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)
“If a young woman with black hair comes in looking for a room tonight, you’re full,” I grunted.
The silence lasted only a second before the man answered, “Absolutely, Gauge.”
“Don’t tell her I called, and don’t suddenly find a vacancy because she gives you attitude.”
“Understood.”
“Good.”
I hung up and slid the phone back into my pocket, feeling entirely too satisfied with myself. A better man might have felt a little guilty about interfering with her plans, but I’d never claimed to be one. Riley wanted a cheap motel because she thought she had to keep moving on her own. I wanted her somewhere safe, close, and behind security I trusted. Between the two of us, my plan was better.
Still, I knew better than to let her see that when she came back. Riley had enough pride to power a small city, and if she suspected I’d arranged this, she’d probably try sleeping in the truck out of spite. I headed into my office, shut the door halfway, and dropped onto my chair with a stack of work orders waiting on the desk. I approved parts, shifted schedules, and answered three messages from racers who all believed their emergencies mattered more than everyone else’s. My hands moved through the work automatically, but my attention kept drifting toward the front lot while I waited for Riley to return.
Because she would come back.
And when she did, I was going to make damn sure she stayed.
4
GAUGE
Less than an hour later, the truck rolled back into the lot. I saw it on the camera feed before I heard the engine, the grainy black-and-white image catching the truck as it turned off the road and swung through the front gate. Riley pulled in carefully, parked in the spot beside the customer entrance, and sat there for a few seconds with both hands braced on the wheel.
Even through the camera, I could read the set of her shoulders. She was tired, irritated, and trying to gather herself before walking back into a garage where she didn’t want anyone to know she’d run out of options. That should have made me feel like a bastard.
But it didn’t.
I watched her climb out with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, her black hair falling forward as she locked the truck and headed toward the door. The sight of her coming back into my shop hit me harder than it should have, satisfaction rolling through me that had nothing to do with winning and everything to do with knowing she was back where I could see her.
I wiped the expression off my face before she came through the door, because Riley looked like the kind of woman who’d rather sleep in a ditch than accept help if she thought somebody was too pleased about offering it. By the time she stepped inside, I was already looking down at a stack of invoices like I hadn’t been waiting for her return with the focus of a man tracking a pressure gauge in the red.
As she crossed the shop floor, a couple of mechanics looked up, noticed the duffel, clocked my expression through the window to my office, and suddenly became fascinated with whatever they were working on. Smart fuckers.
I pushed back from my desk and walked out to her slowly enough that she wouldn’t think I’d been watching the camera like some possessive asshole even though that was exactly what I’d been doing. The closer she got, the more I noticed the strain around her mouth, the faint flush on her cheeks from embarrassment or anger, and the tight grip she had on the bag strap cutting across her shoulder.
“Where do you want me to park the Mustang while we wait for the parts to come in?” she asked the second I was within earshot.
She didn’t mention the motel being full. Or needing somewhere to sleep, because of course she fucking didn’t. Riley had pride, sass, and a survival instinct that apparently came with a built-in refusal to admit when she was cornered.
I respected the hell out of it, even as it made me want to throw her over my shoulder, lock her somewhere safe, and explain later when she was less likely to run on fumes and stubbornness.
I let my gaze drop to the duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, then brought it back to her face. “You’re not sleeping in your car.”
Her eyes narrowed fast enough to make heat kick through me. “I didn’t say I was sleeping in my car.”
“You were about to.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know plenty.”
“You know my car is broken,” she shot back, shifting the bag higher on her shoulder as if she could hide how heavy it looked. “That doesn’t make you psychic.”
“No, but you asking where to park it tells me you were planning to crawl into the back seat and pretend that was a reasonable solution.” I kept my voice even because the last thing I needed was her hearing how badly the image pissed me off. The Mustang’s back seat wasn’t fit for a woman already running on too little sleep. “That isn’t happening.”