Spare Parts (Dark Romance) (Parts of Me Book 1)

by J A Wynters

  She was very bad news.

  “Okay, thank you. See you then.” She smiled down at the phone and placed the receiver back. Her attention returned to me and her smile widened.

  “Everything okay, boss man?”

  “You’re fired,” I said and stood up, my jaw a fixed line.

  “What? Why?”

  “Mrs. Rogers’s car will not be done by Tuesday; we still have two cars to get done.”

  Mia pushed off her chair and took three long strides to close the distance between us. “That car will be done by Tuesday, because you’ll work on it tomorrow. There’s an extra set of hands on the floor, and I’ve been busy answering phones all day and cleaning up your mess.”

  “What mess?”

  She dismissed my question with a wave of her hand. “You need to be down there, and I need to be up here.”

  Her face was flushed and her eyes flared. She had this whole damn thing figured out.

  “Fine! Keep the job, but you’ll need to be here on Saturday for stock take. So, don’t make any plans.”

  “Fine.” She stormed back to the chair and grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag. “I’m done for today.” Mia marched to the door, anger vibrating from her body. “You’re welcome!”

  I was furious and totally turned on. This woman was going to be my end, I felt it in my bones.

  I was fucked.

  When I fell out of bed on Saturday morning, I was somewhere between elated and nervous. My entire body felt as if it was vibrating, standing on a precipice, looking down over the abyss. I didn’t want to step backwards, and I didn’t want to fall over. I needed to find a safe way across.

  I did all the morning things a person does and headed up to my office. I had been avoiding it throughout the week. I tried to maintain my balance as I walked in. Even though Mia left almost eighteen hours ago, traces of her smell hung in the air. She left behind a hundred little reminders that she had spent the week at work; meaningless doodles on the edges of papers, an empty coffee cup with an imprint of her lips, some kind of plant that she brought in with her to ‘liven the place up.’

  I plummeted into my chair, scanning the room. My eyes landed on green leaves; the thing leered at me, taunted me. It got to spend the entire day looking at her, listening to her voice, and watching her while I was hauling engines and tightening bolts. I didn’t mind the work. It meant my mind was focused on one thing only, and I kept telling myself that it wasn’t Mia.

  Her work was meticulous. All the numbers added up. Her booking system surpassed mine, and she had somehow made the place look brighter. But, I already knew all that. I snapped the coffee cup off the table as I headed out of the office. I left the office door open hoping her scent would disappear, and wishing I could drown in it at the same time.

  By the time I was back downstairs, my coffee was barely lukewarm. I choked on the murky liquid and spat it into the sink. I emptied the rest of my cup, rinsed it out and grabbed Mia’s. The lipstick stain disappeared beneath the hot water and soap. I tried to erase traces of her in slow circular motions. The cup dripped next to mine on the drying tray, droplets falling and collecting then linking to one another, creating a little pool of water in the silver basin.

  Spots perked up. With pricked ears, his head shot up and he sniffed the air. A second later the heavy door slammed shut. Spots bolted from his bed and ran over towards the noise.

  Mia appeared in the kitchen a moment later, Spots bounding and leaping around her.

  “Hi buddy. Yeah, it’s nice to see you too.” She patted him on the head and rubbed his neck.

  “Spots, go away.” He gave me a sulky look and skulked back to his bed.

  “Why are you so mean to him?”

  “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” She flinched. I probably shouldn’t have been so harsh to her but, truth be told, she knew nothing about Spots and me. And, as much as I needed and loved that fucking mutt, I just wanted her undivided attention.

  “Let’s go, we have a lot of work to do.” She dropped her bag on the plastic kitchen table and walked by me towards the storeroom.

  She stood in the door frame, her hands on her hips, her eyes sweeping the shelves, the gravity of our task settling on her shoulders. She wore tight jeans and a light blue singlet, the strap of her black bra jutting out slightly beneath the cotton fabric.

  “What are you staring at?” She caught me looking.

  “Do you have any spare clothes?”

  “No, why?”

  “Cause you’re going to ruin those.” I shrugged, playing the nice guy.

  “How? I thought we were counting parts.”

  “We are. But they’re dirty, and oily, and sharp. We have some spare overalls.”

  “Sure, I’d appreciate it.” She gave me a little smile.

  I found the smallest pair, knowing they would still be way too big and handed them over. “You can change in my room. That’s the door over in the corner,” Her eyes followed my pointed finger, “The one that says ‘no entry.’”

  “You live here?”

  “Yes.” I could see on her face that she had more questions, but I shut her down. “Don’t touch anything.” I slipped off the silver chain that hung around my neck and handed it over to her. The key dangling from the end.

  I watched as she took tentative steps towards the door, looking over her shoulder, uncertainty written all over her features. I nodded. I don’t know why, maybe I thought she was still asking for permission.

  I knew what she would find in there; an empty space where Spots’ bed usually lay, my desk littered with piles of unfinished paperwork, my bed made up and neat, and maybe a few clothes lying around. I cringed at the thought of her seeing it. Not because it was dirty or unkempt but because it was so meagre, so little. I mean, it’s always been good enough for me. I needed nothing more, but what would Mia think?

