Dirty Distractions

by Cari Quinn

  Her face flamed. Did he really think she was that shallow? Was she that shallow? “I don’t care about any of that.”

  He chuckled. “Right.”

  “No, I don’t. But other people will think I’m some kind of predator—”

  “Aren’t you?” He waggled his brows. “Didn’t you want to maul me naked the moment you walked in my shop and saw me massacring the Beatles?”

  She fought not to smile and lost. “I suppose.”

  “Huh. For a first attempt at honesty, I’ll take it.”

  “Hey, I’ve always been honest. Mostly.” She let out a whoop as he swept her up into his arms. “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a cheeky grin. “Following my instincts. Gotta prevent that shriveling malady as long as we can.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brad carried Sara into his shop, intent on depositing her on the counter and indulging every prurient urge he’d ever felt in her direction. On the way across the concrete, his gaze darted from the grimy fingerprints on the phone to the messy pile of customer invoices to the ragged pair of work gloves hanging from a hook on the wall.

  Then he looked at Sara, draped like a present in his arms. Long, silky brown hair clinging to glossy lips, eyes bright with excitement. Prim and proper blouse, skirt and heels wreaking hell on his already full-throttle sex drive.

  “Is this part of your usual routine when a woman’s car needs service, or do I warrant VIP treatment?” Though her tone was teasing, he didn’t laugh.

  That’s what she thought he was all about. Quick fucks in car bays and hit-and-run emotions that didn’t last long enough for him to get serious. And if she believed that was all he felt for her, he’d have to prove her wrong.

  His dick might drive the bus more often than not, but at least his addled brain caught up eventually. And this was not happening.

  She curled her fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He set her down and straightened her blouse, tucking it back into the hem of her skirt.

  Her frown reached her eyes. “You’re supposed to be pulling that out, not putting it back in.”

  “You know that kind of talk always gets me hot, Doctor.”

  “What’s with calling me Doctor all the time now? Before you got me in the sack it was Sara Smile.”

  Her faintly petulant tone made him grin as he moved away to sort the invoices on the counter. His organizational skills had been lacking more than usual lately, due in no small part to the distraction offered by the gorgeous woman at his side. “I thought you didn’t like that nickname. And I’m pretty sure calling you my fuck goddess probably isn’t respectful enough.”

  She laughed and moved closer so that her soft breast brushed his arm. “So why aren’t you disrespecting me on this counter yet?” She leaned up and her hair tickled his neck. “Or are you all growl and no grind?”

  To avoid being swayed by temptation of the sultry kind, he put the counter between them and reached for his clipboard to start writing up her work order. He’d just taken a quick look under the hood of her car, but he was reasonably sure they were looking at a depleted battery, along with a clogged fuel filter. Maybe a few other contributing factors as well. “How good are you at doing maintenance?”

  She tilted toward him, her minty breath wafting over his face. “I have a nice selection of toys. Is that what you mean?”

  His lips twitched. “I’m referring to your car, Sara.”

  Her heavy sigh made his smile widen. “I get regular oil changes.”

  “What about the rest? Tire rotations, new filters, routine stuff. Who normally services your vehicle?”

  “Uh, Swifty Brake and Tire.”

  He groaned and rubbed his chest. “You live with a mechanic, and you’ve been taking your car to a cheap chain place? You wound me.” At her silence, he looked up and caught her fiddling with her hair. “What’d I say now?”

  “We aren’t living together permanently.”

  “No.” It took everything he had to keep his tone easy. “But we are right now. And the bedroom’s yours as long as you want it.”

  Her cheeks reddened with the beginnings of a flush. She didn’t blush so much as glow, her skin warming until the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks stood out in sharp relief. “I never had roommates before. Not even in college. I lived at home and then I had an off-campus studio. I never even lived with a boyfriend.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I thought I always needed a lot of space of my own.”

  “And do you?”

