Her Rough Mechanic Read online

  Somehow, I drag myself back from the edge. Damn, maybe it’s been way too long since I’ve been with a woman. It’s been years, actually. I guess maybe that’s why I’m staring at this girl’s ass like it’s my prize to claim. I suck air through my teeth and step away from her. I somehow drag my eyes away, too, and squeeze them shut. She’s too young. She’s too innocent looking, even if she is a little brat. She’s got no business being around a rough, grimy guy like me, just like I’ve got no business imagining peeling that thong down with my teeth before licking her little pussy making her come on my tongue.

  I need to get ahold of myself. Right now. I turn away and walk back towards the truck. The car door shuts behind me, and I glance over my shoulder and see Annabelle with a small designer wheeled suitcase and a matching bag over her shoulder.

  “All set?” She nods. “You put it in neutral?” Annabelle frowns, but I just shake my head. “I’ll get it.”

  She shrugs and walks around the truck. I open her car door and duck in to put the Aston Martin in neutral. But then, something catches my attention. There’s a newspaper on the passenger seat, and smack-dab on the front page is a picture of a good-looking older guy smiling and waving, surrounded by American flags on a stage. The headline says, “Gov. Chisholm Surges Ahead in Polls for Senate Race,” but that’s not what catches my eye. What stops me is that standing behind him and a little to the left, smiling a fake smile and looking just as bratty and beautiful as she did standing in my shop, is Annabelle.

  3

  Annabelle

  When Rowan gets into my car, I have a moment of panic when I remember the newspaper I left sitting on the seat. I swear to myself and worriedly look back toward my car. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to do much else but shift my car into neutral before he slides back out and closes the door. I watch him in the review mirror, looking for signs of him knowing who I am. But he walks back cool as a cucumber, which I take as a no that he didn’t see it.

  It’s not like I’m walking around with a wig and fake glasses on or anything. But after this latest college picture fiasco, I do want to be as unknown as I can. Especially out here in hicksville nowhere-land. Rowan says nothing as he secures my car onto the flatbed, starts the truck up, and slowly pulls us around to head back into town. I keep sneaking glances at him the whole way back, trying to see if he’s figured out that I’m the daughter of a very, very high-profile politician. But he’s a blank canvas. A very hot blank canvas, that is.

  A naughty heat blooms inside of me as I keep glancing at him. He’s gorgeous in a way I’m not used to. It’s like a dirty, off-limits, dangerous sort of gorgeous, and it’s got me squirming in my seat while I drink him in. I’ve known plenty of handsome guys growing up in the upper crust circles my father travels in. But they’ve all been a polished good looking. Like, “country-club” handsome. They wear pressed, button up Brooke’s Brothers shirts and pleated pants. They’re clean, and manicured, and perfectly put together with three-hundred-dollar haircuts and even tans.

  Rowan breaks the mold. He’s scruffy in a way that makes me quiver in places it shouldn’t. He’s dirty in a way that gets my pulse going and my skin tingling. He’s all muscles, brawn, and sexiness, and the more I stare at him, the more I squirm and clench my legs together. I seriously need to get ahold of myself.

  We pull up to the garage, and I get out before Rowan backs the truck up to an empty bay. I watch while he unloads my car and then parks the truck out front before he steps back in.

  “How long will this take?”

  He looks at me with a mix of amusement and annoyance on his face. “I’m not a magician, sweetheart.”

  “I thought I asked you not to call me that.”

  He smiles roguishly. “Did you prefer brat?”

  “I don’t know, do you prefer grubby asshole?” Rowan laughs deeply, and I scowl. “My name is Annabelle,” I huff. “So you can call me that.”

  “Fine, Annabelle,” he says through a chuckle. “But I’m still not a magician. I’ll need to check out the car and let you know. What happened out on the road?”

  “It died”

  He sighs heavily. “I mean was there a loud noise? Did it just quit out on you or was it a slow break down?”

  “I don’t know,” I snap. I know I’m acting like a bitch, but it’s like I can’t even help it. “I was driving, and then the car just turned off.”

  “The radio go out first?”

  I frown, thinking back. “Yeah, actually. It did.”

  He nods. “Might be the alternator. I’m going to take a look though. If you want, my office is through there if you want to call anyone or whatever.”

  I snort. “Your office, huh?”

  He looks up at me with a quelling look on his face. “Are you on the spectrum?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Do you have a condition that makes it hard for you to speak to other humans?”

  I scowl at him. “No?”

  “Then quit acting like a spoiled little bitch,” he snaps. “My office is through there, or you can fuck right off wherever you want and check back later. Up to you.”

  My jaw drops open as he turns back to my car and pops the hood. I’ve never once been spoken to like this. I’m incensed, but if we’re being honest, I’m also something else: turned on. I can feel my cheeks burning as I simmer under the sharpness of his words. Rowan ignores me as he ducks under the hood and starts to poke around. I’m staring at him, probably looking pissed. But on the inside, I’m burning up. I quickly shake it off, though.

  “Fine,” I snap back. “I’ll be in your stupid office.”

  “Don’t break anything.”

  “I’m not going to touch anything,” I mutter.

