Dirty Distractions (9 page)

Her voice died away at the blast of music and the clear baritone filling the humid space. The Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride” had been turned into a rocking anthem and played at a decibel that probably would’ve frightened away the customers, had there been any but her. And she wasn’t frightened by the sounds and sights, she was mesmerized.

Brad stood with his foot on an overturned barrel and his hands wrapped around a shiny wrench that had become his de facto microphone. He sang with his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he really were on stage. His hips rocked to the beat, and an infectious smile spread across his gorgeous face while he wailed through the song in a way she doubted the Beatles had ever anticipated.

Sara’s heart sped up to locomotive speed, and she gripped the strap of her purse, barely able to keep from rushing across the room and tackling him. How in God’s name had she ever resisted him for a minute, never mind months? He sang with complete inhibition. Totally in the moment. Completely absorbed and happy. The way he did everything else.

Especially the way he made love.

She couldn’t keep from grinning while the last notes faded away and the couple of mechanics around Brad laughed and smacked him on the back. Without conscious intention, she started to clap, continuing even when Brad’s head swung sharply in her direction. His eyes widened to take her in, then shifted and narrowed at the sight of the man crowding close to her side.

Ignoring his suddenly tightened jaw, she strode forward and gestured to his battered boots. “So where’s your tip jar? I want to show my appreciation.” The sentiment came out huskier than she’d intended, and she swallowed at the hungry look that stole over Brad’s face.

He set aside the wrench and flicked off the radio. The sudden silence was deafening. His employees, most of them wearing blue overalls and ball caps, had all fallen mute at her and Derek’s arrival.

She glanced down at her outfit. Yes, she was dressed professionally, but did she stick out
that
much? She didn’t want to make Brad’s friends uncomfortable.

Any more uncomfortable than she was anyway.

“In front of all these people? Dr. Carmichael, you surprise me.” Though another smile replaced the one that had fled his face the instant he’d seen Sara, there was no mistaking the hardness of his features as he turned toward Derek. “Winters. Never seen the likes of you at our humble shop.”

Derek sniffed. Literally sniffed. “That display you put on could be why.”

Brad’s smile widened. “Aw, come on, man. I was gonna ask you to duet with me. How about ’The Bitch Is Back’?”

She hid her smirk behind her hand and coughed delicately. “Derek gave me a ride because my car died. He’s probably got a lot of important things to get to. Don’t you, Derek?”

Derek frowned. “Actually, no, I—”

Brad’s amusement disappeared. “Your car died? Where?”

“Not far from here at all. At the bottom of Stockholm Hill.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” He looked from her to Derek. “Unless you have an arrangement with Winters I don’t know about.”

And the caveman arrives, right on schedule.
She lifted a brow. Engaging him in sexually charged banter when there were witnesses wasn’t smart. Hell, when there weren’t witnesses it wasn’t smart either, at least until she came to terms with how she wanted to handle this situation. “I came here to see if one of your techs could go get my car. Is that possible?”

He walked around the counter and grabbed a set of keys off a hook. “I’ll go get your car. The waiting room’s empty.”

‘“We’re about to close—” one of the other mechanics interjected.

Brad silenced him with a look. “You’re off the hook, Masters, and not because it’s quitting time. I’ve got her. Get out of here.”

The guy immediately adopted a hangdog expression any puppy would envy. “Boss, I can stay. Was just saying.”

“It’s all right. I know Brit’s got a big night tonight. Piano recital, right?”

“Yeah. Her first. Her and her momma are about to burst.” The mechanic glanced at Sara and gave her an apologetic smile. “Pardon me, Dr. Carmichael. I got a little ahead of myself.”

“No problem.” She glanced at his nametag and returned his smile. “Enjoy your night, Kevin.”

“Thanks. You sure, boss?”

Brad waved him on. “Hug Brit extra hard for me. Now get out.”

Sara glanced around and realized the rest of the mechanics had vanished. There had only been a handful of them, but they’d scattered like rats. Either because it was quitting time or because Brad had leveled Derek with some sort of pee-laced death ray that had struck him dumb. Maybe they were afraid of getting hit by stray male pheromones.

