by Anya Breton
“Do you know how to cook?”
“I know a little. Enough to keep me fed,” she said as she resumed the drive up the hill.
“I wasn’t allowed to take any classes in culinary arts. Amanda wanted me to concentrate on sports and service.”
Erica stiffened. Had there been a woman long ago who made decisions for him? One he resented now? That could explain why he’d thrown himself fully into being a playboy. “Who is Amanda?”
“My mother.”
Erica’s brows lifted. “You call your mother Amanda?”
“It’s her name.”
“Yes, but…most people call their parents Mom and Dad or Mother and Father. They don’t use their given names.”
Drew shrugged rather than give a response.
She recalled what it was that he’d said. “Why wouldn’t your mother let you study what you wanted to study?”
“I guess she was grooming me for something specific.”
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“So your mother wouldn’t let you study what you wanted because she wanted you to do something else but you don’t know what that is?”
“I guess I was supposed to help position my brother politically.”
Finally something that made sense—yuppies in the government. Drew had looked like a president’s snooty brother when she pulled up in front of his Ferrari. “Your brother is in politics? What is he? A senator?”
“Something like that. But he quit and ran off with the housekeeper’s daughter. I no longer have to position him politically. So I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself now.”
“Is that why your mother cut you off?”
“She claims she cut me off because I disgraced the family.”
“Did you?”
Drew stared out the window for several silent moments. “Yes.”
He’d admitted it. That was surprising. Drew struck Erica as the type who would rather lie than admit he was wrong.
This was good. If he could admit it to her, then he could admit it to his mother. He could get his life back. Erica wanted him to be happy. He wasn’t happy without his housekeeper and his money.
“Have you tried apologizing?”
He snuffled. “I’m really good at apologizing but not good at meaning it. Amanda knows that. She’s won’t accept anything less than proof I’ve changed.”
“What kind of proof do you need?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to change. She just said I had to turn my life around.”
“Maybe you just have to show that you can take care of yourself.”
He heaved a sigh but didn’t argue.
Perhaps he realized using her cot and her shower as well as eating free pizza wasn’t exactly taking care of himself.
“I could see about finding you a job.” She pulled the vehicle into the old house’s driveway. “They might need someone to stock over at the general store.”
Drew snorted. “I’ve never worked a day in my life. I wouldn’t know how to stock or what stocking is.”
She turned off the engine and twisted in the seat. “Drew, you worked today. You did a really good job on the phone. I’d hire you myself if I could afford to pay another person. But with the refunds I’ve had to give…” Erica brushed her palm over her forehead. A sigh slipped from her.
“You shouldn’t have given her a refund without looking over the car.” Drew’s hard tone put her on the defensive.
Erica popped the door. “She’d already brought it to Jared. I didn’t have a choice.”
He opened his as well, standing when she did. “Convenient, don’t you think?”
She peered over the roof at him. “What are you saying?”
“Your ex wants to buy your garage. You won’t sell. So your customers’ cars start breaking down after they’ve left the shop.” Drew patted the top of her car. “It seems obvious to me.”
Erica started for the house. “Where else would they break down? I wouldn’t let them leave the shop if something was wrong with them.”
“Exactly.” He stepped up behind her at the front door to the two-story Cape Cod. “Nothing was wrong with them.”
She tugged her keys out of her purse. “But they broke down.”
“You’re missing the point. If your work were as bad as Jared claims it is, he’d sit back and let the shop close on its own. But he’s not. He’s hassling you daily.”
Erica pushed the door in and stepped onto the slate tile. “Are you implying Jared is sabotaging my work?”
“Yes. And the next time someone’s car breaks down and Jared already has it in his shop, you need to demand to see…it.”
Her attention flew to him. He glanced around the ground floor with wide eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“You hesitated. Why?”
Drew gestured around the living room. “Your house—it’s nothing like what I’d thought it would be.”
The muscles in her shoulders went taut. “What did you think it would be?”
“Small, cramped, dilapidated,” he said. “But this is spacious.”
What about the dilapidated part?
“I like it.”
Well now. A yuppie liked her house? She shouldn’t have been pleased. But she was. “I’ll give you the tour.”
“No one visits so all the soap and everything is in the master suite shower. You’ll have to use it.”
Drew followed Erica into the master suite—a room cluttered with cast-off clothing and more books than his brother’s library. “Like to read?”
He picked up the nearest novel on the table beside her queen-sized bed, noting the couple caught in an intimate embrace on the cover. Romance? He would have pegged her as a murder mystery fan.
Erica snatched the book back and turned the cover over against her thigh. “The bathroom is through there.” She gestured with her free hand. “Don’t use up all the hot water. I need a shower too.”
She fled with her paperback before he could comment. Drew picked up another book, flipping it over so he could read the blurb.
A young woman gets caught up with the wrong witch—sparks fly and lives are changed forever.
She read romances featuring witches? Did she believe in their existence?
Drew let out a hollow laugh. What would she say if he told her what he was? That she’d gotten caught up with the wrong witch?
He tossed the work of fiction aside then strode into the bathroom. It smelled strongly of her—the whole house did. It was torture.
