Test Drive (20 page)

Sam opened and closed his mouth. Then sat with a sigh. “You suck.” He poured them all beers, having even brought Johnny a glass, then drank.

Johnny drank with him, pleased to have shut Sam up. Even Foley remained quiet. Now if only he could win over Lara as easily…

* * *

She followed him home without issue. He made sure to drive slowly enough so as not to lose her, after he’d texted her his address and directions. He really didn’t want her bailing on his invitation.

The whole ride home he kept wondering how to handle tonight. Yeah, he wanted sex. He wanted it hard, slow, then fast and intense. Everything and anything with Lara. But more than that, he wanted her to enjoy it, to crave it—with him.

They parked in his driveway, and he walked her to the front door, glad for the darkness that shrouded his bare lawn and abysmal gardening skills. The evergreens by the garage had grown wild, and he’d never had more than dead weeds bordering the front. The paint job could use another coat, but at least the cold made mowing the lawn unnecessary. Dormant gray grass seemed kept enough.

“This is your place, huh? Not what I was expecting.”

He didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or compliment.

“I mean, I don’t see any poles or dancers.” She sneered at him before losing the expression to a building laugh.

He shook his head, more than amused. As much as she liked to bring up his association—through
his father
—with strip clubs, she didn’t seem put off by it. “Such a smart-ass.” He unlocked the door and ushered her inside, then locked it behind them. It was all he could do not to rub his hands together gleefully and chortle like a villain.
Lovely Lara Valley, all to myself…

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I have dinner for you.”

“Really?” She looked surprised. “Like, a cooked dinner, or Hot Pockets?”

He frowned. “Hey, I can order in like anybody else.” He motioned to the stove, where the oven remained on a low setting, keeping his Homemade-By-Diatavio’s main dish warm. “A lasagna, waiting just for you.”

She stared from it to him. “You left the oven on when you weren’t home? That’s not safe.” At his frown, she gave him a too-bright smile. “But, um, thanks.” Her smile turned genuine. “A hot dinner will really hit the spot, actually. And I love lasagna.”

A fact he knew. He’d gathered many from Rena, Amelia, Kay, and even Lara. And now that Rena owed him a favor, she sang like a canary whenever he asked about his favorite bartending nurse. It helped that she clearly wanted him and Lara to get together. “Cool. There’s some salad in the fridge, some beer and wine too. Unless you want tea or water.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.” She opened the oven door, and a hearty aroma made his stomach grumble. “You sure you want to eat at one thirty in the morning? I skipped dinner, but I can’t imagine you did.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re huge. Guys as big as you always need to eat.”

He wanted to preen, because she considered him big. Working at the garage surrounded by beefheads had a tendency to make him feel small, though he knew damn well he had muscle and breadth of shoulder to spare. Good thing he had a healthy confidence to fall back on.

“Well, sure, I had dinner. But I can always go for something more. Second dinner sounds great.” The idea of a Hobbit “second breakfast” hit, but he didn’t want to geek out in front of her. Johnny had an image to maintain, after all.

“If you don’t mind, can we eat now? I’m more hungry than I’d thought.”

He seated her at his table, wondering what she thought of the place as she subtly glanced around. While he put food on a plate and dished her a side of salad, he took a look at his home and tried to see it through her eyes.

His mismatched couches and chairs were clean but tacky. Even he knew that. The gray walls had been that color when he’d moved in a few years ago, but the big-ass TV and stereo were all his. He had a few pictures of his dad and the guys at work. One shot of him, Liam, and Del he treasured, as well as a few pictures of muscle cars on the walls. Johnny wasn’t the neatest guy, but he ran a clean place. He dusted regularly, and his stacks of crap—mostly auto rags and the occasional literary magazine he’d buried so as not to be revealed as a nerd—had an orderliness to them. He didn’t like dirt, and he didn’t own much, but what he did own provided comfort and function over style.

Except when it came to cars or women, Johnny preferred cheap and easy living.

“Eat up,” he said as he sat next to her. He watched her like a hawk, hoping she liked the meal. So the salad looked a little soggy. He probably should have waited until he’d gotten home to put the dressing on. But whatever, he’d kept it cool in the refrigerator. And come on, the lasagna from Diatavio’s was killer good.

