by Nina Croft
She might have made a small noise, because he straightened and turned quickly. He still had the wrench in his hand, and his eyes widened as he took a step toward her. She instinctively took a step back, slipped on something, her feet going out from under her, her arms spiraling as she fought to stay upright. Wasn’t happening. She hit the concrete floor with a crash, the air whooshing from her lungs.
She lay with her eyes closed. Way to go. How To Make An Entrance by Emily Towson.
She finally opened her eyes and then closed them again.
Holy freaking moly.
She peeked again. He was standing beside her, like really close—if I reach out my hand I can touch him—close. Her fingers curled in a fist at her side. From this angle, he appeared huge, like a giant towering over her. His jean-clad legs braced. She peered a little higher, her gaze snagging on the bulge at his groin, lovingly covered by the soft denim.
Look away, Emily, you’re a pervert.
By force of will, she managed to drag her gaze away. The wrench was still held loosely in his hand, and she stared at that instead.
“Well, if it isn’t little Emily Towson,” he murmured.
She hated that. She wasn’t so little. She would have stood up taller, if she’d been standing at all and not sprawled on the floor in an undignified heap at his feet. She pushed herself onto her elbows, then sat up, took stock. She wasn’t hurt. Just her dignity was a little wounded. It occurred to her then that he actually recognized her. She’d thought he didn’t know she existed.
At the realization—Tanner O’Connor actually knew her name—her heart, already thudding against her rib cage, double timed.
She risked another glance, found him staring down at her, eyes narrowed. He didn’t look pleased to see her.
“What’s the matter, Ms. Towson. You think I’m going to beat you to death with my wrench?”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t make a sound come out.
“You’ve been listening to too much town gossip. I’m not likely to commit murder. At least not until I’ve had my evil way with you.”
He was toying with her. She hoped. She cleared her throat. “Of course I don’t think you’re going to beat me to death.” She scowled. “You could help me up.”
“You think it’s safe for a man like me to touch you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She made to push herself up on her own, but at the last moment, he reached out with his free hand. She hesitated briefly, but then slid her palm into his and allowed him to tug her to her feet. After she was up, she pulled at her hand, and he tightened his grip. She was actually holding hands with Tanner O’Connor.
“You okay?” he asked. “What the hell happened?”
She risked a glance at his face and really shouldn’t have because he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And that could only be a distraction from her mission. Still she couldn’t look away. His dark blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off his perfect bone structure: high cheekbones, and a big, straight nose. His eyes were blue-gray, and his lips were…moving again.
She shook herself. “Sorry? What?”
“I said are you okay? Did you have some sort of…fit?”
“Of course not. You surprised me, and I slipped on something.” She peered behind her, and there was a puddle of grease on the floor, a skid mark through it where she’d lost her footing. She twisted around so she could see the back of her dress, and yup, a big black oil stain covered her bottom. She’d never really liked this dress anyway.
“I surprised you?” He sounded incredulous. “I’m busy working in my own garage when some woman creeps up on me from behind, with God knows what intentions, and yet I’m the one who surprised you?”
He had a valid point. So she decided to ignore it.
She tugged her hand, and this time he let her go. He was too close, so she took a careful step back and still had to crick her neck to look into his face. He’d taken off the headphones, and they hung around his neck. He had a nice neck and broad shoulders. The edge of a black and red tattoo could be seen peering out of the neckline of his vest top, and another ran down his left arm. She stared a little closer, trying to make out what the pattern was. Ryan didn’t have tattoos. Neither had her boyfriend in college, and her hands itched to touch them, trace the intricate patterns.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. She started at the words, and he shook his head. “Christ, you’re jumpy. You don’t have to worry. I’m not really going to have my evil way with you.”
She drew herself up tall, or as tall as she could, which was actually a pathetically inadequate five-foot-two. “I know that, Mr. O’Connor. I’m hardly your type.”
His eyes narrowed at that. “And what do you think my type to be, Ms. Towson? Lap dancers and strippers?” His tone was definitely snarky. Had she hit a chord there somehow?
He didn’t wait for an answer but crossed over to a bench, tossed down his wrench, picked up a rag, and wiped the oil from his hands.
“There’s a smudge on your cheek as well,” she pointed out.
“Don’t you like a bit of dirt, Ms. Towson?”
Actually, in her fantasies he was usually dirty as all hell. Greasy and sweaty and…
Don’t go there.
He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest and considered her, his head cocked to one side. She had to fight the urge to squirm. He licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and she almost groaned. He wasn’t to know of all the other things he’d done with that tongue over the years. A little pulse started between her thighs, and she clamped them together and crossed her own arms over her chest just in case her traitorous nipples were showing.
His lips twitched; he was finding this amusing.
Was she so obvious?
“You know,” he said. “I spent two years in a prison cell fantasizing about you. Every night, I’d lie in my bunk, close my eyes, shut out that fucking place, and I’d jerk myself off to the image of sexy little Emily Towson skinny-dipping in the creek. Sweetest pair of tits I have ever seen, then or since.” His gaze dropped to her chest, and her breasts responded, swelling, aching. He licked his lips again and grinned. “So I guess that makes you my type after all.”
