by Amber Bardan
MECHANIC
DIRTY MEN
AMBER BARDAN
CONTENTS
Dirty Men
Mechanic
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
Dirty Men
Excerpt: Dirty Daddy
Also by Amber Bardan
About the Author
Hard work never looked so good. Calloused hands and hourly pay are as hot as any billionaire’s manicured digits in this collection of stories from four of the hottest, bestselling safe authors around. These blue collar dirty men are ready to hold your hand, then hold you down in these stand-alone stories dedicated to working men everywhere. Pure alpha possessiveness and happily ever afters will leave you wiggling in your chair and dreaming of your own working-class hero.
All stories out now!
Mechanic by Amber Bardan
Rough Neck by Dani Wyatt
Hard Hat by Frankie Love
Coal Miner by Jenika Snow
MECHANIC
Copyright © 2017 by Amber Bardan
Mechanic is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed are fictional or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
www.amberabardan.com
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There was one girl Michael knew like no other.
Her good side and her wicked.
Gabriella ran from her past and her shame. She turned from the part of
herself that got the person she loved most into terrible trouble.
It's been so long now, it's like that past no longer exists.
When Michael sees Gabriella after a decade, the one thing he doesn't expect
is that she'd have no idea who he is.
But Gabriella always liked to play dirty.
So what if he has to use his skills as a Mechanic to tamper with her engine?
He'll use every tool in his toolbox to remind her who he is and make sure
she never forgets again.
1
Mike
She’s here…
I take a swig of icy beer that ripples down my throat completely failing to quench thirst. Even after a mouthful of drink, my tongue seems to scrape the inside of my mouth like a hunk of sandpaper. What I’m desperate for doesn’t come in a cup.
Twenty painful minutes, I’ve been sitting here waiting for her to turn around. See me. Recognize me.
Come over.
A tinkling laugh chimes through the outdoor seating area of the restaurant and smacks me in the chest. That. I shiver. Her laugh. Like a thousand butterflies bursting from cocoons in my middle.
That laugh, and I’m a boy again—giddy and green and helpless.
I’ve heard the sound half a dozen times today and it strikes me the same way every-single-fucking-time. But I don’t look, instead focusing on the frothy liquid in my glass.
What if she doesn’t remember me?
I twist the glass, focusing on the swirl of condensation making circles on the polished wood tabletop.
She’s here, her laugh in my ears, so close I can turn my head and see her. Yet I can’t. It’s like trying to resist the sun’s rays, keeping my face turned away. The warmth is there, brushing right against me, begging me to turn to it—taunting me with the promise that if I just give in and look, it’ll fill me up and flush out every icy corner of my being.
Gabriella.
I close my eyes and picture her instead. Not the sixteen-year-old version I’ve imagined for a decade, Gabriella now. The twenty-six-year-old woman who puts all my boyhood fantasies to pale shame.
I should just go over and say hello.
But I can’t.
I want her to remember me. Watch her face when she realizes for herself, who I am.
Who I am to her.
Her first.
And now I’ve found her again, I’m going to make fucking sure I’m also her last.
Gabriella
“YOU’RE SO LUCKY, KELLY.” I rest an elbow on the table. Little Henry reaches for his mom’s hair, tugging on the ends. “He’s the sweetest baby I’ve ever seen.”
She laughs and pats his back. “Are you kidding, you’re the lucky one. I’d give my right pinkie for a glass of wine and a full night’s sleep.”
Wine, yes. Who needs things like love and family, or general happiness when there’s a nice big goblet of fermented fruit to sob into at night?
I pick up my glass and take a sip. Don’t know why these upmarket restaurants always give the scantest amount of wine in the biggest possible glass. Like they want it to look less.
But, I won’t be ordering another. The cost of the one I’m drinking alone has a little bit of sweat already breaking out on my nose. But Kelly likes to brunch at nice places, and god knows it’s been so long since I’ve seen her.
It’s been so long since I’ve been able to get out and see anyone.
“I’d happily trade you this glass for that baby.”
Kelly laughs again. “You’d have to take the stretch marks along with him.”
A flush warms my face. Oh, I have those. Fine white lines on my hips from where I seemed to fill out all of a sudden in my teens.
And there’s no baby to make mine a badge of honor.
Kelly’s smile slips a little. “You seeing anyone, babe?”
A snort bursts from my nose. “Yeah, sure. He sneaks in through my window when I crawl into bed around 1AM.” I wave a hand. “But we don’t screw, you know, on account of me not having the energy. He just cleans my apartment while I’m sleeping and then rubs my feet in the morning.”
“Oh, Ella.” She shakes her head. “You need to quit that job.”
My chest clenches. It’s true. My job is awful. There’s not even room in my fantasies for a relationship.
And that’s how I’ve kept it.