She made a face and tried to cover it with a smile. “This is great, thanks.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He frowned and took a bite of lasagna. Half of it was cold. Then he speared the soggy salad, took a bite, and nearly spat it out. “Well, shit.”

Her lips quirked. “It, er, was really nice of you to put this together. Was the lasagna frozen, by any chance, when you got it?”

“Yeah,” he growled, thoroughly embarrassed.
Smooth, Johnny. Real smooth.
“But I put it in at the temp the guy said. I think.” Hell. He normally used the oven to dry out his winter gear when it got wet, because the fireplace had yet to be fully functional. Even after four years.

“How long were you supposed to cook it?”

“A few hours, I think.” He felt like an idiot. “The salad is just gross.”

“Well, uh, yeah, it is. You should really wait on dressing until right before you eat it. Unless it’s a vinaigrette you want to marinate a little. Like a few minutes, maybe?” She shrugged. “Hey, I’m no chef. And this was very nice. I really appreciate the effort.”

The cupboards were bare; he needed to go grocery shopping again, so he had nothing else to give her. “I can go out and—”

“It’s no big deal. I’m not that hungry, actually.”

At that moment her stomach grumbled, and he couldn’t contain a pained laugh. “You really suck at lying.”

Her cheeks flushed. Ms. Nice caught telling a lie. “Okay, I’m a little hungry.”

“Yeah, me too. Even though I drank a few beers and had a few peanuts at Ray’s, I can always eat more than one dinner.”

“I don’t know where you put it all.” She patted her stomach. “I even look at a beer wrong, and I gain five pounds.”

“Want to look at a beer wrong right now?
That
I know I have.”

“Why not?”

He fetched her a bottle and popped one for himself. Then he remembered his stash. “Be right back.”

He returned the victor and held out his spoils. “May I present…dinner.”

Chapter 12

Lara glanced from the package of strawberry licorice in Johnny’s hand to his sparkling green eyes. Beer and licorice. The dinner of champions.

He was so cute actually trying to serve her a meal. He really hadn’t been luring her back to his place for sex. Color her amazed. That he’d gone to so much trouble made her want to hug his embarrassment away. But really, beer and Twizzlers?

She took a piece of licorice and ate it, watching as he did the same. He guzzled his beer after, so she figured he combined the two often. When she drank after eating the candy, she wanted to undo the past ten seconds of her life.

“Ew. That is so—” At his eager expression, she amended
disgusting
to “unexpected.” Not quite a lie.

He laughed. “It’s an acquired taste. Trust me. You don’t want to eat the black stuff then drink a beer. Totally nasty. But a whip of red, then a nice pilsner, and you’ll start to see the light. Come on.” He nodded to the living room. “How about a tour?”

“If you’re offering…” She was dying to see his house.

What she’d seen so far fit him. The place had good bones but a rough veneer. Order and cleanliness under a poor sense of taste. Seriously, who had brown and green plaid couches anymore? But Johnny didn’t seem to care about appearances. For all that he looked like a model, he saw beneath the surface on so many levels.

Before she followed him back into the living room, she turned off his oven, still drooling at the thought of a Diatavio lasagna. She joined him as he pointed out his amazing sound system and big-screen TV. Typical guy.

“And through there”—he nodded at the hallway—“are four bedrooms. I use one as a weight room, another as a study. The other two for actual sleeping.”

“Oh, a study. I only have the one bedroom, but you saw that.” She felt embarrassed at living in such a meager abode compared to this spacious one. “You rent, or did you buy this place?”

“Rent.” He shrugged. “The landlady is a sweetheart. I do all the upkeep, and she makes sure the rent stays the same. It’s a nice neighborhood, and with a little more care, this house would rock. I just don’t want to pour a lot of effort and money into a house I’m renting. If I owned it, then yeah, I’d get it perfect. It’s home, and it’s comfy. Works for me.”

He pointed out his weight room and spare bedroom—which had nothing in it. Johnny apparently didn’t entertain much overnight. At least, not in a bed not his own.

“And this… The place where all the magic happens.”

“Between you and rosy palm or what?” she couldn’t help muttering.