He wanted to fuck her again. He’d wanted to since she stormed back into the storage room complaining about him sleeping the day away. If he was awake, he was thinking about fucking her. Which was why it was absolutely insane that he wasn’t going to let himself.
Before yesterday he would have wallowed his troubles away in the supple flesh of a willing woman until someone else did something to help. But Amanda and Aston weren’t going to sort his problems this time. Only he could sort out his life.
And that meant helping someone other than himself for a change.
Erica smelled Drew before she heard him. He was ripe. He hadn’t taken a shower yet?
“I forgot my luggage,” he said from the kitchen door. “I don’t have anything to change into. I need to go get it.”
It was a six-mile hike down the hill into town and the garage. While the trip wouldn’t be terribly difficult for a guy in his physical condition, finding his way without getting lost would be.
Drew leaned against the door, giving her a sloppy smile. “Unless you want me walking around nude all night.”
Erica snatched her keys up from the counter. “Take the dirt road down to the paved road. At the bottom of the hill, take a left. You’ll reach the garage after a mile.”
His fingers brushed over hers as he took the keys. She shivered from the touch.
“I’ll be back,” he
said. The screen door slammed behind him.
Criminy. She was an idiot. She’d voluntarily given him her keys! He wasn’t coming back. He was going home.
How could she be so dim?
She slumped down into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table and dropped her head into her palms. At least she had a photocopy of his driver’s license. She’d know who to send the police after. First, she’d give him a few hours to prove her right. At least she’d stop lusting after him if he stole her car.
There was always a silver lining.
* * * * *
The garage was up here somewhere. Had Drew passed it already? Her directions implied it was impossible to miss. And yet…
Ah!
He spotted the sign for Pearce Auto-body…and the extra vehicle in the parking lot. That pickup truck hadn’t been there when they’d left. And it looked familiar. As did the asshole peering through the garage doors.
Jared—Erica’s ex.
Drew kept driving past the business and pulled into the next side street. He parked the car where he had a view of Erica’s parking lot without being in view. There he remained until the guy crouched in front of the garage and began lifting.
Drew turned off the engine, lamenting the sudden smack of hot air that rushed the cabin without the competing air-conditioning. But there were bigger problems than sweat. What did Jared think he was doing, sliding under the garage door? And why wasn’t it locked so he couldn’t do that?
A little magic was in order. Drew lassoed energy from the aether and filtered back the sounds from the garage. He also softened his footsteps so Jared wouldn’t hear him creeping closer. The garage computer’s internal fan kicked on as Drew quietly stalked forward. Hidden by an exterior wall, Drew watched around the corner as Jared waited for the old machine to boot up.
“Piece of crap,” Jared said and then stomped into the garage.
The guy lifted a large tool off the floor. He brandished it as though he’d smash the windshield on the Ferrari. His attention shifted to the side—either to the lift or something outside. Had he heard Drew?
Drew tensed, readying for a fight.
Rather than vandalize the foreign car or attack Drew, the guy examined the metal lift post for several seconds. He then turned and surveyed the garage around him. An air compressor caught his notice. Jared exchanged his tool for another—this one connected to the compressor by tube.
Drew gripped the garage door when Jared positioned the tool over a screw on the lift post. Surely Jared wouldn’t put his ex-girlfriend at risk like that.
The smack of metal against metal and the whine of the compressor said otherwise.
Drew pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, hoping he hadn’t broken the camera function when he’d thrown it. He started the video recorder app and pointed the phone at the window. Jared provided juicy action for the camera. Now all Drew needed was a shot of the guy’s face so there would be no question who had sabotaged Erica’s lift.
But when Jared set the tool down and set his grimy hands on the Ferrari, Drew had difficulty remaining motionless. The guy tried the doors and the bonnet. Finding them both locked, he headed back to the office, presumably in search of keys. Jared stopped off at the computer, where he scrolled back in Erica’s calendar and scribbled a few notes on a notepad.
Was that how he’d known which cars to sabotage?
Drew used the zoom feature on the phone to catch the guy’s next clicks on the computer. He deleted entries Drew himself had entered. That really burned his balls.
Fortunately Erica had locked the cars’ keys in a lockbox. Unfortunately Jared managed to pick the lock. Sifting through the customers’ keys, the guy quickly found the fob with the Ferrari logo. He flipped off the computer and then started back to the garage.
Drew remained still as Jared unlocked the Ferrari and popped the back. He managed to hold his tongue while the guy disconnected hoses and generally messed around inside his engine block. It took everything in him not to press Jared to the ground exactly as Steven Brand had done to him.
A part of Drew wanted to punch the guy in the face the good old-fashioned way. This guy deserved to have his nose broken rather than simply being knocked onto his ass with Air. Drew was almost willing to mangle his knuckles to do it.
But this was more serious than a punch. This man needed to be behind bars where he couldn’t put Erica or her customers in danger. That meant making it back to her place without incident.
Maybe it was the coward’s way out but Drew didn’t know any other way to be. He hid in the tree line that edged the parking lot as Jared slipped out. But he continued recording the video, making certain to get the guy’s license plate number in case none of the profile shots would be enough.
