Drive Me Wild

by Melanie Harlow

  That’s when I tapped on the window.

  She screamed, of course. I held up my hands and backed away from the glass. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

  She put a hand on her heart and closed her eyes, breathing hard. Then she opened the car door and got out, looking embarrassed and guilty and maybe a little bit scandalized at the sight of me without a shirt on. I noticed she’d removed the tiara and let her hair down. It hung in long, messy waves past her shoulders.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay. I know I shouldn’t be here.” She eyeballed my bare chest, then quickly looked away.

  “Why are you here? I thought you were going to find somewhere to stay.”

  “Well, after I got something to eat at the diner, I tried calling both inns in town, but they were booked.” She looked me in the eye. “Truth be told, I can’t really afford their prices anyway. So I just came back.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Well, I can’t let you sleep in your car.”

  “But I have nowhere else to go. Can’t you just pretend you don’t know I’m here?” she pleaded.

  That was out of the question. But what was I supposed to do with her? It was too late to call my sister. Should I drive her out to the motel on Highway 31? And then what? Pay for the room myself? Then I’d have to go out there and get her tomorrow. I could let her stay on the couch at my place, but was that too weird? I was debating calling Cole and asking for his advice—he always did the right thing—when I saw a tear slip down her cheek.

  “Hey, it’s—it’s okay,” I said. “Don’t cry.”

  “It’s not okay,” she said, weeping into her hands. “My new life is already just as big a mess as my old one. I’m trying so hard to be brave and handle things on my own, but maybe this is a sign I can’t. Maybe I should just go back to Belle Meade and marry the tycoon.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But it’s true. And it’s my own damn fault. I mean, I’m thirty years old! I should have my life figured out by now. But I was a coward. And I was complacent. I could have walked away when I wasn’t so desperate, but I never did. I deserve to sleep on the street like a vagabond.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Blair.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not going to sleep on the street.”

  “I have no choice,” she sobbed. Then all of a sudden, she moved so close the backs of her hands were resting on my chest.

  I could smell her perfume—sure enough, there was something vanilla about it—and her bare, trembling shoulders were begging me to put my arms around them. I had to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from embracing her.

  “Look, you can—you can stay with me,” I choked out.

  “What?” She sniffed and looked up. “Stay with you where?”

  “My apartment. I live above the garage.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.” She backed up and touched her collarbone. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t really have a choice, Blair. I’m not leaving you on the street, you don’t have money for a motel, and it’s the middle of the night.”

  She blinked. “I guess you’re right. But I hate to impose. It’s so tacky.”

  Impose, as if she’d shown up uninvited to a garden party. “Just . . . get your stuff and come on,” I said gruffly.

  “Okay. My suitcase is in the trunk.”

  I got it out for her, brushing away her hand when she reached for it. “I’ll carry it,” I said.

  “Thank you.” She followed me down the sidewalk to my apartment door and stood at my side while I unlocked it. A car drove past us as I was pulling it open, and I cringed when it slowed down. Hopefully, it was no one I knew—I didn’t need to be the subject of any gossip tomorrow.

  “Go on,” I said impatiently. “Get inside.”

  She held up the bottom of her dress and started up the stairs, while I took a moment to lock the door behind us before going up two steps at a time, her bag still in my hand.

  I hadn’t left any lights on, so when I reached the top, I bumped into her from behind. She stumbled forward, and I instinctively reached out, catching her around the waist.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so dark.”

  It was dark. And I had her clutched against my bare chest so tightly I could smell her perfume again. Or was it her hair? Blood rushed to parts of me that didn’t need encouragement right now, and I let her go.

  “Give me a second.” Sidestepping her, I moved to the wall and flipped a switch.

  “Oh—oh, wow,” she said, moving deeper into the room and turning in a slow circle. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I turned on a couple more lights, suddenly wary of being alone with her.

  “No fireman pole?” she asked, shooting me a smile over one shoulder that I found alarmingly seductive.

  “Not anymore.” Trying to remain businesslike—not easy when you’re shirtless at midnight—I set her suitcase down and stood a good ten feet from her, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can stay on the couch. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you want to use the bathroom, it’s through there.” I gestured toward the hallway leading to my bedroom and quickly folded my arms again.

  “Thank you. I would like to get out of this dress. Could I borrow a hanger please?”

  “Sure. In the closet.” I was hoping she’d head straight for the bedroom but instead, she came toward me and reached out, placing a palm on my shoulder.

  “I really appreciate this.”

  Heat rushed my entire body. “No big deal.”

  “It is to me,” she said, and I was terrified she was going to hug me, but she didn’t. She picked up her suitcase and headed down the hall into my room.

  When I heard the door shut, I exhaled in relief and went over to the chest beneath the front windows where I stored spare blankets. Since it was so warm, a sheet would’ve been better than a blanket, but my extra sheets were in my bedroom. I’d have to wait until she came out to get one. I stood there wondering if she was topless in my bedroom right this second, and my cock was hard in seconds.

