Sapphire Falls: Going Zero to Sixty (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Lizbeth Selvig

  He looked to Elle and couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his lips. She stared like a kid who’d been shown a pony waiting on the front lawn for her birthday.

  “Oh. Holy. Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I still feel that way whenever I come in. And she’s not even new to me.”

  “You’ve raced her?”

  “Many times. A couple of dozen over the past three years.”

  “She looks like she’s never been scratched much less run hard. A Monte Carlo. So sweet.”

  She walked slowly toward the car. Its shiny yellow paint glistened and winked under the fluorescent lights, and Elle ran her fingertips lightly across the door panel and followed it around to the front end. He found himself wishing she could use the feathery, reverent touch on him, and when she looked over her shoulder to smile, his knees weakened, and an age-old male reaction flared.

  Ass.

  He didn’t want to react to her this way. She was different, and he didn’t want to insult her uniqueness with cave man attraction. And yet, he was red-blooded and in a secluded place with a sexy car and a beautiful woman. Wouldn’t every male think like an ass? He didn’t have to act on it.

  “You like yellow.”

  The question distracted him and he nodded. “It was my brother’s favorite color. He was the one who wanted to restore an old Rallye 350. I’d already had this painted for him when I found the Cutlass I could afford. So…yellow predominates.”

  “I love the accents.” She traced the glossy black “74” on the side, outlined in fire red and holly green. The same colors arched over the rear tires, made a color-blocked triangle on the hood, and striped the spoiler. In red letters with black outlining along the back fenders was his name, Harley Sean Holt, in bold script.

  “I’m thinking an ’01 or ’02?” she asked.

  “Two thousand one.”

  “Harley, this is awesome. Does the number have a significance or is just a favorite?”

  “My grandfather was seventy-four when he passed away, and my brother died on the eleventh of May.”

  It took her only a second. “Seven plus four. So it’s a poignant number.”

  “It really isn’t so sad to me. It’s like I take them with me when I race. Granddad was a huge racing fan. He encouraged my uncles—my mother’s brothers. She, as you’ve obviously seen, isn’t interested, but I got the gene.”

  “My dad loved it, too, but only as a spectator. Who’s this?” Elle pointed to black letters along the left side of the hood. “Gary ‘Bladerunner’ Holt.”

  “The uncle who died.”

  “In a racing crash?”

  “In the pits actually. Freak accident. His teammate lost brake function as he came in for a stop. Gary got hit at only about fifteen miles per hour but it pinned him wrong and basically crushed the spinal cord where it meets the skull.”

  “Oh how awful. Were you close to him?”

  “I was about twenty-two when he died. I’d worked pit row with him and seen him race a number of times. I was into bike racing then, so I hadn’t hung with him for a while. But it was tough for the family. And Aston’s crash happened only three years later.”

  “You really can understand why your mom is so freaked out about this, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does she…like the car? She has to at least think it’s pretty. Because it’s more than pretty.”

  She walked around the front and stopped at the name on that side.

  “Aston ‘DB’ Holt?”

  “James Bond’s original silver Aston Martin was a DB5. We called him DB all the time even though he really didn’t like the car. I’m not a Harley guy either. He drove anything American. I rode Yamahas. There’s no explaining some things.”

  She trailed the rest of the way around the car and stopped back at his side.

  “My mom does say it’s pretty. She really is not a fan of the fact that I have it—to the point of being weird about it, too. Can I swear you to a terrible secret?”

  “I don’t know. If I reveal it will you have to kill me?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s just that Mom doesn’t know how many times I’ve really taken this out—or how many times I’ve run first, second, or third. I don’t tell her every time because it causes her so much anxiety the day of a race.”

  “She just doesn’t strike me as being that obsessive.”

  “She’s the calmest, most sensible person I know about literally everything. Except this.”

  “Losing two people you love in the same way?”

  “I know.”

  He sighed. He hated talking about his mother this way. He hated keeping secrets from her. But now that Elle knew, a speck of the guilt he carried around lifted from his chest.

  “Show me under the hood.”

  He popped it for her and bent over the engine beside her. She whistled and murmured off the specs almost like a prayer. “Chevy 350 cubic inch, four barrel carb. Manual…four speed?”

  “Uh huh.”

  They stayed like that for fifteen minutes. He pointed out all the modifications he’d made so he could meet ARCA rules. She asked about his favorite races. He told her about the mentors he’d worked with when he switched from motorcycles to stock cars. She wanted to know who the most famous driver he knew was. He told her Jeff Gordon.

  She popped her head up. “You know Jeff Gordon? Can you introduce me?”

  “Really?” He stood and narrowed his eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yes.” Her cute smile filled him with joy. “But he’s very hot.”

  “Thanks. But I meant he’s got nothing on—”

  “Danica Patrick, I know.”

  “Nuh uh, Kasey Kahne.”

  “You are—”

  “Jamie McMurray.”

  “Way weirder than I am.”

  “I am not. I mean, look, saying Jeff Gordon is your favorite driver is like saying Jon Bon Jovi is your favorite member of Bon Jovi. Cliché. What’s wrong with Richie Sambora or Tico Torres?”