  Rowan just rolls his eyes when I turn and stomp off. I find his office without any trouble, and it’s actually pretty nice inside. It’s clean, and tidy, and missing the Playboy pinups on the walls that I imagined I’d find in here. A big steel framed window looks out behind the garage, where it looks like someone’s been doing some pretty serious gardening. And a bunch of plants hang in front of the window too.

  I slump into his office chair and pull out my cellphone. I’ve been dreading this part since he’s going to think I’m bullshitting him. But I need to call my dad and let him know what’s going on. I dial his number and sink back in the chair as it rings.

  “Annabelle?”

  “Hey, dad.”

  “Are you in L.A. already?”

  I scrunch up my face and take a breath. “Not exactly?”

  I hear him sigh heavily. “Where are you, honey?”

  “My car broke down. I’m in Arizona in this crappy little town.”

  “Jesus, honey,” my dad gasps. “Are you okay? Where exactly are you?”

  “I’m fine, yeah. A cop gave me a ride into town, and the car is at a shop now. I’m in this shithole called Silvervale.”

  “Language, Annabelle.”

  I roll my eyes. “Really? Dad, I’ve had a day.”

  My dad ignores the last part. “Well I’m glad you’re okay. Listen, honey, there’s been a development in the plan. The little punk who took those regrettable pictures of you at that party caved. He’s going to hand them over and delete any copies for the offer we made him.”

  I smile broadly. “Wait, so I can come home?”

  “Well…”

  Uh-oh. “Dad?”

  “Not exactly. The pictures aren’t going to leak, but instead, someone leaked the rehab visit. So now the place is surrounded by the press and they’re calling every five minutes trying to get the story of why my daughter is going to detox.”

  I groan and bury my face in my hands. “So, Jessica’s plan just blew up in my damn face?”

  “Our faces. And sort of. Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker so she can run you through all of this.”

  A second later, I hear Jessica’s whiney voice. “Hey Annabelle girl!” I roll my eyes. Jessica is one-part annoying, one-part cold bitch, and t
wo-parts definitely trying to get with my dad. “So yeah, we’re going to deny the rehab story, obviously. Instead, we’re going to say you’re off hiking with friends.”

  “So, I can come back now?”

  “Well, not quite. You being around and being in the spotlight will most likely keep the buzz on the rumor going. If you’re gone though, it should fizzle out.”

  “Gone?”

  “We need you to lay low, Annabelle. The story we’re pushing is that you’re on a hiking trip with some friends for the next week. Maybe two. Just until this whole thing blows over.”

  I frown. “Lay low where? L.A.?”

  Jessica laughs. “Oh my no. It’s far too public. But actually, your car trouble might be exactly what we need. So, I’m Googling it now, and it seems like there’s a nice little motel right in town there in Silvervale.”

  “Nooo, no, no,” I say quickly. I shake my head and sit up in Rowan’s chair. “Jessica, no.”

  “Listen, honey. Jessica knows her stuff.”

  “Dad! I’m not going to spend a week in a fucking motel in the middle of fucking nowhere!”

  “Ooo, let’s try and watch the swearing, okay?” Jessica says sweetly in a way that makes me want to push her off a bridge. “You know, just practice good habits for when there are cameras around.”

  “Honey,” my dad sighs. “I think this might be the best move. We’re doing great in the polls right now, and I really need this story to die down. Can you do this for me?”

  “Dad, this place is out of a freaking zombie movie.”

  “Well, tell you what. I’ll send you to France for a whole month to make it up to you after, okay? Or wherever you want. On me. Okay, honey, we’ll touch base later, but I’ve got to go do this NBC interview now, okay?”

  I don’t say anything as I slump back into the chair.

  “Are you there, honey?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter.

  “Hey, it’s going to be fine,” my dad says optimistically. “Think of it as a small vacation. Just hang in, order room service, and binge some movies!”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Okay, gotta run. Love you, honey.”

  “We’ll speak soon, Annabelle!”

  I hang up without answering either of them. Fuck, this sucks. This sucks a lot. All of a sudden, the nice little office seems crappy all over again. The thought of spending an entire week, or God help me, even more, here in this fucking town has my heart sinking and my anger rising.

  “Fuck!” I yell. The door to the office swings open, making me gasp as Rowan steps in.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  “It’s fine,” I mutter.

  “What were you swearing at?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  His eyes burn into me before he rolls them and looks away. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “How’s what working out for me?”

  “Being a stuck-up brat all the fucking time.”

  I glare at him. “How’s being a fucking mechanic working out for you?”

  “Great, actually. Best job I ever had.” He smirks at me, which just makes me angrier. Even with how freaking hot he is. “So, your car is going to be a day or so, at the earliest. You might be in town for a while unless you’ve got a ride.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble.

  Rowan scratches the stubble on his chin with a dirty hand. It’s not even close to fair how hot of a motion it is, either.

  “There’s a motel in town here.”

  “Great.”

  “You want a ride?”

  “Fine.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re a serious piece of work, you know that? You want a fucking ride, or would you like to walk?”

  “A ride,” I mutter quietly.

  “A ride…” he cocks a brow at me.

  “A ride please,” I grumble.

