Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
That was the part I couldn’t shake. Her looks were enough to make any man with a pulse take notice, and I wasn’t going to pretend my cock hadn’t noticed the way her fitted tank clung to the soft weight of her tits or how those worn jeans hugged the curve of her hips when she shifted her stance.
She was probably around five-six, toned from real work, with a small scar through her left eyebrow over deep brown eyes. Pretty wasn’t a strong enough word for her, not when there was nothing delicate about the way she stood in my shop with grease under her nails, a duffel strap digging into one shoulder, and enough attitude to make me want to see exactly how much of that mouth she’d keep once I had her pinned under me.
The thought hit hard, tightening my body until my jeans felt too tight. I wanted to know if she’d argue when I put her where I wanted her or if all that sassiness would melt into something sweet when I got my hands on her.
I wanted to strip away the road weariness, set her on the edge of my workbench, spread those thighs, and find out if she tasted as good as she looked. The image came fast enough that I had to drag my attention back to the conversation before I did something idiotic, but even that didn’t cool me down much because the attraction wasn’t only physical. The thing that really had its hooks in me was the way she knew machines. She hadn’t memorized terms to sound impressive, and she sure as fuck hadn’t guessed. There weren’t many things in this world hotter than a woman who could look at a broken engine and diagnose the problem before most people knew there was an issue.
Riley glanced toward her Mustang sitting in bay two, and the slight tension that moved through her face told me plenty. She was considering the job.
I could see it in the way her gaze moved from the car to the shop floor and then back to me, measuring what staying would cost her. The way her eyes tracked the lifts, tool chests, bikes, the half-stripped race car in the next bay, and the organized mess of a shop that ran on pressure and precision told me she liked what she saw more than she wanted to admit.
Her hesitation came from somewhere else. Taking the job meant stopping, and that clearly hadn’t been part of her plan.
The woman needed work if she couldn’t afford to fix her ride. Any mechanic with half a brain would have jumped at an offer from a place like The Pit if they were stranded and broke. Riley looked like she wanted to say yes but couldn’t quite bring herself to.
I didn’t think it was pride, though. More like fear. She was good at hiding it, but I still saw the pressure building behind those pretty eyes.
She finally blew out a slow breath, tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag, and nodded. “Okay.”
The satisfaction that rolled through me was strong enough that I had to lock down my expression. I’d made deals worth more money than most men saw in a lifetime, handled engines that cost more than houses, and watched racers win because of work I’d done with my own hands. But a half-broke woman agreeing to temporary work in my garage made me feel like I’d just won something more important.
“Okay?” I asked, because apparently I was enough of an asshole to want to hear her say it again.
Her eyes narrowed, and the look she gave me had heat moving through me all over again. “Don’t make it weird.”
I laughed before I couldn’t stop myself. “Too late.”
The corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but didn’t trust the impulse. The slight curve of her lips hit me straight in the chest and made me want to earn a real one, which was dangerous thinking for a man who’d known her less than an hour. But I’d never been the kind of man who needed years to know when something mattered.
Machines told you what they were if you knew how to listen. People did too.
Riley had walked into The Pit with a busted Mustang and trouble behind her, and my body, my instincts, and every possessive piece of me had lined up around one conclusion before my brain bothered pretending to argue.
She was mine.
Then she asked, “Where’s the nearest motel?”
Every bit of humor drained out of me, but I didn’t let it show in my expression because losing my shit would have tipped my hand too soon. I hated the idea before she finished asking.
Crossbend belonged to the Redline Kings MC,, but even in the surrounding towns, most people with sense knew better than to start trouble in our territory. That didn’t mean I wanted Riley alone in some roadside room with weak locks, bad lighting, and nobody between her and whatever the hell had made her look ready to run.