She was speechless. Her mind a complete blank as she tried—and failed—to make any sense of his words.
“Not going to say anything?” he asked.
Finally, she came up with something. “I so was not skinny-dipping.” She would never have had the nerve.
He gave a casual shrug. “Okay. That was a bit of poetic license. You were actually wearing this white cotton underwear. It was totally see-through and clung to your hard, little nipples. Probably sexier than being naked.”
His tone was so matter-of-fact that for a second the words refused to make sense. She couldn’t believe he was saying this. Was he lying? Did it matter?
“You never said anything.”
“You were only sixteen. I put you on my to-do list for a later date.” His to-do list? Was she supposed to be impressed? “Then you could say life got in the way.”
He’d killed his best friend and gone to prison for it. Except, unlike the rest of the town, she’d never believed he’d been responsible for Dwain Forrester’s death.
“Anyway, just wanted to clear up the whole ‘not my type’ thing. But despite that, you’re safe with me.”
Was that supposed to make her feel better? “What? You’ve thrown away your to-do list?” She tried for sarcasm, but it had never been her strong point.
“No, I’ve just written another one.”
And she was clearly no longer on it. That was good. She didn’t believe it, anyway. He was making fun of her. Tanner had always had a harem of beautiful girls after him. And she wasn’t beautiful.
“So now that’s cleared up,” he said, “could we get back to what the hell you’re doing here?” He straightened and came toward her again.
She took a few deep breaths, determined not to let him see her complete loss of composure. Time to get to the business of the night. His totally conscienceless sale of a totally inappropriate motorcycle to her grandmother.
“You sold my grandmother a motorcycle.”
“Ah.”
“Ah? Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself? She’s seventy.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Not quite. She told me it was her birthday in a couple of weeks.”
He was still playing with her, and her temper roared back to life. Good, because she’d really been feeling a little weird.
“She’s never even been on a bike in her life. You know there’s absolutely no way she can drive one of those things. She’ll kill herself. You really are as bad as they say you are.”
And the smile vanished.
Chapter Four
Up until that point, Tanner had been planning to put her mind at rest, tell her that of course he wasn’t selling her gran a hog. He wasn’t that much of an idiot and had already cancelled the paperwork and torn up the check.
He’d guessed that’s what she had come for the moment he’d turned around and seen her standing there.
Actually, maybe not from that moment. Maybe he’d given himself a few seconds to imagine that she’d been overcome by an irresistible urge to seduce him, and he’d finally find out what it felt like to be buried deep inside Emily Towson. Of course, he’d be a little reluctant, but she’d beg him, and in the end, he’d give in and he’d take her up against the wall, or on the hard concrete floor, or maybe straddling the back of the hog in the showroom where anyone passing by could see them if they peered through the glass. Him and little Emily, wouldn’t that be something for the townsfolk to gossip about?
But of course, that’s not why she had come.
All the same, he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her just a little. She was shy, he’d always known that, and he found it a huge turn on. The one time he’d tried to talk to her—he’d seen her go into the hardware store, and somehow his feet had moved of their own accord and he’d found himself in the shop standing right next to her—she’d stood there all buttoned up, her mouth open, cheeks flushed, staring up at him as though he was a creature from another planet. And he might as well have been. He’d taken pity on her and backed away, but even so, he’d left the hardware store with a boner.
But this time, he’d seen the heat in her eyes when she’d looked at him. She might not be happy about it, but he reckoned sweet Emily Towson had the hots for the town bad boy. And was determined to hide it. So he’d told her about his fantasies, and he would swear she’d liked the idea.
But he’d made a decision a long time ago not to go there. He was bad news, and she was the epitome of a nice girl—and he wasn’t going to fuck that up. Lately, he’d seen her around town with Ryan Forrester. Now that would be a match made in heaven.
Didn’t change the fact that she fancied him, though.
But now she was pissing him off.
She wore a sort of brownish dress that left her arms bare but didn’t cling anywhere and stopped at her knees. Matching shoes with a low heel. A slender gold chain around her throat was her only jewelry, and her hair was in some sort of bun thing, though a little straggly now after her tumble. She looked like what she was—a school teacher. She was only twenty-four but gave the impression of being older.
Where the hell did she get off making judgements about him?
Did she really believe he was stupid or mercenary enough to sell an old lady—who’d never ridden one before—a motorcycle? Though her grandmother was hardly a typical old lady—hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could handle a hog. Unlike her granddaughter, who probably didn’t even have the nerve to try.
“Well?” she said, dragging him from his thoughts.
She stood, hands on her hips, glaring at him, and he gave a shrug of his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets, so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull her hair out of that bun. “It’s just business, darling.” Her eyes narrowed at that. She had beautiful eyes, big and blue as the summer sky. And a tiny, straight nose and small, full lips and actual dimples. She was so goddamn cute. More so when she was mad. Should he mention that? Probably not.