  “Not as much as I thought, apparently.” She ran a pink fingernail along a groove in the counter, and he swallowed a groan. Yet another reason he never could’ve taken her there. The place wasn’t classy enough for a woman like her. “I guess the plan to ravage me is out the window?”

  “Ravaging you’s out for tonight at least, yes. Seducing you, no.” He stilled her hand and laced their fingers together. “How do you feel about going home and taking a bath?”

  “A bath?”

  “Mmm-hmm. In my nice big tub that happens to have lots of jets.”

  “With Kim there?” Even as she asked the question, she drew her hand away to fumble her phone out of her purse. “Shoot, she’s home alone. I told her I’d call to check in if I was running late.”

  He watched her go through her mother hen routine via cell. After several minutes of stops and starts and halfhearted offers of extra pillows and soup—though what soup would do for a sore ankle, he had no idea—she hung up and frowned. “She asked me to call you and tell you not to come home. When I told her about my car, she seemed relieved we’d both be out of the house.”

  Used to his sister’s antics, he went back to his form. “Are we being evicted?”

  “I think she has a man over.”

  “Now there’s a shocking turn of events.” He hooked Sara’s car keys to the top of the clipboard and set it aside. “I don’t have a loaner vehicle available or I’d give you one. Since you’re so demanding of my time—” he grinned at her glower, “—do you want to keep my truck tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know how to drive a stick.”

  “Really. I thought you did fine.” At her bland look, he laughed and tossed her his truck keys. She caught them one-handed. “I’ll give you a lesson on the way home.”

  “You’d actually let me drive your truck? And what do you mean, on the way home? Kim told us to stay away.”

  “It’s half my house and last time I checked, she’s not the boss of me. And yes, Sara, I would let you drive my truck. If you strip the gears, I’ll just strip you.” He circled the counter and drew her firm backside against his rapidly firming front. One glimpse of the total package of that uptight business outfit, and he was a dead man. Except below the waist where he was very much alive. “Oops, forgot,” he murmured against her neat clip of hair. “I’ll be doing that anyway.” Though in a place much more suitable for it than a shop where a bunch of grimy guys hung out all day. She deserved much better than a quick screw.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And you love it.”

  “I do.” The glow returned to her cheeks as she smiled over her shoulder at him. “Thank you, Brad.”

  “You’re welcome.” He swatted her butt as she hurried ahead of him out into the parking lot. “Though I won’t be as understanding if you manhandle my truck. She’s my pride and joy.”

  “Men and their toys,” she called airily as she hauled herself up into the cab without waiting for him once again. His fault for taking that extra instant to lock up. Though, hot damn, he couldn’t claim to not enjoy the view of those strong, capable legs flexing under her tight skirt.

  The only benefit to the torturous drive home was that it was short. He didn’t deny that Sara did her best to learn, and he didn’t exactly give her a lot of time, but man, his truck. His truck.

  She pulled into the driveway and turned off th
e ignition. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow.” Even she didn’t sound convinced.

  Little did she know there wouldn’t be a tomorrow, at least as far as she and the truck were concerned. “You did fine. Now hand over the keys.”

  “It was my first time,” she protested.

  He climbed down and went around to her side. Unsurprisingly, she was already getting down on her own. If he wanted to show her he could be a frigging gentleman, he was going to have to tie her in place.

  Which didn’t sound altogether bad.

  She followed him up the driveway around the side of the house, her heels clicking sharply on the blacktop. “No one’s good at anything their first time.”

  “I gave a girl three orgasms the first time I had sex. Sorry, try a new argument.” They walked into the backyard and he glanced up at the second floor deck. He could probably still get up there, but if he fell, it’d definitely cut down on the cool factor.

  “Showoff,” she muttered. “And don’t even think about that deck. I’m not sixteen, and you’re not Superman.”

  “Sheesh, take away all a guy’s fun, why don’t you?” He grabbed her hand and led her to the back door, unlocking it with his key. Before they entered, he held up a finger to his lips. “Shh. She’ll never know we’re here.”