  The bedroom door creaked open again.

  “Griffin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, I need some help.”

  “Help?”

  “Getting this dress off.”

  I looked up at the ceiling. Really, God? Really?

  Cursing under my breath, I adjusted the crotch of my jeans and walked back to my bedroom, my heart beating an uncomfortably hard, fast rhythm. When I reached the doorway, I kept my eyes on the floor. “Is it okay to come in?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry—this whole situation is awkward enough—but the zipper is stuck.”

  Tentatively, I entered the room and saw her standing with her back to me, holding up her hair. A few more steps and I was close enough to reach for the zipper, which was concealed behind a column of what looked like fabric-covered buttons. Holding my breath, I concentrated on pretending the job was just another mechanical task, like tightening a bolt.

  The zipper’s slider was tiny and definitely stuck, but I managed to grasp it in my fingers and get it moving—the dress parted and her naked back appeared. I stopped when my hand reached the curve of her waist. “Is that okay? Can you reach it from there?”

  She let her hair fall and reached around her back, but I was standing so close she accidentally brushed against my crotch, which had a pretty good bulge going.

  Gasping, she pulled her hand away and whirled around. “Oh God! I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I cleared my throat and backed away. “I think you’ll be able to reach it now.”

  She tried again and was able to grasp the slider without a problem. “I’m good. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I turned around and left the room, pulling the door shut behind me.

  Out in the living room, I dropped on
to the couch and tried not to think about her bare limbs, the scent of her skin, the brush of her fingers over my cock.

  Stifling a groan, I laced my fingers behind my head and tipped it back, staring at the rotating ceiling fan above. Its whir was hypnotic, and I was so tired . . . my breathing slowed, my eyes closed, and before I knew it, I was out.

  When I woke up, rays of early morning light were just starting to slip through my front windows. For a few seconds, I was confused about why I was sitting out here wearing boots and jeans but no shirt.

  Then I looked over to my left, where Blair was sound asleep in a chair, and it all came back to me.

  She was curled into a ball, her head resting on a small throw pillow wedged between her knees and her cheek. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, and one bare foot was crossed over the other. She wore a T-shirt and shorts, but they were so short I saw a lot more of her bare thighs than I needed to. I tried to tear my eyes from them before they telegraphed a message to my cock about the way they might feel beneath my palms or under my lips or wrapped around my waist, but I was too late. At the telltale twitch of morning wood, I jumped off the couch so suddenly it startled her.

  Her eyes opened, and she picked up her head. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Hi.” I moved behind the couch, not that it was tall enough to conceal an erection if I couldn’t prevent it. Jesus Christ, it was like being sixteen again and having no control over my body whatsoever. How bad would it be to grab a pillow and cover my crotch?

  I forced myself to focus on her face, but that wasn’t helpful either—she looked even prettier this morning than she had last night, her face bare of makeup, her hair a tousled mess. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to scoop her off that chair and carry her back to my bedroom. Toss her onto the mattress. Make her scream my name. So what if she’d never slept with someone who didn’t wear a suit to work? I’d show her a good fucking time.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “You were asleep by the time I got changed last night. I didn’t know whether I should wake you or not.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry I crashed—I meant to make up the couch for you. Your legs are probably all cramped up from sleeping like that.”

  “It’s okay.” She unfolded them and wiggled her toes. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right? I’m just grateful I had a roof over my head. If you weren’t so nice, I’d still be stuck in my car in that uncomfortable dress. Thank you.”

  “Glad to help.” I glanced toward my bedroom. “I’m gonna get dressed and head down to the garage so I can take a look at your car. But it’s still early. You don’t have to get up.”

  “I like getting up early. I used to go into work at the bakery at five, remember?” She rose to her feet and stretched with her arms over her head, her nipples visibly poking at the thin white cotton. “I’ll get dressed and clear out of here.”

  “No rush.” Trying not to drool, I started for my bedroom. “Stay as long as you like.”

  Just stay away from me. You’re making me want things I can’t have.

  I had planned to check out Blair’s car first thing, but it turned into one of those mornings where nothing went right.

  My cousin Lanette had taken over as receptionist while my mother was recovering from surgery—and by “taken over,” I mean she sat in the chair three days a week and answered the phone. Sometimes she filed her nails, but never the paperwork. But Lanette didn’t work on Wednesdays, so of course the phone wouldn’t stop ringing and we were inundated with walk-ins as soon as I unlocked the door.

  Which all would have been fine—great, even—except somehow they were all the worst kind of customer.

  Like the lonely old lady who wants to tell you her life story instead of what’s wrong with her car. Or the shifty-eyed guy who’s hiding the fact that he already tried to fix the problem himself and made it worse. Or the guy in the suit who’s currently suing the three previous mechanics who have worked on his vehicle.

  And it seemed like all of them had already gotten an estimate from Swifty Auto that was cheaper than mine, and a guarantee it would be done by the end of the day. Then there were the customers picking up their cars who were upset at being charged for labor in addition to parts—as if the parts had magically installed themselves and didn’t take hours of skilled diagnostic and technical work on our end.