  The door closed behind her. My stomach turned and my heart thudded like a drum in my chest. I imagined her stripping her clothes away, her half-naked body sitting on the edge of my bed, her scent mingling with mine. I brushed my hands over my face in an attempt to quench my desires.

  When she came out, her hair was in a messy bun and she was swimming in the oversized coverall. “Smells much better in there than it does out here.”

  I swallowed her words and sighed; this wasn’t going to work.

  “Just…stand there.” I looked around until I found a length of rope. “Stand still.”

  “What are you doing?” She eyed the length of rope in my hand.

  “It’s too loose. You’ll get caught on something and possibly get hurt, I just don’t have time to play doctor today.”

  “I bet you’d make a great doctor; in fact, I think most of your patients would be happy to get hurt just to have your hands on them.”

  I froze for a second at her remark. A smirk spread on her lips.

  I stalked around her and fisted the loose fabric in my hand, gathering as much of it as I could, bunching it in my hand. I pulled tightly until most of the fabric around her body didn’t hang too loosely. I tied the excess in a tight ball. “How does that feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Roll up your sleeves. They’re too long.”

  “Can you help me? Whenever I do it, they keep unrolling.”

  “Sure.”

  She extended her hands and I grabbed the sleeve. I rolled it, one neat fold after another, exposing her delicate arms. My fingers brushed her skin, and the familiar tingle of touching her sent my body reeling. I ground my teeth as I rolled the second sleeve, perhaps a little less meticulously. As I rolled it for the last time, my finger brushed her arm and our eyes met. Her gaze pinned me and, for what felt like a full moment, we stood frozen.

  Staring.

  Longing.

  I broke away, and a pang shot to my heart as I saw her face twist. I shook off the feeling and walked towards the storage room. “Let’s go. We have a very long day ahead.”

  I could
see her eyes trying to roll to the back of her head as I went on and on about how we slotted inventory; how we assigned parts to a location based on the part's movement and physical characteristics, such as size and weight. Her eyes never left my face as I explained counting and entering and mismatch possibilities. Something was holding her attention and it wasn’t the conversation. My heart wanted to beat faster, to get excited. Emotional, attached maybe, but I shut it down. There was no room in there for anyone else.

  “Do you understand?”

  “What?”

  Had she listened to a single word I said? “Just follow my lead.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I shot her a scathing look, and she recoiled. I almost wanted to apologise. Almost.

  “What would you like me to call you?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Ok, Gabriel.” My name sounded so sweet on her lips, I wanted to suck that honey nectar right from them.

  Instead I pulled out the first box of 32mm nuts, brought up the product ID number on the iPad and started counting, nodding to the 40mm nuts right next to them. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the box and started counting.

  It was quiet work, which is why I usually loved doing it. The silence filled up the emptiness inside me. And yet, today everything felt too loud, too full.

  I was totally aware of her—all of her. Her shallow breathing, the rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers moved through cold, hard parts as they clinked around in the boxes, tinkering and rolling. How her lips moved as she counted; glossy, full lips that she would lick or bite every time she’d lose count or remember something. How meticulously she worked and how hard, her forehead gleaming with a sheen of sweat.

  Every now and then she’d catch me looking, her eyes widened and she turned her head away as if she was the one that was caught. My lips twitched with the thought.

  My arms ached and my back strained as I reached for more parts—box after box—meandering through the shelves. The deeper we ventured into the storeroom, the narrower the space became, the more cramped, the thicker the air, the darker the room.

  The last aisle was crammed with heavy, underutilised parts that were covered in dust. I knew exactly how many of each item was there. I could see by the layered dust that nothing had been touched since the last time I was here.

  It was so tight and narrow, and Mia stood so close, too close. The smell of her shampoo covered every inch of the space. Like the dust, it settled onto everything, infecting every part of the storeroom. Of me. I was like a hound with a scent, and all I wanted to do was chase that fucking rabbit.

  I reached for the collection of safety bars. The weight dipped the top shelf and, in truth, I should have left it, called it a day and filled out the rest of the paperwork. Alone. I should have sent her home. I should have tightened the leash around my own neck. Mia was a distraction; a terrible, wonderful distraction.

  Like in a slow-motion movie, the bars rolled out of their box. With only split seconds to react, I pushed Mia out of the way. I could hear my elbows connect with her ribs, and the air gushing out of her lungs as she fell away. The heavy metal rods fell down like metallic rain, and two collided with my face with solid thuds. The pain was searing and instantaneous. I could feel the hot flow of blood from my wounds as my legs collapsed beneath me, and I smashed into the shelves with force. The rods fell to the ground, ringing and clinking as they hit the concrete.

  I sucked in a deep breath, trying to refill my lungs with air. My head throbbed and I could feel the rush of blood as it made its way down my cheek. I swiped it away just to feel the next rivulet follow.

  I groaned as I turned my head looking for Mia. She was pinned to the opposite side of the narrow aisle, her hands above her head trying to make herself disappear into the wall.

  “Are you okay?” My words stumbled from my mouth as I tried to catch my breath.

