Mustang Sassy

by Daire St. Denis

  Oh, shit! He knew. The way he was watching her? Like he was trying to figure something out? This City-boy wasn’t just good-looking. Apparently he was smart, too. That’s what this weird vibe was all about. Somehow he’d puzzled the pieces together and realized who the likely culprit was in the crime.

  Sass stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. What to do.

  Should she come clean now? Deny it? What?

  He tilted his head to the other side. “He’s been at Hogan’s a while. You’ve been at Hogan’s a while…”

  What Sass did next, was not planned. Not one bit. Gut instinct took over. Self-preservation. Making her go up on tiptoes. Forcing her to put her hands on both sides of Blondie’s face.

  There was only one way to distract him. One way to shut him up.

  With her mouth.

  At first he just stood there, stiff and cold, their lips pressed together like two statues. She went to pull away but his hands were on the small of her back. He stared down at her in surprise. She stared up at him, equally surprised. The rest happened in slow motion, at least, that’s how Sass would always remember it. She bit her lip and, like a predator watching for the smallest movement from its quarry, his gaze shifted to her mouth. Then he swooped and all hell broke loose.

  He pulled her to him and brought his mouth down, square on top of hers. The kiss was so hard his teeth scraped against hers and she tasted the saltiness of the bacon in his mouth. It must have been the surprise of the kiss that made her part her lips. His tongue took advantage, going on the offensive and invading her mouth with a powerful thoroughness.

  As quickly as it started, it stopped. City-boy stepped back, breathing heavily, just like she was, and watching her with a confused expression on his face that probably mirrored her own. Sass couldn’t decide if she wanted to deck him, strip him down, or both.

  “I think we’d better get back,” he said.

  She bobbed her head in rapid agreement, pulling the car keys from her back pocket. She moved tentatively to sidestep around him but before she got past, he reached out, captured her wrist and grabbed the keys from her hand.

  “Hey!”

  “I’ll drive.” He stalked out of the cabin before Sass could protest.

  She raced after him, shouting, “Those are my keys, give them back!”

  Once he reached the car, he turned, his blue eyes searing her with one pass. “All I asked for was a ride to my hotel. First you dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and then you bring me here and…” His brows lifted and his lips quirked to one side as if to say, then you jumped me. “I don’t particularly trust you to take me back.”

  Quivering from pent-up guilt, shame and—what?—sudden, unexplained lust? Sass took a deep breath and said, “Fine.” She slid into the passenger seat and waited for him to adjust the seat to his monstrous size. The truth was, in her current state of discord, she should not be operating a motorized vehicle anyway.

  It wasn’t until they were back on the secondary highway that Sass braved a glance at the man sitting in her driver seat. He seemed to be in some kind of trance, staring straight ahead. She watched him shift. Not bad, but he revved the engine just a little too high for optimum performance. Still, from the way the ’Vette thrummed, Blondie obviously knew a thing or two about cars. He also knew a thing or two about kissing because, Lord above, that kiss of his still had her trembling.

  His skill with the Corvette and with her rankled Sass so much that she scooched down low in her seat and propped her bare feet up against the console to brood. The restlessness that had been eating her up continued to claw at her innards. Two things that normally calmed her, driving fast and going for a swim, had done nothing to relieve the edginess.

  Then she’d kissed him. Sweet mother of God. What the hell had she been thinking? There was something wrong with her. There had to be. There was no other explanation. Was it the guilt that had her libido so out of whack? Had she lost her mind?

  Turning her head so that she faced the window, Sass closed her eyes. Sheesh! This was a new low, even for her. Thank God he had the sense to stop before things went too far. Yet, her mind kept replaying the kiss over and over including the fact that he’d kissed her back. She could still feel his big hands in her hair, tilting her head. Could still taste him. She hadn’t forced his tongue into her mouth. He’d done that on his own.

  He’s a dude, Sass. Of course he kissed you back. It doesn’t mean anything.

  With a little shake of her head, she opened her eyes to see the golden fields of wheat whizzing by. A lone white cross with a faded wreath passed in and out of her line of vision. She swallowed hard and then cleared her throat. “Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of doing this.”

  Blondie glanced over at her. “A habit of doing what?”

  She groaned. So he was going to be a bastard about it, was he? Well, that shouldn’t surprise her. He had a penis after all.

  “I’ve never brought a stranger to the cabin. I…I don’t know what happened back there.”

  “Mmm.”

  Based on her behavior and the way she was dressed, how was he supposed to know that in all her twenty-three years, she’d only ever been with three guys? The first was exactly four years ago, the night of her nineteenth birthday. Carter Reynolds had offered her a ride home from a party because she’d had too much to drink.

  She’d always liked Carter; he was one of those quiet, serious types. On the ride home, he’d told her he’d always liked her, too. That had seemed like a good enough reason for Sass to hand over her virginity. It wasn’t like she’d ever expected him to call afterward.

  Then there was Dex Whelan. He was older, worked for Hogan’s, showed her a thing or two about cars, about bodywork, about other things, namely orgasms and blowjobs. The fact that it turned out he was still married and not really separated and that she wasn’t the only one he was cheating with…well, not her finest moment. But she was over him. She was!