  To make things worse, the desk was a mess, I couldn’t find anyone’s invoices because nothing had been filed for weeks, and no one had told me we were out of coffee.

  By the time Blair walked through the lobby door carrying a bakery box and a drinks tray with two tall cardboard cups in it, I was ready to torch the whole operation.

  “Hi there,” she said, setting the box and tray on the counter. She wore a short yellow flowery dress, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “How’s it going?”

  I rubbed my face with both hands. “Shitty. I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to look at your car yet. It’s been fucking chaos in here for the last two hours. This is the first time the lobby has been quiet.”

  “That’s okay. I can wait. I went down to the diner for some coffee and realized you hadn’t eaten anything before you left this morning. Thought you might like some breakfast.” She opened the box to reveal a dozen donuts. “I know it’s not the best apple pie since 1957 or anything, but these looked okay.”

  “Thanks. Coffee up for grabs too?”

  “Of course. I wasn’t sure how you took it, but when I mentioned to Louise at the diner where I was bringing everything, she said you just took it black. That one’s yours.” She pointed to the cup with a G on it before pulling one labeled with a B from the carrier.

  “Perfect.” I grabbed the cup she’d indicated was mine and took a gulp. “I needed this.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Nah, that’s okay.” I reached into the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took a bite. It was oddly tasteless.

  “I really don’t mind. Is your receptionist late or something?”

  “We don’t have one full-time right now. My mother has worked the desk here for years, but she’s out because she had a hip replacement recently. My cousin Lanette has been working part-time, but . . .” I frowned at the disaster area in front of me. “She doesn’t get much actual work done.”

  Blair peeked over the counter. “Yikes. How do you find anything?”

  I took another gulp of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t.”

  “Well, listen. I don’t have anything to do while I wait for you to fix my car, and I owe you a big favor for offering me a place to stay last night. Let me take over here and get all this stuff filed, so you can get to work in there.” She gestured toward the service bays.

  My first instinct was to say no, but I gave myself a minute to think as I polished off the rest of the boring donut. I did not want to spend my entire day out here listening to people gripe. I did not want to stay after hours filing paperwork. And I sure as hell didn’t want to hear the words Swifty Auto again today—my temper was already threatening to blow. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “And you’re okay answering the phone too?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

  “Sorry, but you don’t strike me as the type to have had a lot of experience being a receptionist.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

  “Okay. I’m going to get a few quick things out of the way and then I’ll look at your car. I’ll discount the labor in exchange for your work at the desk.”

  “Perfect.” She smiled brightly at me, and my stomach muscles tightened up. I turned away and headed for the garage, coffee cup in hand.

  “Oh, Griffin?”

  I looked back at her and felt the tightness expand into my chest. “Yeah?”

  “Should I answer the phone in French or in English?”

  I stared at her for a full five seconds, wondering if she was serious, before she lost it and burst out laughing.
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  “Oh my God, you should see your face,” she said, shooing me out. “Go on, get out of here. I have work to do.”

  Shaking my head, I turned around and walked out. It was the first time I’d smiled all morning.

  Inside the first service bay, Handme was fixing a coolant leak on a Honda and McIntyre was hunting around the floor near the tool cabinets for something he’d dropped (probably the 10mm socket).

  “You really need to think about hiring a full-time desk person,” McIntyre said. “We’re getting behind back here without you.”

  I frowned. “I can’t afford one. I’m still paying my mother.”

  “Is she ever coming back?”

  “Why? Do you miss her nagging?”

  McIntyre laughed. “She nagged you more than me.”

  “Hey, Griffin?” called Blair from the doorway.

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone from the bank is on the phone. Do you want to talk to him or should I take a message?”

  “I’ll talk to him. I’ll pick it up back here.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask him to hold.”

  “Who is that?” McIntyre’s eyes were wide.

  The female voice had drawn Handme’s attention too, and he moved closer to hear the answer.

  “For the moment, that’s our receptionist.”

  “But who is she?” McIntyre was still staring after her.

  “Her name is Blair Beaufort,” I said. “That’s her MG outside. She blew a tire last night, but I need to look over the entire vehicle as soon as I can. I’m just trying to make space in here.”

  “Is she new in town?” he asked. “I know I’ve never seen her before. I’d remember.”

  “She’s just passing through,” I told them. “I’ll explain it after I talk to the bank.”

  “Is this about the loan?” McIntyre wondered.

  “I hope so.”

  “Think they approved it?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.” But I didn’t allow my hopes to rise as I headed for the phone at the back of the garage. I knew better.

  This was the third time I’d tried to get a loan in the last year. Swifty Auto was hurting us badly. Plus, my dad had struggled to pay back loans he’d gotten years ago, and I’d inherited a lot of debt along with the business. I was sure he’d planned to get it all straightened out before he retired, but he’d died before he had the chance, and now I was supporting my mother too.