My fantasies…those little devils only ever landed me in hell.
My pocket vibrates. Holy shit. Speaking of horrible bosses. I know it’s him without checking.
“Ahh, I’m going to need to take this.”
She nods but her lips purse.
I scoot back the chair and leave the table, heading over into the corner of the courtyard and slip behind the fountain.
“Gabriella sp—”
“Abigail, where are you?”
A sigh snakes between my lips. “Mr. Kane, I don’t work Sundays.”
What a damn lie. I end up working every Sunday.
“I need you.” The line rustles. “I’ve been expecting you all morning.”
Tinkling sounds. And it’s not the freaking fountain.
I clasp my forehead and hold the phone farther from my ear. He’s peeing. He’s peeing while on the phone to me.
“Mr. Kane, I informed you yesterday that I have plans today.” I rub my temple. “I also put a note in your calendar, on your phone, and left a sticky tab on your desk.”
The wind of a zipper and flush of a toilet echoes through the earpiece. “This is unacceptable, Abigail.”
A door slams.
Didn’t even wash his damn hands.
“Here. Now.”
The line beeps.
I remove the phone from my ear and just stare at the screen. If I Google slow acting poisons, that’ll flag some kind of govern
ment internet radar, right?
I wedge the cell phone into the back pocket of my jeans. It goes in tight. But then, I’ve been living off midnight instant noodles, and anything I can get drive-through in recent months, and my butt wears proof of it.
The fountain blocks my view of the tables, and I’m thankful for the moment to collect myself. I’m going to have to walk out there now and tell Kelly I’m leaving before our meal even arrives. My breath whooshes out. She’s a compassionate person—half the reason she still bothers with me. But even she can’t possibly have much remaining tolerance for my constant brush offs.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
I pull my shoulders back, and emerge from behind the fountain, scanning the tables. My gaze collides with another.
I freeze in increments. Legs. Stomach. Lungs. Arms. Hands. Neck. Jaw. All tighten and still.
Deep hazel eyes level with mine.
The recognition in his expression washes over me like waking up and arriving home all at once.
I stumble in his direction, then stop.
Wait. I don’t know him, do I?
His broad brow wrinkles. Thick chocolate eyebrows a shade darker than the hair on his head and sun streaked beard.
He waits as though he really does expect me to come on over.
To a stranger.
I draw the sides of my open cardigan together.
He brings a cigarette to his mouth and takes a long drag.
Smoke seeps out of his mouth.
I pull my cardigan tighter. My gaze crawls over the red, black, and yellow inked images flowing down his arm.
I can’t help watching the curl of his lips over a cigarette butt, through his beard. Maybe he reminds me of something…
Or someone.
The way he holds it. Draws in deep. The plume of smoke. The scent penetrates my lungs when it can’t possibly reach me all the way over here. A memory of tobacco and sin.
I shake myself and head for Kelly’s table.
Smoking is a dirty, bad habit. So why do I taste it at the back of my throat?
2
Please. Please. Please…
I rest my head on the steering wheel then try again. Not going to cry in a public parking lot. Nope. Whatever the problem is I’ll fix it. I undo my seatbelt and pop the hood, then get out and take a look.
Oh, shit. There’s a big, big problem under the hood.
It’s called an engine. I know nothing about them. However, there’s a great many things I know nothing about but still manage to take care of. I search for a dip stick and slide it out. There’s an oily line right below MAX.
That means good I think.
I stick it back where it came from, and keep looking. From what I’ve seen in movies there should be a radiator that takes water. Maybe my old girl needs a drink? I stretch over the engine trying to figure out what I’m looking for.
“Need help?” The coarse rumbling voice, knocks up my spine.
I jerk, spinning around and lose balance. A steadying hand takes the top of my arm.
I blink against the sun, vision flooding with an image of a devil.
Must have a concussion…
I come face to face with the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen. More to one side than the other and twisted as though there’s a joke I’m not in on.
It’s the guy from the restaurant.
My pulse shudders out of beat. Calm down. He’s just being polite. That smile is obviously at my expense—not carnal like it seems.
“Need some help with that?” He has another cigarette, dragging on it in a way that has me feeling it as an itch in my own chest.
“My car won’t start.” Neither will my heart apparently.
He drops the smoke and grinds it into the crushed rock with the tip of his boot. There’s tattoos running down his left arm swirling on the back of his hand and fingers.
“Then aren’t you lucky that I’m a mechanic.” His gaze moves from the ground, up over me then to my face with such deliberateness, that the luck I feel has nothing to do with his occupation.
My tongue darts between my lips. I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to respond to that.
“Hop in and try starting the engine again.”
I swallow. The way he phrased that. Does everyone just do what he says? I walk around the car and drop into the driver’s seat, and reach for the key.