“You need a ride back too, Winters?” Brad jingled his keys. “Otherwise, I’d like to get to Sara’s vehicle before dark.”

Derek looked at Sara as if he hadn’t spoken. “Are you sure you’d rather not go to Quickie Lube? Much more professional service there. I’d be happy to drive you.”

“I bet,” Brad muttered.

“No, I’m fine here. Thank you for the ride, Derek. I appreciate it.”

With a noise that sounded dangerously close to
harrumph
, Derek left. His Mustang roared out of the lot a moment later.

Brad tucked his keys in his pocket and took his sweet time wiping his hands. She had no doubt his slowness was intentional. The guy sure knew how to stew. “Ready?” he asked, finally picking up his keys again.

“Sure.” She gripped her purse. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He led her out and locked the door, affirming her opinion that the place had emptied out shortly after her arrival. She’d always been good at clearing rooms. “You sure you’ll be okay in my truck?” He glanced at her slim skirt and heels. “We do have a waiting area. Nothing fancy enough to suit ice-dick Winters, but it’s clean.”

She hated that she wanted to giggle. First, because she shouldn’t be laughing at the moniker “ice-dick” after Derek had been nice enough to give her a ride. Secondly, because she knew to do so would encourage Brad’s macho posturing. Something he seemed to have a handle on all on his own.

“I’ve been here before, you know. And your big truck doesn’t scare me.” Deliberately she ran her gaze up and down his body. She took advantage of his astonishment and grabbed hold of the passenger door before he could, hauling herself inside with only a minimum of awkwardness.

And if she flashed a little leg while doing so, oh well.

He joined her in the cabin and pulled out of the lot. “You could’ve called me. You
should’ve
called me rather than him.”

It was awfully difficult to think straight when Brad’s oddly arousing scent of motor oil, a hint of sweat and his spicy aftershave had overtaken her brain. “You think I called Derek?”

“Didn’t you?”

She sighed and tugged at a loose thread on her skirt. “Look, Brad, we slept together. You didn’t slap a cuff on my ankle or a band on my ring finger.”

He shot her a glance that could’ve frozen hot lava. “Duly noted, Doctor.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m just saying there’s no need for…this.” She waved a hand between them. “But for your information, I didn’t call him. He drove by. I was going to call you.”

He didn’t say anything more until he’d hooked her car up to the hitch on the back of his truck and they’d returned to the shop. “I’ll drop you off and come back here. It’ll be ready for you in the a.m., assuming I don’t need parts.”

“But it’s past eight. The shop’s closed.”

“I’m the boss, remember? And you need a car tomorrow for work.” He mopped his grease-stained arm over his forehead, ruffling his already distractingly messy hair. “Go home and watch some TV with Kim. Unless you have other plans.”

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms. “No. I don’t have plans. Not tonight anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the benefit’s getting closer.” She resisted the urge to scuff her toe over the asphalt as she peered up at him in the thin yellow beam of light over the door. “Are you coming with me or not?”

Cocking his head, he scratched his jaw. “Sure that won’t cramp your style? Since I don’t clean up nearly as nice as you do,” he drawled, taking his own slow perusal of her body.

“Don’t be daft.”

“Can’t help it, sweetheart. I don’t have a fancy doctorate. My only education’s in what I can do with my hands.” He flexed them and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Though I don’t get a lot of complaints there.”

“More childish posturing.” She shook her head and turned around, of half a mind to walk home even in her heels. It was a nice night, warm and breezy, and the house wasn’t far. They both could stand to cool off, far away from each other. “Give me a call when you’re ready to—”

She wasn’t expecting his hand to lock around her arm or for him to haul her straight back into his chest. Goddamn, it was like a brick wall encased in sleek muscle and smooth, golden skin. She remembered exploring it with her fingers. Her tongue.

“Going somewhere, Doc?” His sultry question stirred the hair beside her ear.

Her breath lodged in her throat, the same place her pulse was beating like a hummingbird on Red Bull. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Says your brain. Your body? Not so much.” Proving his point, he dragged his wide hand down the front of her silky blouse, veering upward to blatantly cup her breast at the same time he nipped her earlobe. She let out a sound that wasn’t quite a moan, but it also wasn’t a protest. “Your nipples are already hard for me.”