  Finally there was Carlos. They’d been friends and she thought things were going to be different with him.

  Dumb.

  After mentally reviewing her history, Sass was starting to think her poor record with men really was her fault because here she was, kissing the first red-blooded male she came upon after breaking up with Carlos. Would she never learn?

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not,” she said more to herself than to him. “I just wanted you to know.”

  “Okay.”

  Sass turned to look out the window again. How had her anger over seeing Carlos grinding with another woman on the dance floor translated into kissing another man—the very man she’d wronged? Maybe she needed some kind of therapy. Maybe they offered such things in prison…

  Oh hell! What was she going to do about the car? She rubbed her calf muscle as she thought everything through. If Blondie went to the police, even with a confession she could be fined big bucks. Worse, she could be spending anywhere from two to six years in jail. She’d looked it all up on the Internet last night.

  “So, what’s your name?”

  She blanched, both surprised by the unexpectedness of his question and by the fact that she’d kissed a nameless stranger. “It’s Sass.”

  “Sass?” She could feel him studying her. “That’s an unusual name. Fitting, but unusual.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well, my parents said they had a feeling I was going to be a challenge by the way I hollered bloody murder the moment I was born.”

  He laughed. She turned to him. “And you?”

  “Jordan.” He paused then added, “Jordan Michaels.”

  “That’s a funny name, too.”

  City-boy regarded her strangely. “Why do you say that?”

  “The basketball player. Michael Jordan? You must’ve had people comment before?”

  “Oh!” He laughed, but it sounded false. “Yeah, I know. I get that all the time.” The smile dropped from his face as he stared straight ahead again.

 
For some reason, City-boy seemed uncomfortable. Well, she couldn’t blame him. She had just kissed him.

  Thankfully, they didn’t speak again, though it made for the longest ride of her life. Once at the inn, he’d barely shifted into park before hopping out. Again, Sass couldn’t blame him. She got out too and walked around to the driver’s side, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Thanks for a…an interesting morning,” he said as he tipped his head in her direction before striding off into the lobby. She watched him disappear inside.

  Sass crawled carefully into the driver’s seat, adjusted it, and drove out of the parking lot. Once she was a reasonable distance away, she took a deep breath and screamed.

  …

  Thank God. At least the Greenwood Inn had a weight room because a good, hard workout was exactly what Jordan needed. He had to keep himself distracted and not just from his purpose in Greenview—the lies, the deception, the fact that the Mustang he’d taken from the family shop was currently unrecognizable.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about a pair of hazel eyes and salty lips. As crazy as it sounded, he wished he could go back to that cabin and show a little less self-control. What was it about the girl?

  At first he’d thought she’d recognized him as a Carlyle because of the wary twist to her lips while she checked him out, thinking she was being all secretive about it.

  Then she’d kissed him, which shocked the hell out of him, resulting in his unexpected response…kissing back. Irrationally wanting to do more than just kiss back.

  Not his smartest move. He had to be careful. Of course he wanted insider information on the operations at Hogan’s. What he did not need was an entanglement with a female—particularly one as sexy and unpredictable as Sass—no matter how enticing her lips, eyes, and killer tattoo were.

  Just as he stripped off his shirt, he heard the sound of his ring tone, “The Pretender” by Foo Fighters. He reached for his cell, checked the caller and then sighed. Dammit. Time to face the music. “Hey, Brandon.”

  “Don’t ‘hey, Brandon,’ me. Where the hell are you?”

  Jordan groaned. Did no one in his family communicate? “Check the schedule. I’m on vacation.”

  “Yeah. I saw that. Two weeks right during our busiest time.”

  “I know it’s not the best timing, but I had to use up my vacation days before I lost them.” It was true—sort of. He still had four months to use his time off, but Brandon didn’t know that. He wasn’t the one who did the schedule and payroll. Jordan was.

  “Well, there seems to be a bit of a problem.”

  Jordan’s stomach clenched. “What?”

  “We can’t find the ’67 Fastback.”

  “I told Blake I had it.”

  “Yeah, and we checked your place, it’s not there.”

  “That’s because I have it, moron.”

  “What!”

  “I’ll bring it back in two weeks.”

  “Two weeks! Are you out of your frigging mind? It’s supposed to go to auction next week.”

  Jordan was well aware that this was the case, which was why he’d been deliberately vague before he’d left. No one would support him if he told them what he was really up to, they never did. The minute he said, “Hey, I have an idea,” his whole family cringed in preparation for some major fuckup.

  “It’ll have to wait.”

  “What? Didn’t you hear me? That car is going to auction next week.”

  “No can do.”

  There was silence on the phone and Jordan could picture his older brother on the other end, clenching the phone in his big fist, his nostrils flaring while he tried to control his anger.

  “Look, I’ll have the car back in two weeks. It can go to auction next month. But you’ve got to trust me, Brandon. I’m working on something. Something big.”

  “You’re working on something big?” The sarcasm practically dripped through the phone. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “Have a little faith, would you?”