  From Sara’s drawn-tight brows, she doubted that sincerely, but she didn’t argue with him. Progress.

  The kitchen and hallway were dark. Though a light beamed from the front of the house, all was quiet. They tiptoed down the hall like teenagers, bumping into each other more than was necessary and swallowing laughter. They’d made it halfway up the stairs when a loud moan rang out from the living room, followed by a deep male voice uttering a stream of expletives that began and ended with praises to God.

  Brad winced. “Thanks, sis.”

  Sara pressed her nose into the curve between his neck and shoulder, chuckling softly. “Gotta give her credit. She only has one working ankle and from the sounds of it, that position takes coordination.”

  “Ugh.” He clutched his stomach and twisted to push Sara up the stairs ahead of him. They shifted back and forth to avoid the creaky parts of the stairs, despite the extreme unlikelihood the pair in the living room would’ve heard anything short of a detonating bomb.

  Leave it to his sister. She could make spiked lemonade out of any bucket of lemons.

  Once they reached the carpeted landing, he turned Sara toward her bedroom. “Get what you need for a sleepover while I fix your bed.”

  “Huh?”

  Rather than answer, he gave her a gentle shove into the room and she headed for her dresser, shaking her head. He could tell she was enjoying their little adventure. Sometimes it was fun acting like a kid. Everything between them had been way too serious for too long. Tonight they’d simply enjoy each other.

  And if his sister “caught” them…oh well. Too bad. Maybe then they could have an adult relationship without the ridiculous constraints Sara had insisted on.

  While Sara grabbed a pair of pajamas from her drawer—ha, as if she’d need them—he glanced around her room. Telly let out a chirp and she cooed over her shoulder at him, which was damn cute, Brad had to admit. But the way-too-chatty bird wasn’t what he was looking for.

  Spying the longhaired, antique doll on the rocker, he grinned. Perfect.

  He grabbed it and undid the doll’s pigtails, then tucked her beneath Sara’s neatly made covers. With some artful pillow arranging and sheet fluffing, someone taking a quick glance from the doorway might even be convinced Sara was in bed.

  His mom probably wouldn’t like her doll being used to deceive her daughter, but then again, her daughter shouldn’t have tossed out her roommates so she could indulge in a night of sordid activity.

  His grin spread as he eyed his handiwork. Though Kim was about to be outdone by the sordid activities taking place in his bathroom.

  “What the hell?” Sara clapped a hand over her mouth. “She thought I wasn’t coming home.”

  “Yeah, but I bet she’ll check on you later tonight. She’s a mama bear just like you. That way you won’t have to field early morning texts asking you where you are.”

  “Sorta brilliant,” she conceded, futzing with the doll’s hair. “But what about you?”

  “She doesn’t check on me. She expects me to be out cutting a path through town with my throbbing member.” When she laughed, he leaned forward, hooked his fingers in the vee of her blouse and half-tugged her across the bed. “I’ll lock the door and leave the music on. We’ll be safe.”

  “Think I’m a sure thing, hmm?”

  “You? Absolutely not.” He raised a brow at the jammies she held against her hip. “Do those have fuzzy sheep on them?”

  “The pants do.” Her smirk absolutely shouldn’t have turned him on. “They’re comfy to sleep in.”

  “Oh, I can do you one better. Prepare to meet the wrath of my strategically ripped sweat pants.”

  She laughed again and he fell headfirst into a vat of lust. That it had a rickety trapdoor at the bottom that led straight to something much more dangerous made it even worse.

  “I’m not scared of you, O’Halloran.”

  “Since you’re not, bring your favorite toy with you.” He flicked his thumb over her chin and backed up. “I’ll bring mine.”

  “You have a favorite toy?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” Leaving her to ponder that, he went to get the bathroom ready.

  On his way down the hall, he heard another round of spirited moaning from downstairs. Jesus, he really needed to invest in a pair of earplugs. The things his innocent ears had been privy to.