  She let her hands drop from her face and scanned herself, patting her body down. “Yes, I’m fi…” her eyes fell on my face. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine.” I kept wiping at my face, my hand stained red.

  “You need to have that looked at.” She walked over to me and extended her hand.

  “It’s fine.” I growled at her.

  “Come on.” She didn’t move. I stuffed my hand into her outstretched palm and a shiver went through me. I pulled myself up and Mia led us out of the storeroom. The room was striped with long shadows as the sun made its way beneath the horizon.

  Mia took long, purposeful strides toward the kitchenette. Concern marred her beautiful features and, despite the blood coursing down my face, I couldn’t take my eyes off her hips as they swayed with purpose.

  “Sit!” She pushed me into a chair and turned on the light, the flash searing my eyes. “Let me have a look at you.” She hovered above me, her lower lip tipped with worry.

  “I’m fine.” I tried for the third time.

  “You’re not! Where’s the first aid kit?”

  I pointed to the cupboard. Mia rummaged around and rose again with the red first aid box.

  She opened the box and dug inside sighing. She took out a bottle and some gauze. Always meticulous. I watched as she placed everything in a neat line, preparing herself. She unbuttoned the coveralls and slipped her arms from the long sleeves.

  “I prefer taking a girl out to dinner before I get her to take her clothes off.”

  “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” She scoffed, turned to the sink and washed her hands.

  “That hurts.”

  “More than that cut on your head?”

  “Much more.” Despite the sarcasm, my heart still swelled at her concern.

  Mia came over and stood over me. “This is going to sting a little.”

  Ever so gently, she put the alcohol-soaked gauze to my forehead. I hissed and grabbed her wrist pulling her away.

  “Shit.”

  “Stop being such a baby.” She yanked her hand, pulling it free and dabbed at my wound. “How’s that?” Her touch had softened, her eyes lingered on mine, then flicked back to her work.

  “It’s fine,” I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” My heart thumped like a crazed lunatic’s fist against an asylum window.

  “That’s a deep cut. You’re going to need stitches.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not done with you! Do you have a needle and thread somewhere?”

  I sucked in a deep breath; she wasn’t going to let this go.

  “I have one in my room. Let me go and get it.” I made to stand up, but her hand landed on my chest and pushed me down.

  “Sit down!” Her eyes blazed and her nostrils flared, she wasn’t taking any shit. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t want you rummaging around in my things.”

  “What can you possibly be hiding?”

  I wish she hadn’t asked that. “Top drawer of my chest of drawers,” I grumbled.

  She held out her hand for the key. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Hold that in place till I get back.” She placed my hand over the gauze and retreated out of the room at a sprinter’s pace.

  As soon as she stepped out of the kitchenette I hissed in pain. That rod hit me harder than I was ready to admit. I guess a couple of stitches were better than a cracked skull. I leaned back against the wall shutting my eyes.

  “I found all your skeletons.” My mouth twitched.

  “You wouldn’t be back if you had.” My eyes opened into slits.

  The touch of her hand on mine was delicate and unexpected. She peeled my hand back from my wound, and I let it drop by my side. “You don’t happen to have any aesthetic lying around do you?”

  “It’s not that kind of establishment?”

  “The kind that puts people to sleep?”

  I guffawed at her crack. “The kind that holds unnecessary drugs.”

  “Well, are you going to be a brave boy while I stitch you
up?”

  “There’s no way you’re coming near me with that needle.” I opened one eye and peered at her threading black thread through the eye of the needle.

  “Relax, I know what I’m doing.”

  “How?”

  “I used to stitch the animals back at the farm.”

  “You keep mentioning this farm, tell me about it.”

  “No.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “Your voice will help me keep my mind off the fact that you’re about to stab me with that thing.” I closed my eyes and waited.

  And then my lungs filled with her scent. Not so much the fruity artificial scent, but hers—her musky sweat and woodsy skin, like the sun had crawled beneath it and left its rays behind, as if all the hay and grass in the meadows sat just on the fringes of her skin.

  “Don’t move, I’d hate to stab you in the eye.” The way she said it made me smile. In another life, I might have burst out laughing. What was she doing to me?

  My hand clenched at my side and I felt her hips brush against mine as she positioned herself.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Talk.”

  She pinched the wound and I hissed as the prick of the needle bit into my skin. The sting lasted seconds, followed by the strange sensation of a foreign object moving under my skin.

  “I had two horses, Jigsaw and Cookie.”

  “Should I guess which one you named?” I smirked, pretending I didn’t feel the tug of the thread as it pulled through my skin. I winced while she ignored my remark.

  “It wasn’t a ranch, if that’s what you’re about to ask next, the horses came later. We were dairy farmers first.” She pushed the needle through a second time. My hand found her hip, like a crutch. I grabbed on to it and dug into her skin as she tugged on the thread. I heard her soft gasp as my fingers found her flesh just beyond her shirt. Completely unintentional, totally gratifying. Her skin was just as soft as I had imagined, flawless. I shouldn’t have lingered, I shouldn’t have enjoyed my fingers there or the feel of her, but I couldn’t help myself. My cock responded, bulging and swelling, wanting.