by Tess Summers
The Heiress and the Mechanic
San Diego Social Scene, Book Five
Tess Summers
Seasons Press LLC
Copyright 2019 Tess Summers
Published: 2019
Published by Seasons Press LLC.
Copyright © 2019, Tess Summers.
Edited by Elayne Morgan, Serenity Editing Services.
Cover by OliviaProDesign.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations within critical reviews and otherwise as permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language that may be considered offensive by some.
All sexually active characters in this work are eighteen years of age or older.
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The Heiress and the Mechanic
Tattoos, muscles, and a beard? Oh my.
Ben McCallister wasn’t like any man attorney Harper Finch had ever dated. For one, his hands were rough and calloused from working all day at his mechanic shops; two, his muscled arms, back, and chest were covered in tattoos; and three, he rode a Harley. The men Harper dated were the ones her daddy would approve of: white-collar, with hands as soft as hers, and the most ink any of them had ever had was a fraternity seal that stayed hidden under short sleeves.
But there was something about this bearded man… how gentle and caring he was with her—outside the bedroom, that is. But his manners in the bedroom? Let’s just say he didn’t have any—which suited Harper just fine.
He was a dream come true. If only she were allowed to dream anymore… But her family and her secret made that impossible. She’d have to settle for a fun summer fling.
She should have known Ben McCallister would never ‘settle’ for anything less than all of her—forever.
Table of Contents
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The Heiress and the Mechanic
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Epilogue
Thank you!
The Playboy and the SWAT Princess
Operation Sex Kitten San Diego Social Scene, Book 1
The General’s Desire San Diego Social Scene, Book 2
Playing Dirty San Diego Social Scene, Book 3
Cinderella and the Marine San Diego Social Scene, Book 4
Inferno Ensenada Heat, Book 1
Combustion Ensenada Heat, Book 2
Dedication
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Contact Me!
The Heiress and the Mechanic
San Diego Social Scene
Book Five
Prologue
Ben McCallister
Ben hung up the phone with his realtor, mumbling curse words at his desk. He fought the urge to scratch the newest tattoo on his chest and cracked his neck instead. He’d found the perfect spot to open his third shop, had done his due diligence with the bank to secure financing, and authorized his realtor to present a more-than-fair offer to the landowner’s attorney, only to be told, “Sorry, it’s not for sale.”
Why the fuck wasn’t it for sale? The property had long been vacant and was an eyesore in the community—he was doing them a favor, offering to take it off their hands.
“Everything’s for sale,” he’d told his agent, Jack ‘Jumper’ Brewton. “Find out what it’s going to take.”
“I think we need to look at alternatives,” was Jumper’s response. That was unusual; Jumper wasn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer—which was part of the reason he was Ben’s agent and friend.
“You’re giving up awfully easily,” Ben had snarled into the receiver.
“Mark DuFresne’s attorney made it crystal clear he had no interest in selling. She wasn’t even willing to counter the offer. As a matter of fact, she said DuFresne isn’t entertaining any offers.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“She wouldn’t say, but I’m betting she’s heard that rumor about the housing development going up, too.”
“Well, no shit. Everybody is buzzing about it.” The minute Ben had heard the whispers, he’d started looking for a property in the area that would be suitable for another mechanic shop—his third in San Diego. “Why did she think I offered what I did? That property’s not worth anything near that. The price and terms were more than fair. DuFresne seriously needs to reconsider his legal counsel if she isn’t even willing to look at it.”
“Welllll, that’s probably not going to happen, since she also happens to be his granddaughter.”
“Oh Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me my business is going to be derailed by some chick fresh out of law school. Let me guess—Grandpa wants to support her and doesn’t want to dampen her spirit, so he’ll follow her advice, even if it’s to his detriment.”
“No, I didn’t get that impression. Actually, it seemed like it was the other way around—like she was doing him a favor. Her firm’s pretty reputable.”
“Can you get me an appointment with her? Actually, better yet—get me a meeting with Mr. DuFresne.”
“I can’t arrange that, Ben. It would be completely unethical to go around his lawyer.”
“Unethical for you, maybe, but not for me. I’ll call him myself.”
“If anybody asks, you make sure to say that I advised you against it,” his attorney si
ghed into the phone, making Ben grin.
“I’ll be sure to say you told me not to.”