  He grins. “Was that so hard? Come on.”

  Rowan drives me the few blocks to the Desert Eagle Motel in his flatbed truck. I don’t ask him to, but he carries my two bags into the office when I go in a get a room in the basically empty motel. He also brings them the short walk to my room. There’s a moment when I realize I’m alone with this rough, sexy, somewhat dangerous stranger in a room with basically just a bed in it, and I tremble. It’s not out of fear though. It’s more like having a naughty, dirty secret.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how the car is going. Might have to overnight the parts though. It’s not like we’ve got a local Aston Martin dealership.”

  “It’s fine. I think I’m going to be town for a while.”

  “Car shouldn’t take more than a few hours once I get the parts.”

  “Yeah, well…” I trail off. No need to get into the details with him. Especially not if I want to keep who I am on the down low.

  “Alright, well, enjoy your night. You know, Mable’s up the street has some pretty damn good chicken and—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your shitty town or it’s shitty fucking chicken and waffles, okay?!” I don’t mean for it to come out like that, but it sure does. It’s as if all the stresses of the day tumble out in one explosive moment as I bark at Rowan. The big, tall, muscled mechanic growls. His eyes narrow at me, and I twist under that gaze.

  “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that.”

  He just shrugs. “You know what? I’ll definitely be overnighting those parts,” he grunts. “The sooner I have fuck-all to do with you and that brat attitude of yours, the better.” He turns, storms out the door, and slams it shut behind.

  I exhale slowly and sit on the edge of the dingy bed. What a freaking day. I’ve not only managed to break down in the middle of the damn desert and been told I have to stay in ghost-town USA for the next week. I’ve also managed to piss off the guy who’s actually trying to help. Good job, self. I spot a mini fridge under the TV, but when I open it hoping for a minibar, I only find it empty and warm. I swear. I’m about to fall back on the bed before I remember just how gross the motel room is. I scrunch up my face at the thought of sleeping in this place and on this bed where someone’s almost certainly been murdered.

  My stomach rumbles, and my spirits sink lower. I get up and go to the window. Down the street, there’s a flickering neon sign—Mable’s Diner. Fucking of course it is. My stomach groans again, and I mutter to myself as I grab my purse and room key and head out into the night.

  4

  Rowan

  Back at the shop, I pour a splash of whiskey into a cleanish mug. It goes down easy, and my nerves calm a little. It’s not that I’m bent out of shape, and it’s not like my damn feelings are hurt by the little brat with daddy’s Aston Martin. It’s that being alone with her in a motel room had me as close to a snapping point as I’ve ever been. My nerves aren’t shot because she’s offended me or pissed me off. I’ve dealt with way, way worse that her flippant attitude, believe me.

  My nerves are shot because being around Annabelle has me aching to touch her. Being close to that girl has a fire raging inside of me that I haven’t felt in a long damn time. Possibly ever. I pour a second drink, and I take my time with this one. I walk over to her car to take another poke around at things and make a list of what I need to order for parts. It occurs to me that her car alone is worth more than my entire shop, and I shake my head slowly.

  I make my list and down the rest of my drink before I move to the old ’74 Bronco I was tooling around on when she first walked in. This one’s a special job for my buddy Carter. Carter does private security now, but he served in the Corps with me and Joaquin. He’s a man of many talents, but Joaquin works at the shop with me these days, along with Levi, a young guy who used to run with an MC. Between the three of us, there’s not a thing on wheels we can’t tune or fix up, and word is finally starting to spread.

  I’ve still got Annabelle on the fucking brain, but I try and mask it by working on the Bronco. It’s a fixer-upper for sure,
but she’s gonna be a beauty when I’m done with her. What Carter doesn’t know is that I’m doing this for free. I mean the guy saved my ass at least a couple times over in Afghanistan. It’s the very least I can do.

  Working on cars always clears my head, but it’s not working tonight. Tonight, even under that Bronco on the roller tooling around with the front axle, all I can think about is Annabelle. To be specific, all I can think about when it comes to her is the sight I walked into back there on the highway. That skirt riding up high over her tight ass, and that pink thong splitting it down the middle. My brain replays the snapshot it took, and I growl to myself as I go over the details. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her toned legs and curvy ass. The little cleft and mound where the panties tucked tight against her pussy.

  My cock swells in my jeans, and I grind my teeth. Shit, maybe I do need to get this damn job done as soon as I can, so I can get her out of this town. I’m not sure I’ll get a damn thing done with an off-limits temptation like that hanging out in the same zip code as me. I try and clear my head again and focus on the Bronco. But just at that moment, the bell on the front door to the shop dings.

  “We’re closed!” I yell from under the truck. I hear footsteps come into the garage from the front room, and I sigh heavily. “I said we’re closed, buddy. We’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning though.” I hear a throat clearing. I frown and glance down between my own feet, but when I see a pair of strappy black heels, I grin. Very interesting.

  I slide out from under the Bronco, and sure enough, there’s Annabelle looking down at me with a white paper bag clutched in her hands in front of her. She’s put a cardigan on over her tank top, but she’s still in her heels and skirt, with her long hair half braided and over one shoulder.