  “With your history, little brother? Faith doesn’t come easily.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t seriously want me to recount your list of screwups, do you?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Okay. Let’s start with Old Man Warner.”

  “I was ten.”

  “You put dog shit in a bag on his doorstep.”

  “He stole my bike.”

  “You left it on his lawn.”

  “It was mostly on ours.”

  “You lit the bag on fire.”

  “I wanted him to stomp it out. Plus, it was Blake’s idea.”

  “He burned his foot and sued.”

  Jordan sighed. “He was an asshole.”

  “What about the firecracker incident?”

  “Here we go.”

  “You light firecrackers during a student pep rally? Firecrackers that sound like gunshots? We live in Denver, dude. Not cool.”

  Jordan squeezed the bridge of his nose. He could no longer remember the exact reason why he’d decided to take the rap for Blake that day, probably because his brother had been in danger of being expelled from school for good. He’d only been expelled for three weeks.

  “How about the infamous house party?”

  “As if you never threw a house party.”

  “Yeah, well. My parties never ended up in twenty grand in damages.”

  The Carlyle boys had always been known for hosting “epic” parties. Unfortunately, social media had never been part of Brandon’s high school experience. News of Jordan’s party had spread like wildfire. His boxing skills had come in handy that night, though the asshole whose nose he broke took him to court over it.

  “Those things are ancient history,” Jordan said, knowing very well what was coming next.

  “Let’s not forget about the shop fire…last year.” He emphasized the last two words. “We’re still dealing with that little gem.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “I hope that’s what the insurance company decides, too. Otherwise, Carlyle’s is in big trouble.”

  “I know,” Jordan said quietly. “That’s why I need to do this.”

  “Give me one good reason to believe in you, Jord. Tell me what you’re up to?”

  Jordan was tempted. He could really use an ally and, despite their disagreements, he trusted Brandon, more than Blake. But this was something he had to do on his own. “Cover for me. A couple weeks? That’s all I ask.”

  There was a pause as Jordan listened to his brother breathing through the line. He could imagine Brandon scratching the back of his neck as he considered Jordan’s request, it was a Carlyle family trait.

  “O-kay,” Brandon said slowly. “But—”

  “Don’t worry,” Jordan interrupted. “I’ve got it under control.”

  “You always do.”

  Chapter Four

  On Monday morning, Sass pulled the car into the parking lot of the Willow Springs Retirement Home in Chesterville, sixty miles southwest of Greenview. She grabbed the book off the passenger seat, got out, and slammed the door behind her. She should be at the shop. Hogan’s was closed Mondays, so it was Sass’s favorite time to be there, when everything was nice and quiet. It was her time to think. But today she needed something else to do, something that would help her forget about the pile of metal that now sat idle at the back of the shop, the pile of metal she’d destroyed.

  Her flip-flops thwacked against the linoleum floor as she strode down the hall past the dining room and nurse’s station and turned down into the east wing toward Millie’s room. Millicent Delacroix had taught in the Rockyview School District for more than thirty years and was acquainted with everyone. She’d even taught Sass English Lit in high school, though they had agreed to pretend like those years had never happened. Shortly after her retirement, Millie had suffered a stroke and now she was a resident and social butterfly of Willow Springs Senior’s Lodge.

  Sass found Millie in her r
oom with her gray hair pulled back in a careful bun and dressed in a white blouse and lavender skirt. Her pearls were around the outside of the collar of her blouse and her teardrop earrings glittered in the sun. Sitting in her wheelchair with an open book in her lap, Millie raised her eyes when she heard someone at her door.

  She sighed and closed the book. “Sass Hogan, you look like a street urchin.”

  “Hi, Mill.”

  “Come in here and let me see what you haven’t done to yourself now.”

  Sass pulled up the visitor’s chair to sit across from her friend, who rolled her chair closer for an inspection.

  “You might want to consider combing your hair before a social call.”

  Putting a hand to her head, Sass patted her hair down. She had combed it, or at least she thought she had. Either way, her hair didn’t matter. “Mill, I’ve fucked up.”

  Millie tsked. “The English language is rich with descriptors. Please choose another word to express yourself.”

  Sass groaned again and leaned back in the chair. “Don’t get on my case today. It’s been a rough weekend.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Yes.” Sass glanced out the window. “But I can’t.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “I can’t.” She raised her hands to her face. “It’s just too awful.”

  “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. I’ll bet it’ll make you feel better to get it off your chest.”

  Lowering her hands, Sass shook her head. “Think of the very worst thing I could do and then think of something worse. That’s pretty close to what happened.”

  “You killed someone?”

  “God, no!”

  “See? It can’t be that bad, then.”

  “Trust me, it is.” She blew air at the ceiling. “Anyway, I can’t stay long today. I just came to return this.” She waved the book that had been taking up space in her glove box for the last few weeks. In doing so, she noticed something off about the room that Millie shared with Mrs. Henry, another resident at Willow Springs. There was an unnatural starkness to the other half of the room, the bed crisply made without any personal quilts or blankets, the nightstand empty but for a box of Kleenex, the walls bare of any family portraits.