Then he sprinted for the car so he could make chase.
Chapter Eight
A car pulled in front of the house. Erica didn’t budge from the sofa. It was probably a lost tourist. Or maybe it was Tina, come to verify Erica had a friend over. That would be perfect timing, given her “friend” had left and taken her car hours ago.
What had she been thinking? Would insurance pay out if she’d volunteered her keys to the car thief?
Based on the exhaust sounds, the visitor had pulled into the driveway rather than continuing forward. Not a tourist. Definitely Tina.
Erica should have said she’d babysit. At least she’d still have her car if she had. And her sister wouldn’t be able to hold this over her head.
There was a brief knock against the front door and then someone stepped inside.
Erica’s jaw dropped open. “Drew?”
Drew glanced down at himself. Everything looked as rumpled as it had earlier. So why was Erica staring at him with that comically wide mouth as if she were shocked? And why had she sounded it as well?
He took a tentative step inside the house. “Yes?”
Erica’s mouth closed. “I…” She didn’t finish whatever it was she…
He glanced behind him to where he’d parked her sedan and then back at her. His eyes narrowed. “Why do you seem shocked to see me?”
“I’m not shocked.” Her gaze swiveled away—avoiding his.
A lie. Aer all around, she would explain herself if it took him all night.
Drew set his suitcase on the floor at his feet. “When you saw it was me at the door, your jaw dropped open and you said my name as if it was surprising. Why?”
“Why would I be surprised it was you?” She let out a nervous laugh. “You said you were getting your luggage. The luggage was in the Ferrari, right?”
“Yes, the luggage was in my Ferrari.”
Erica lifted one shoulder. “I guess I was just surprised you were gone so long. I thought you’d gotten lost.”
His mouth tightened. “Lost in a town of less than two thousand with only a handful of roads? I’m not smart but I’m not that helpless.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
He shifted his weight onto the foot braced behind him. “Then what did you mean it like?”
“I don’t think you’re helpless and I’m sure you’re smart—”
Drew snorted in disgust.
“I mean…” She glanced to the television and then back as though she’d find inspiration there. “You were really good on the phone today.”
He was good on the phone? Had women always stroked his ego so conspicuously? And he’d bought it? “Just tell me the truth, Erica.”
She exhaled heavily, closing her eyes as she did. When they opened again she was ready with an answer. “I thought I’d never see you or my car again.”
He stared at her for five silent seconds. “What?” The tone that came out of his mouth could only be described as glacial.
To her credit, Erica winced. But she didn’t give an explanation.
“Why did you give me your keys if you thought that?”
“I didn’t worry until after you left.”
He slumped against the wall, th
rusting a hand into his hair. It would have been through his hair if his fingers hadn’t gotten caught in the tangled mess his locks had become. Perhaps that was a metaphor for his life. Yes, it too was a tangled mess.
He wished he could scoff at her and say she was crazy. Shamefully, he had considered taking her car to Manchester. It had been a selfish urge to get his old life back. Then he’d recalled his life—the constant hopping from woman to woman and the complete lack of meaning.
Above all, he remembered his mother’s simultaneous faith and disgust. Amanda thought him so beyond reach that she’d resorted to stripping him of everything to get through to him. The message had been received. He couldn’t go back to Manchester with or without his Ferrari until he turned his life around.
So he’d videoed Erica’s ex sabotaging her garage and her work, and then he traveled back so he could share the evidence with her, only to find her shocked at his return. Here he’d thought she’d be so happy he’d ferreted out the culprit in her mystery that she’d ask him to stay.
Wait. When had he thought that? Erica wasn’t about to ask him to stay. She’d met him yesterday. Maybe she’d let him stay the night—the one-night stand she’d agreed to. But come tomorrow, she’d tow his car to Boston exactly as she’d said.
Yesterday he’d wanted to be away from this two-bar town more than anything. Tonight was another story. And tomorrow? He could hardly imagine what he’d think but strangely, he wanted to be here to find out.
At the very least Drew had to stick around until Jared was behind bars. Then and only then would Erica be safe.
Erica nibbled her lower lip. He sounded angry. Drew had bitched and moaned yesterday when she picked up his car but he hadn’t been angry. Even during the conversation with his mother, the many women after and the attack in the garage, Drew had been defensive, desperate and agitated. But not angry.
Why was he angry now?
“Whatever you may think of me, I’m not a thief,” he said. “A playboy, an asshole, a snob—I’m all of these. But I’m not going to steal my mechanic’s car and strand her miles from her business. If I really wanted your car, I’d give you a pretty story about why I needed it that would persuade you to let me have it. But I wouldn’t steal it.” Drew walked to the edge of the living area and leaned against her stuffed chair. “Like the trip to get my luggage. It was a story. I didn’t really want my clothes. I would have rather walked around your house nude so you’d decide you wanted to fuck me again. I went out because I thought your ex was up to something and I hoped I could figure it out.” Drew shook his phone at her. “Lo and behold, I got way more than I bargained for.”