Telling Ben he couldn’t do something was the equivalent of pouring gasoline on a fire.
Chapter One
Ben
Driving up the winding driveway leading to the Del Mar Country Club, he had to fight the urge to turn his Harley around and hit the open road full-throttle. It’d been a shitty day—parts hadn’t been delivered and one of his mechanics was out sick, which led to people not getting their cars in time for the weekend as they’d been promised. That in turn led to pissed-off customers, and to Ben having to discount his services to appease them. He had just been getting ready to pick up his office phone to bow out of tonight’s party—he wasn’t much in the mood to celebrate anything, let alone true love—when he’d received a call from Mark DuFresne’s assistant saying she’d put him on her boss’s calendar for Wednesday morning. Maybe things were looking up—he just needed to be patient.
It was that mentality that kept his bike steered toward the big, lit-up building at the top of the hill.
He had parked and was almost at the club’s entrance when his ears perked up. He heard it long before he saw it, and actually felt it even before he heard it, his dick jumping as his brain registered the rumble of a solid lifter Duntov camshaft. Was there any better sound in the world? Maybe a woman’s cries of pleasure when she was underneath him—he’d concede that, but only narrowly.
Then came the bassline from Primus’s “Jerry Was a Racecar Driver” thumping from the same source: a ’59 Corvette convertible. He smiled when it turned the bend. She was a thing of beauty: a pristine turquoise-and-white paintjob that gleamed under the parking lot lights; whitewall tires and turquoise wheels to give it an authentic look; white leather seats; and, judging by the pounding of the bass, a kickass sound system.
The music lowered as the vintage Vette pulled up to the valet, about ten feet from where Ben stood. He watched, mesmerized, as the gorgeous driver released her long black hair from the ponytail she’d had it in. She shook out her hair, then unfolded her long legs from the car, turned around, and bent over to retrieve her purse. Lord have mercy. Her ass in that tight yellow pencil skirt had his dick on high alert.
Without taking his eyes off her, he started moving in her direction. She gave the young man in the red jacket an easy smile, and as she handed him the keys, Ben heard her caution, “Be careful with him.” A woman after his own heart.
His attention had been on the beautiful woman in four-inch heels, but now he realized that his subconscious had caught the smell of unburnt gas. A lot of mechanics these days only knew computerized injection and timing systems and wouldn’t understand that the smell of unburnt gas meant there was a problem with the classic car. The issue was often the carburetor needing to be adjusted—that was something he could usually diagnose immediately just from the sound of the engine. He must have missed that with the pulse of her music.
He fell into step with her as they began walking toward the glass revolving doors. “Beautiful ride,” he said.
She smiled politely, like that was something she’d heard a thousand times before. “Thanks.”
“Primus, huh?” he asked, gesturing for her to go first into the moving door.
She eyed him cautiously, but didn’t object to briefly entering the confined space with him.
“What else would I listen to with the top down?” she asked, the corners of her mouth turning up as they began the walk down the long marble corridor with its large Persian area rugs leading to the hostess.
“I can’t think of anything better. Did you know they’re coming to the Fox Theater in August?”
“I did know. I even have tickets.”
“Really? Me too.” I so do not. He wasn’t that good at lying, so decided to change the subject to something he was more comfortable with. “You might want to see about getting your carburetor adjusted. It’s probably hard to hear the knocking with how loud you play your music, but something isn’t running right with your engine.”
She slowed down and looked up at him with a smirk. Although they were still several feet from the hostess, the lighting was much brighter than it had been outside, and he was startled by how blue her eyes were.
“Sooo… how exactly could you tell that, if my music was so loud?” she asked, like she thought he was full of shit.
It was his turn to smirk. “By the smell.”
She stared at him for a moment before nodding with a small smile, as if she now believed he knew what he was talking about. “Thanks for the tip.”
He was reaching for a card to hand her when his phone started to ring. Whoever’s calling is dead. Instead of pulling his business card from his pocket, he pulled out his phone and glanced down to see a younger, prettier version of himself on his screen.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.”
“My favorite brother!” was Laura’s greeting. After that, he wasn’t really listening to her. He was too busy watching the vintage Vette girl talking to the hostess, and contemplating how he was going to talk to her again before he left tonight. There was something about her—Ben didn’t know if it was her taste in cars, her blue eyes, or her banging ass, but he was definitely intrigued. He assumed she was there for the same party he was; maybe he could approach her and casually tell her about the special they were having on carburetor adjustments this month.