  “Richie isn’t even with them anymore.”

  “Jeff Gordon is retired.”

  She bit down hard on her lower lip but it trembled itself free, and she began to laugh. It rolled into a belly laugh so infectious she nearly doubled over. He couldn’t help but join her.

  “This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had.” She choked on even more laughter.

  “Well this is one of the best conversations I’ve ever had.”

  “You need some new friends.”

  “Possibly. Want the job?”

  She hesitated, flushed and momentarily tongue-tied. “Uhhh, okay. Is this my in-person interview?”

  “You sailed through that this afternoon. This is just chatting at the bar.”

  “Chatting at the car you mean.”

  She almost whispered the words, as if embarrassed she’d made such a stupid pun. But the air that crackled suddenly between them wiped out all the silliness. She stared up at him silent and searching, her eyes questioning but not troubled. She still smelled faintly of the scent she’d worn that afternoon, like orange or apple blossoms, and the heat in the room went up at least ten degrees.

  For that hot moment he didn’t question what he felt because it was clearly reflected in her face. He didn’t touch her or take her to him, but he lowered his head gauging the distance to the kiss. But she fooled him. Rising onto her toes, she met him halfway and stole his breath away.

  Chapter Nine

  Musk, sunshine, and heat. She’d never noticed the scent of a kiss before. Never kissed a man after knowing him only five hours—or at least, not kissed him like this. He claimed her mouth without using his hands. It started soft and sweet, two people touching lips, falling victim to a mood. But then they pressed closer, and he invited her tongue to tangle with his. He bobbed his head, tasted and played, guided them together and then drew away as if they made love with their mouths and their tongues. The sensation consumed her. Wa
ves of pleasure drove through her body and pooled, warm and liquid, between her legs. No hands pulled, no arms clenched, no torsos pressed together. There was only the erotic taste and scent of a perfect kiss.

  It was the hottest kiss she’d ever had in her life.

  She had no idea how she’d let it happen.

  He pulled away first. For a few seconds Elle could only gaze at his lips, wishing for more, catching her breath. His eyes met hers with tender warmth but then, suddenly, it was as if they both realized exactly what they’d done. Her skin flushed as every bit of heat they’d generated flowed into her face. Harley rubbed his chin drawing his thumb and palm uncertainly across the bottom of his lip.

  “God, Elle, I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry—that was… Damn, I don’t usually take advantage of …”

  She caught his hand, drew it away from his mouth, and then shook her head.

  “That amazing whatever-it-was required two people. You don’t need to apologize. Doesn’t mean we weren’t both phenomenally dumb to let it happen, but it was very much mutual.”

  “Still—”

  “Still. I could have pushed you away. I could have turned my head. I didn’t.”

  “We can’t again…” He looked slightly lost. “It’s going to be awkward enough to forget this come Monday.”

  “Why? So we tried it. I liked it. We know it’s not right for our working relationship. Chalk it up to something in the air.”

  “Is that what it was?”

  “It is if we say so. This doesn’t have to be awkward, Harley. I’ve enjoyed today. I got stoked over the car, and emotions ran high.”

  “You know it’s the man who’s supposed to be logical and cool.”

  “Hey, you hired a woman to work in a male-dominated world—you can’t start being chauvinistic now. So I got to cool before you did—no big deal.”

  She’d never known what a talent she had for lying. Inside of her, nothing was calm. When she looked at Harley, what she thought was not how “nice” it had been to try out kissing her boss, it was how amazing holding him close would be if, in a mere sixty seconds, simply kissing him had been near-orgasmic.

  But she would deal with it. Professionalism had to come first. If she was here to show everyone she needed no man to help her with her career, then she was pretty sure making out with the boss would not look good on her resume.

  No. They were both adults. There would be no awkwardness come Monday morning.

  And yet, on Monday morning, awkwardness emanated from both of them like heat from a bonfire.

  All weekend Elle had prayed for time to move more slowly so she could actually internalize the bold assurances she’d made to Harley: that emotions had simply run high and gotten the better of them for a few seconds; that professionalism would reign. There was nothing professional about the dreams those few seconds evoked for the next two nights.

  Her new friend Hailey had made sure she had little time to wallow. As if she knew Elle needed distraction, she’d invited her to dinner with her entire circle of friends, who all turned out to be the young movers and shakers of Sapphire Falls. Hailey’s husband Ty introduced his three brothers and their gorgeous wives. Then there’d been Adrianne and Mason Riley. Joe and Phoebe Spencer. If they hadn’t all been down to earth and the most welcoming people Elle had ever met, she’d have felt wholly inadequate.

  She’d driven past her new place of employment to get the route down and be sure she could arrive exactly on time the first day. A minute early would make her look eager to see Harley again. A minute late—well, that wasn’t ever good much less on a first day. She’d seen the Olds parked along the side of the neat, gray cube of a building that housed HSH Motors. When she’d also seen a black Jeep Cherokee, she’d sped past without further reconnaissance and prayed he hadn’t seen her.

  But this morning had arrived despite her efforts. And although she’d started out well at home, with resolve and nerves wrangled into submission, she’d parked at seven twenty-five and walked through the door precisely on time, nearly run into Harley coming out of his office, Immediately she turned into a temporary blob of speechless Jell-O.