“When I say,” he calls out.
A smirk tweaks my lips. Lucky for the hood between us. When he says—bet he likes everything like that.
THE ENGINE PURRS TO LIFE.
A laugh rushes out of me.
He fixed it.
“Thank you so much.” I slide out of the driver’s seat and I don’t care if he’s one of the meanest looking men I’ve ever seen, he’s a freaking angel.
“She should be okay for now.” He levels his gaze at me. “But if she does this again I want you to call me immediately.”
Call him. The way he says that, with the emphasis on the call me, makes heat break out over my face.
He’s a mechanic. That’s why he wants me to call. Not because he seems to look at me a little too long. Linger a little too close.
“Do you have a business card?” My voice is a few octaves higher than it should be, and my face gets hotter.
He pat’s the pockets on the back of his jeans. “Not on me.”
He steps in closer. I stumble and my back hits the pick-up truck parked next to my car. My skin prickles. It’s been so, so long, since a man has affected me, my system doesn’t know how to respond appropriately. I feel my pistons firing, blood rushing away from my brain and streaming to my core.
“May I borrow your cellphone?”
I blink, trying to concentrate under the rush of his closeness, then hand it over.
He dials a number then a thumping ringtone sounds from his pocket.
My tongue flicks between my lips again. His gaze slams to my mouth. The heat in me bores to my bones.
My heart beats fast. He hangs up, his eyes narrowing a fraction, and he’s still looking at my mouth. Must have something in my teeth. Because he’s looking at my mouth like it has his full undivided attention.
He hands back the phone. “Now you have my number so you can call me.”
So you can call me. Not so I can contact him if my car won’t start again. I imagine a different context. One where I have his number and call him just because I can.
When I’m up at midnight transcribing notes my boss makes on his Dictaphone, feeling like I’m about to have a brain bleed, I’d call him then. When the loudest sound in my apartment is the sound of a mosquito. When I fall in bed so late and exhausted and still can’t sleep.
When my thoughts are dark, and fantasies darker.
I’d call this man then.
“Thanks.” My chest gives a thud. “What do I owe you?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a Mechanic. So, what do I owe you?”
He gets that smirk again. Wicked, dirty thoughts flood me. Ways in which he could make me reimburse him.
He’s trouble.
“I tell you what.” His eyes get a little softer. “I’m off the clock so how about a hug and we call it even?”
My jaw seems to unhinge.
Hug him?
Mike
A HUG.
I should feel like an asshole. Such an innocent thing. Something she'd give grandma. Her eyes flare round and surprised. What did she think I’d ask for?
This is how I want her to feel with me—comfortable and non-threatened. Even though there’s a wolf in grandma’s house today.
Come closer, baby.
My ribs knit together. I’m not going to be able to pull this off. The itch to touch her worms into my muscles. I almost can’t take it.
The memory of how she felt once upon a time is so vivid in my mind I can practically taste her sixteen-year-old cherry on my tongue.
And she doesn’t seem to
possess the slightest recognition for me.
She steps in toward me and it's all I can do not to flash my teeth and give myself away. My gaze slinks down to where her irresistible tits fill her blouse.
She stops right in front of me, as though she's afraid to make first contact. I have no such resistance, but go slow for her sake, wrapping my arms around her and splaying my palms on her back.
But not squeezing.
Not grinding into her how I want.
She's so soft and warm and the effort to hold back makes my biceps twitch. Her scent envelops me. Coconut shampoo and something fruity. Reminds me of summertime at night. I'll never see a Pina Colada in my life again and not get hard.
She lifts her hands and holds my sides.
I lean down to her ear. “If you're going to pay me in hugs, then you’re going to have to actually give me one.”
Her back rises against my palms like she's gasped but I don’t hear it.
She wiggles closer, and wraps her arms around me too.
Fuck me.
Sweat gathers on my forehead and there's no way she doesn't feel the hard on brushing her stomach.
Then she rests her cheek on my shoulder and her body relaxes. The edge on my lust softens. It’s the way she does that, sink against me, like she actually needs this hug. Makes me wonder how long it’s been since someone held her.
Makes me wonder if she remembers me after all.
She lets out a tiny sigh.
My guts clench.
She pushes back, but at the same time clutches my t-shirt. “Thanks again.” Her face flushes so deeply the pink creeps down her neck. “I don’t know your name?”
“Mike.” My voice almost breaks on the lie. The memory of her flushed this way once, when I was buried inside her, making her come, is a cannon ball inside me.
And she can’t even remember my name.
My teeth grind. That’s okay, though. I’m going to remind her, and when I do there’s no chance she’ll ever forget it.
“Well, thanks Mike, you’re a life saver.” Her smile buries into the side of her cheek the way it has in all my dreams.
“You’re welcome.”
