voice croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, fine.”

  But she couldn’t force herself to reach for it.

  Suspicion replaced amusement. “What’s wrong?” Blunt, forceful in his typical way. Most people thought he was laid back, a degenerate with no prospects and nothing to worry about.

  Nadine knew better.

  Her brain stumbled over the words. “I just…” She trailed off. Tried again. “I was thinking—” No, that wouldn’t work either.

  This was not how it was supposed to go. Her fantasies had been so much sexier, so much smoother.

  At least her vibrators would never reject her.

  She wrinkled her nose as he raised that eyebrow of his. Again, he offered the beer, taking a pull of his own. The bottle nestled up against his lips, the muscles in his throat worked.

  She’d never been so freaking envious of glass in her life.

  Nadine forced herself to take the few steps to him, to reach out a hand and wrap her fingers around the bottle. The glass was cold, wet from condensation.

  Their fingers brushed.

  Electricity arced through her skin, lanced into every nerve. Her breath broke on a shudder that wrenched a small, embarrassingly throaty sound from her chest.

  Lucas froze.
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  She did, too, hand on the bottle, her fingers nudged against his. So close she could take one step and fit herself against his skin like she belonged; step into his body heat and take a breath deep enough that he’d have no choice but to feel her heartbeat slam wildly against his.

  Her gaze flew to face.

  His slipped to her lips. Darkened.

  Hope, fragile as lace and sharp as glass, welled up inside her. Did he feel it?

  Did he recognize it?

  Nadine opened her mouth to ask, to give voice to the empty ache she carried, but he let go of the bottle and abruptly stepped around her. “I’ll go test drive your car,” he said shortly, shoulders rigid as he passed her.

  She turned with him, fingers clamped around her beer, but unable to take a drink. Unable to breathe as a fragment of pain shattered through her faltering courage. And with pain, a shade of anger.

  Of disappointment.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because it needs to be—”

  “Not my car,” she said over him, and he froze in the narrow hallway leading back out into the garage. The bottle in his hand tipped dangerously close to spilling as his grip tightened around it. “Why won’t you kiss me, Lucas?”

  “We’re friends.” A terse statement. A ready one.

  Nadine swallowed her laugh. It hurt. “We can still be friends if you kiss me.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s exactly that easy,” she replied, proud when her voice didn’t shake as badly as she trembled inside. She clasped both hands around her untouched beer, squeezing until her palms ached. “I want you, Lucas.”

  Something low and vicious squeezed out from behind his clenched teeth. She didn’t have to see his face to know he’d gritted them.

  The hard set to his shoulders said it all.

  “And I know you want me,” she said to his back. Gingerly, she set the bottle down on the stove beside her. The glass clanked faintly against the old metal surface. “I know you feel that spark.”

  “You’re pretty and female,” he said to the empty corridor, sharp enough that Nadine knew he meant to draw blood. To carve a deeper trench around the friend-zone he’d shoved her into.