  “An A for punctuality.” His smile looked effortless.

  “If you’d worked for my brother you’d be punctual, too.”

  Pleased with her slight recovery she found her own smile and shrugged, looking past him, around the hallway where they stood, toward the garage itself where she could already hear people moving around. Basically looking anywhere but into his eyes or at his mouth.

  “Your brother was an exacting boss?”

  “Very. But also the most generous guy I know. Figure that out. Anyway, what’s first?”

  “A tour, I guess,” he said, the first discomfiture seeping into his body language. “Then I was going to give you some smaller tasks to see where your comfort level was, but…I, ah, guess you’ve already shown you’re very comfortable under the hood of a car.”

  Even after their shocker of a kiss he hadn’t blushed, but now the color heightened on his cheeks, freshly shaven so he looked even more like a hot, bronzed surfer than he had two nights before.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking at the floor again.

  The awkwardness had been born.

  Things were better when he introduced her to her coworkers. She immediately bonded with Steve Bonner, three years her junior at twenty-five, and reminding her of director Ron Howard with a line of ginger hair already receding toward his ears, and an eager, aw-shucks kind of grin that made him easy to approach.

  “Steve’s a prodigy,” Harley told her. “You two will make a great team. I’m counting on innovation from you.”

  That had surprised her. Her understanding was she’d been hired as a general, rather low-level mechanic. Innovation hadn’t even been on her radar as a goal for this job. The implied compliment had gone a long way to making her feel like she immediately belonged in the crew.

  She’d met Darcy Poole, the accountant and receptionist—a heavyset woman about Jack’s age. Harley called her the number whisperer. Numbers were not Elle’s favorite thing if they didn’t have something to do with repairs or engine size, and she told Darcy so.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Darcy had laughed as they shook hands. “To keep you engine junkies from thinking that big numbers are good when it comes to buying things for your babies.”

  “Sadly true,” Harley agreed.

  And finally she’d met Maury. Taller than Harley, in his sixties, black, grizzled and laconic, Maury Sensaine clearly functioned as the crew expert. He’d clasped her hand warmly and given her a fatherly smile.

  “Welcome, young lady,” he’d said. “So you’re brave enough to give our crazy, growing shop a try, huh?”

  “Is it crazy?”

  “We each have our opinion about that,” he’d said. “I think you’ll find out soon enough. Gotta be tough and have a thick skin and you’ll survive anything this place can dish out.”

  She hadn’t been sure whether to laugh or feel warned, but she’d taken the older man’s greeting at face value and promised to do her best.

  “Maury knew my uncle,” Harley had told her. “When I told him I was opening this place and needed his expertise in getting everything right, he moved here from northern Nebraska. He knows everything about high performance cars. I’m lucky to have him.”

  “He seems nice.”

  “A great guy. Old school, but that’s a good balance for me and Steve, and now you. We need someone who knows auto history and basics as well as the newer theories and fancy tools.”

  It was a tiny, new shop, but Elle could tell immediately the few employees were tight.

  Now, three hours since her introductions and tour, Elle stood beneath the chassis of a Grand Am replacing the last of a set of new shocks and contemplating checking the struts and suspension for good measure. She’d started out earlier in the day on a simple tune-up and worked her way up to this slightly more intricate job. Starting small had been
fine. She hadn’t needed to worry that anyone was looking over her shoulder. She’d gone without being asked to Maury so he could okay her first jobs—it had seemed the prudent thing to do, to make points. She felt good now, confident after two perfect reviews that she could settle in here and work her way into being part of a team.

  HSH was certainly bigger and fancier than Dewey’s two-bay garage in Kennison Falls, although her brother ran his immaculate shop like it was worth a million dollars, and the ratings on his work proved it. This place would expand her horizons, though, with different protocols, different opinions, and different kinds of problems than she’d see back home. By the time lunch rolled around she’d almost forgotten to watch warily for Harley around every corner, and honest excitement had taken hold. She figured not many first days on a job could grant full-on satisfaction.

  “Almost done here, I see.”

  Maury stepped beneath the car and looked up, crossing his arms as he surveyed the undercarriage. “Looks good. Don’t forget the pan screws there. I usually do those first because otherwise I forget. Done it and the result isn’t fun.”

  “Right. I found a rusted bolt on the left corner. I decided I want to check out the struts and the suspension so I left it until I can go grab a new bolt.”

  “Ah, okay. Be sure and put it on the invoice.”

  She frowned lightly. “A bolt? That costs up about six cents? At my other shop that was part of the service.”

  “Maybe it was,” he said with a smile. “But here we have a billing and inventory lady who can account for every nut not to mention the bolt that accompanies it. We don’t charge much, but we charge for everything. Go outta business otherwise.”

  “Okay then.” She nodded. “Should have asked right off. Glad you warned me.”

  It did seem strange to her—Dewey was a stickler, but he totally believed in good will and going above and beyond. He’d been known to replace a tail bulb for free if he happened to find it. Customers noticed things like that. But—if this was the way at Harley’s place, then she wasn’t the one who made the rules.