He heard her and laughed. “You wound me.” Still chuckling, he added, “But I deserve it after my pathetic attempt to feed you. No, Lara, this is my office.”

She looked inside at rows of…
books
. “You’re a reader?”

He no longer looked so pleased. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I can’t help it. Okay, I get that you have a bazillion books on cars and manuals about how to fix them. But biographies? History books? Hey, is that Shakespeare? Edgar Allen Poe?” She goggled. “
Tolkien?
Holy crap. I think I even see a bible.”

“Nah, that’s not mine.” He shrugged. “That I found on the street.”

She saw a pile of books near it that seemed a little worse for wear. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about being religious.”

“I’m not.” He didn’t sound defensive. “I saw that literally lying in an alley near the garage. Nobody was near it, and no way I’d let a book just linger like that. Such a sad fate for words on a page.”

Yet another quirky facet of Johnny Devlin. The man was a bookworm. It only added to his appeal. The sexy-as-hell muscle-bound mechanic slash book nerd. There were too many books with creased spines to think he had them in his study merely to impress others.

I am so getting a piece of this man tonight.

He nodded to her beer. “How’s the combo treating you?”

She took another bite of licorice, then another tentative sip. “Shockingly, it’s starting to taste okay. And I’m not drunk, so that’s me admitting,
sober
, that I might like this.”

“Told you.”

“Smug is not your best look,” she said drily and followed him out of his study.

“You sure about that?”

Damn him, he had a point. Johnny looked amazing no matter what. Angry, happy, mischievous. She couldn’t say she’d ever seen him sad though. Frustrated or aggrieved, but not griev
ing
. “Okay, Mr. Arrogant. What now?” She wiggled her brows, clearly mocking him. “Is this where we pause so you can show me your etchings?”

They’d stopped outside his bedroom door standing side by side. “Would it work?”

She decided to go big. She took another bite of candy and followed with a swig of beer. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

She couldn’t read the look he shot her, but she followed him into his bedroom, intending to learn more.

This was most likely the room where the magic truly happened. He had a king-size bed. Go figure. A clean nightstand with a few books on it, an alarm clock, and a bedside light. A large closet with closed doors took up one wall. A tall dresser and hamper took up another. He had no mirror or other clutter in the bedroom. Nothing at all but a gorgeous, antique armoire that seemed out of place among the mission style furniture.

“No silk sheets?” she teased.

He didn’t smile back.

She nibbled the candy and drank again, feeling his stare to her toes.

“Nah,” he said slowly, still fixated on her. “You slide too much on silk. And I like to plant myself firmly at the start.”

“The start?” she croaked.

He moved closer, took the beer from her hand and set it on the dresser, then drew the candy to her mouth. “Take another bite.” She did. “Now give me some.” She held it to his mouth, and he ate from her hand, taking the last piece.

Dear Jesus, the guy even made chewing look like erotic art, and she couldn’t look away as she swallowed the candy, a lump down her throat.

“I like when you swallow,” he murmured. “You have no idea how many times I’ve replayed our last date in my mind.” He kissed her, fast and barely there. “Those firm lips wrapped around me, swallowing me down.” He kissed her again. “You really had me by the balls. Literally.”

She wanted to laugh but couldn’t draw in a breath. Instead, she stared into his eyes, trapped by the desire there.

“I was desperate for you. Would have done anything you wanted for you to finish.” He stroked her cheek. “I want that for you. For you to feel that kind of need.”

“Oh.” Not the most intelligent response, but she couldn’t think past her sexual glands.

“You like when I kiss you?”

“I-I do.” She moaned into his lips when he sipped at her mouth. Good Lord, he’d put on the full-court press, and she hadn’t been prepared. She’d figured to seduce
him
again, not be the one trapped by her libido.

“You taste so fucking good.” The obscenity got lost under his groan. He kissed her with a hungry desperation. One she felt too.

She found herself clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer, shoving her breasts against his broad chest, and riding that long ridge of his desire against her belly.

His hands began moving, over her clothing everywhere, but not delving beneath.

Frustrated because, though he kissed her with fervor, he seemed way too slow in trying to get her naked, she tore herself from his hold, took the hem of her shirt, and whipped it over her head.