  And oh, the things they were about to be privy to again, way up close and personal.

  In his bedroom he picked up his MP3 player and portable speakers, then grabbed a couple of stubby candles he kept on hand for when the power went out. They didn’t smell and were sort of misshapen, but he’d stick them on the back of the toilet and give the place some ambience.

  A quick detour to the nightstand netted him exactly zippo condoms. Great. Maybe she’d think to bring some. Or maybe she’d make his life complete and let him experience heaven via the slide of her bare skin on his.

  A guy could hope.

  At the last second he remembered his toy comment. Grinning, he snatched his favorite and strode into the bathroom to set everything up. He grimaced and bypassed the “babymaking music” playlist on his MP3, an unfortunate reminder of his ex-wife’s sucky sense of humor—and something he’d have to delete as soon as he figured out how—and zeroed in on something much more appropriate.

  Namely the Beatles’ greatest hits, starting with “Ticket to Ride” on repeat.

  He turned on the hot tub and dumped a bunch of bubble crap in it before turning on the jets. He’d just lit the candles and hit the lights when Sara appeared in the doorway, auspiciously clad in a towel. “Well, look at you,” he said, studying the play of candlelight over her long, sleek legs.

  “I left my pajamas on the bed. And I locked the door. Then put a chair under the knob.” A small smile lifted her lips at his laughter. “I’m lying about the last part.”

  “Whatever makes you feel more comfortable works for me.” He stepped closer and freed her hair from its pesky knot. “Though I insist on lack of clothes and loose hair. It’s a bathroom requirement.” He tugged on her towel and let it fall on the floor between them. “There. Much better.”

  “It is.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to his pec. “So why are you still dressed?”

  He released a dramatic sigh as he gestured toward the room. Bubbles bubbled, candles flickered, the Beatles jammed. “I’ve been slaving over this bathroom for hours and you don’t even say anything nice before you try to get me naked? I have feelings, you know.”

  “You did a great job. Love the candles. Love the bubble bath.” She tugged on the button of his jeans and yanked down the zipper. “Mmm. Especially love that you
’re commando.”

  He swatted her bare ass. “We do aim to please. Now get in that tub and get nice and wet for me.”

  She batted her lashes at him. “I’m already nice and wet for you.”

  “Tease,” he growled.

  Her laughter floated across the room as she sank into the tub. An instant later it changed into a moan. “Oh God, that’s good.”

  Brad finished stripping and set his MP3 player on the rim before shifting Sara forward so he could slip in behind her. He’d no sooner settled into the frothy hot water than she let out a yelp and burst to her feet. “I forgot something. Be right back.”

  Transfixed by the soapy rivulets coasting down her curvy form, he blinked and tried to respond. Too late. She was already skipping out the door, splashing droplets as she went.

  “Bring back condoms,” he called, belatedly remembering he wasn’t supposed to be home. Though Kim would know he was once she heard the music or saw his truck in the drive.

  A satisfied grin slid across his face as he stretched his arms across the back of the hot tub. Fine, maybe he was trying to get caught Sara-handed. So sue me.

  She returned with a bright blue, ribbed cylinder in one hand and a strip of condoms in the other. His brow winged up. “Rather large, don’t you think?”

  “I only buy gorilla-size condoms for you, dear.”

  “As you should. But I was referring to your…implement.”

  “You told me to bring my favorite.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t shown up with the King Kong of vibrators. With a flick of her wrist, the strip of condoms slithered to the floor next to the tub. She stepped toward it, looking around. “Where’s yours, by the way?”

  “Doctor Carmichael, you astound me. Here I think you’re a professional, and you’re getting your freak on with mammoth dildos and young studs.” He grinned and locked his hand around her hip, dragging her even closer.

  “Wait, where’s your—” His mouth closed over her warm, sweetly fragranced pussy and she whimpered. “Never mind. Your tongue’s toy enough for me.”