Note to self: Let Frank know we’re having a special on carburetor adjustments this month.
“Ben! Have you heard a damn word I’ve said?”
With a chuckle, he admitted, “Sorry, sis. My mind is elsewhere.”
“Is she blonde or brunette?” He could tell she was rolling her eyes.
There was no use denying it. “Long, black hair. And the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t be fooled. They’re probably colored contacts.” Leave it to his little sister to ruin his fantasy.
“Anyway, Ben, can you make four o’clock for Sunday dinner or not? I’m sorry to change the time on you last minute, but I’ve got an interview on Monday, and I want to get home early Sunday night. Mom said she didn’t mind if you didn’t.”
“Anything for you, baby sister.”
“Thanks. Good luck with fake-blue-eyes,” she giggled, then hung up.
Fake or not, the thought of them looking up at him while she was on her knees with his cock in her mouth, maybe even as he leaned against her ride, made his dick jump in his pants.
Adjusting himself, he grinned. Yeah, that would definitely work.
Chapter Two
Ben
Ben reached inside his black leather jacket one more time to make sure the way-too-sentimental greeting card was still there. Then he ran his fingers through his brown mane to smooth any remnants of helmet hair and did a quick scan of the area, hoping to see at least one person he recognized before approaching the hostess behind the mahogany stand.
Not seeing anyone he knew, he finally walked up to her. She was a cute girl with pink, glossed lips, and she had been eye-fucking him the whole time he talked to his sister. “Can you direct me to the Holden party?”
The girl made a point of bending forward to show her cleavage while she checked the reservations book. If she was legal to drink, he’d be surprised. He chuckled to himself. Maybe in ten years, honey.
Shaking her head so her blonde ponytail swished back and forth, she gave him her best pout. “I’m sorry. There’s no party by that name.”
“How about Caulfield?”
The fact his buddy Sloane Holden was marrying Hannah Caulfield made him chuckle. It was embarrassing how many people didn’t get The Catcher in the Rye reference, so he didn’t even bother trying to joke about it anymore with anyone. He seriously doubted blondie would get it either.
She recognized the name Caulfield immediately. “Oh yes. They’re in the Rose Room. Let me show you.”
Ben was pretty sure he could have found it himself if she had po
inted him in the right direction—the hottie in the Vette seemed to have done just fine without an escort—but he suspected the hostess thought he’d be tempted by her sashaying hips if she walked ahead of him.
Not even a little bit, sweetheart.
As much as he didn’t want to be at this little shindig, he knew he’d have been an ass if he hadn’t shown up to help celebrate his buddy Sloane’s engagement. Ben was surrounded by happy couples—his guys at work, his trainer; hell, even the waitress at the little diner he liked to frequent. His former roommate, Luke, had married his baby-mama, Cassie. They were living at her beach house with their kids, so Ben had bought Luke’s house, which he’d once shared with his friend. He thought maybe he’d start his own happy family there—someday. His ex, however, had thought someday meant now, and when he didn’t take her hints and invite her to move in right away, she became defensive and manipulative—and finally gave him an ultimatum to put up or shut up.
He’d shut up.
That had been four months ago. But just because things hadn’t worked out for him and Margo didn’t mean Ben couldn’t be happy for his friends when it worked out for them. Tonight might be a little rough. Not because he was upset about the recent breakup—it was obviously for the best. But he wasn’t looking forward to the questions and the misguided sympathetic looks, or worse, the sympathetic hugs: the two back pats after the head tilt and the empathetic bottom lip jut. He knew there would be ladies at the party who would give their condolences while rubbing their tits against him and slipping him their number. He wasn’t looking for that tonight. Unless maybe it was the black-haired beauty he’d walked in with.
Ben thanked the young hostess with a knowing smirk as they approached the door clearly marked Rose Room, and walked away from her without another word. Sloane saw him the minute he walked in, and sauntered over with a shit-eating grin.
“Hey, fucker, glad you could make it!” he said as the two exchanged a fist-bump and then a man hug.
“Like I’d pass up a chance to drink on your dime.”
“I’m only paying for well, so you’re going to have to pony up your own dough for that Maker’s Mark shit you like.”