“Business?”
Another shrug. “Do you really think a man like me would turn down twenty-five-thousand bucks just because something might be a little…unethical?”
“A little unethical! It’s death on wheels.”
“Bullshit. She’ll probably not even get it off the stand.”
“If you think that, you don’t know Mimi. You really can’t do this. You have to tear up the check, right here, right now. In front of me, where I can see you do it.”
Like he couldn’t be trusted to say he’d done something? Hell, he’d almost forgotten she was part of this town. One of them. If she thought the worst of him, then let her have it.
“Never going to happen, sweetheart.” She gritted her teeth at the sweetheart, but he continued before she could say anything. “It’s easy money, and why would a man like me turn down easy money, huh?”
“She’ll kill herself.”
“But what a way to go.” Okay, that was maybe a bit far—his goddamn mouth. Most of the time, he never thought before he opened it. He knew her grandmother was the only family she had. That she’d lost her parents in some sort of accident abroad when Emily was eleven. She was bound to feel protective of her grandma.
Her face had lost its color, and he suddenly felt like a complete bastard. He’d liked her angry. He didn’t like her like this.
“Anyway,” he said slyly, “you’ve gotta think about why she wants the hog in the first place.”
Her brows came together, a little line forming between them. “What do you mean? How could you possibly know what Mimi wants?”
“My guess is your gran needs a little excitement in her life. She doesn’t look like the sort of woman happy to sit around and wait to get old. I reckon she’s bored. Hell, she’s got a granddaughter whose idea of excitement is probably wearing a white sweater set after Labor Day.”
If anything, she went even paler. Her full lips compressed into a tight line. “What do you mean?”
“Well come on, darling, you’ve got to admit—excitement is not your middle name.” He studied her a moment, curved his lips into a small smile. “No, if I had to take a gamble, I’d say your middle name would be something like…sensible.”
Color flooded her face. It was as if he’d pressed some sort of button. She seemed to pull herself up, which still left her pretty small, and then she stalked toward him, coming to a halt only inches away, so he had to look down. The neckline of her dress was too high to see anything interesting, though.
“What did you call me?” she growled.
She was goddamn cute when she was angry. But what had gotten her so riled up? “Sensible?”
She stepped back, but probably only so she could look him in the eye without bending so far backward she’d topple over. Again. The top of her head came just to his chest. “I am not sensible. Why would you even say something like that?”
Hell, it wasn’t that big a deal. There were worse things to be than sensible. “Nothing wrong with being sensible. Especially with you being a teacher and all.”
That appeared to wind her up even more, tension in every line of her body. “I’ll have you know I do lots of un-sensible things. Lots.”
“Name one.”
“Oh!” She almost stamped her foot. And he could see her mind spinning, looking for something, coming up blank, and he chuckled. That didn’t go down well.
Then her eyes widened. “I swam nearly naked in the creek.”
“Hah, is that the best you can do? You swam nearly naked in the creek eight years ago.”
“In front of the town’s baddest boy.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know I was there.” And he wished she hadn’t mentioned it, because an image flashed up of Emi
ly coming out of the water, as good as naked, all lush curves and sweet innocence—up until then he hadn’t even realized innocence could be a turn on.
She sniffed. “You think I would have cared?”
“Darling, I think you would have run a mile.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
And the nice thing was—it was true. She wasn’t scared of him. Most of the town treated him like some sort of rabid dog who was likely to turn around and bite them if he got too close. Not Emily. She might be shy, but she was facing up to him, not budging.
“Maybe you should be.” He licked his lower lip, and her eyes followed the movement. She was breathing hard now, whether from temper or something else he wasn’t sure. Time to stoke the flames a little. “Maybe you should do the sensible thing and run right now. Sneak out the back door so you don’t shock the neighbors. Little Miss Sensible spending time with a tattooed ex-con? Shocking. And never going to happen.”
“You think I can’t be shocking? You think I can’t shock you?”
He spread his arms wide. “Do your best, baby.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, her teeth gritted, hands balled into fists at her sides. What the hell was she going to do? He didn’t think she knew herself, but from the look of determination on her face, he was going to find out soon.
She took a deep breath and closed the gap between them. He held himself very still as her hand reached out. For a second her palm splayed on his chest above his heart. Then her fingers curled into the material and she pulled him hard toward her. Her other hand came up and curved around the back of his head and dragged him down.
At first, his mind went blank; he had no clue what she was attempting. She growled in frustration, and he relaxed, allowed himself to be pulled, and she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. It was a brief kiss, and then she was gone.
“There,” she said.
Oh no. Not that easy.
“That was supposed to shock me? A little peck like that.”
She glared, pursed her lips, then seemed to sag a little. “Okay, maybe I can’t shock you. I should go. I’ve said what I had to say.” She sighed. “But really, I can’t go out there like this. I have oil all over my dress.” She turned slowly and yes, she did have a big black stain over her ass. But he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about that.