Though she knew he routinely wiped his hands—at least in her presence—she checked her pristine blouse to make sure there were no visible fingerprints. Not that she even cared about harming the fabric. She’d rather not advertise the “I got felt up” factor. “We’re standing in the parking lot of your business.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Idly, he circled his hips and brought her ass in direct contact with the hard column in his jeans that was most certainly
not
his wallet. “Kinda hot, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t easy to pull off disdain when he had his fingers on her painfully stiff nipple, but she refused to give up without a fight. “I’ve never needed to get my thrills in public.”

“So let’s go inside and get them there. I have a nice, wide counter we could put to excellent use.”

God, she was tempted. “We were in the middle of a fight.”

“Were we? Maybe that’s why I’m so goddamn horny. Or it could be this skirt, wrapped so tightly around your ass that my balls haven’t stopped throbbing since you stepped into my shop.” He stroked his finger along the edge of her thong through her skirt, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering. “You’re wet. You know you are. This isn’t only me feeling this.”

“No,” she whispered shakily, afraid if she didn’t admit the truth he’d find out for himself. Right there, where anyone could drive by and see.

And damn it all, his crude language and unabashed touch
did
make her hot. Apparently he wanted her so much he didn’t care who watched. No one else existed for them.

It didn’t even matter if he’d used that same counter line with another woman, or whispered the same hot, dirty words to her. Though she was the older one, he could show her new things, and she’d explore them eagerly. Gratefully.

“That fucker kept looking at your legs, and all I kept thinking about was having them around my neck again. Watching you splinter apart around me while I bury my cock so deep in you that you can’t take it.” He closed his hand around her breast, squeezing and releasing until her head dropped back against his shoulder. “But you do. You beg for it, even knowing it’s too much.”

She shut her eyes against the bright flare of the moon in the sky. Everything felt too sharp and dazzling, the needs inside her too huge to ignore. “Do you know how long it’s been since a man’s made me feel this way?”

His swift inhale told her everything she wanted to know. He didn’t have a problem being honest about his feelings. Unlike her. “As long as you don’t say forty-five minutes ago when Winters left, I think I can handle the answer.”

Laughing, she turned in his arms and smeared her thumb over a dab of oil on his cheek. His jaw was darker with stubble, and she hadn’t even noticed because she’d been so determined not to pay attention to him. Yet another stupid move from someone who pretended she was so smart.

“I’ve never felt like this.” She lowered her gaze when his demanding stare grew too heady. “I don’t know if it’s because you’re supposed to be forbidden, or if I’m at a sexual peak before the thing shrivels up entirely, but God, I can’t get enough of you.”

His low laughter surprised her almost as much as it aroused. “Know what your problem is? You keep thinking about numbers and letters after names instead of what matters in here.” He placed his hand between her breasts and her heart quickened. “Stop thinking so damn much.”

Her face flamed. Did he really think she was that shallow?
Was
she that shallow? “I don’t care about any of that.”

He chuckled. “Right.”

“No, I don’t. But other people will think I’m some kind of predator—”

“Aren’t you?” He waggled his brows. “Didn’t you want to maul me naked the moment you walked in my shop and saw me massacring the Beatles?”

She fought not to smile and lost. “I suppose.”

“Huh. For a first attempt at honesty, I’ll take it.”

“Hey, I’ve always been honest. Mostly.” She let out a whoop as he swept her up into his arms. “What are you doing?”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Following my instincts. Gotta prevent that shriveling malady as long as we can.”

Chapter Seven

Brad carried Sara into his shop, intent on depositing her on the counter and indulging every prurient urge he’d ever felt in her direction. On the way across the concrete, his gaze darted from the grimy fingerprints on the phone to the messy pile of customer invoices to the ragged pair of work gloves hanging from a hook on the wall.

Then he looked at Sara, draped like a present in his arms. Long, silky brown hair clinging to glossy lips, eyes bright with excitement. Prim and proper blouse, skirt and heels wreaking hell on his already full-throttle sex drive.