Sensual Stranger

by Tina Donahue

  “I’m flat broke. I have nowhere else to go. I need a job.”

  Chapter Two

  She saw immediate surprise registering in his eyes, their color more amber than hazel with flecks of green, making his long lashes and brows seem even darker, erotic, dangerous.

  The way he’d looked at her as their eyes first met.

  She’d recognized the carnal promise in his expression then, his arousal as he took in her full length…the slight acceleration in his breathing, the increasing intensity of his gaze.

  Before it went further, he’d checked his response, as if realizing its inappropriateness. Not because he was married—he wore no ring. His too-early arrival at the shop further convinced her that he was currently unattached or divorced.

  He’d most likely tamed his reaction so as not to spook her. She liked that, admiring restraint in a man, being able to control himself around a female, respecting boundaries until she invited him inside, understanding the difference between right and wrong.

  Joe hadn’t appreciated the distinction, nor had he cared. Propriety, common decency, her saying “no” had meant nothing to him. And so she’d had to leave. There’d been no other choice.

  Traces of sorrow and fury rose within her, which she pushed back quickly, not allowing it to wound. Too many years had passed, too many miles. Sometimes she found it hard to remember the many places she’d been or to consider where she might be a month from now and at some distant time in the future.

  Until then, she was here.

  Again, the female in her responded to Zach’s masculine allure, her nipples tightening, her body softening at his skin’s clean, soapy scent.

  As though he was considering her confession about being broke, homeless and desperate for work, his expression remained absorbed. With what appeared to be some effort, he looked from her to the street, no doubt wondering what had happened to her bike.

  She’d tell him in time, when she had no other choice.

  Returning his attention her, he asked, “A job?” Giving her no chance to respond, he shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t need a receptionist. I handle all the customers.”

  “Who works on the vehicles?”

  Clearly surprised at her question, he lifted his dark brows slightly. “My two mechanics.”

  “That aren’t here,” she countered. “I am.”

  His brows continued to inch up as his gaze drifted down her, settling on her breasts. “You’re a mechanic?”

  “I can repair cars or cycles.” Her next words spilled out before she could stop them. “Lucky taught me.”

  Zach’s gaze edged to hers, revealing far too many questions in his golden eyes. “Lucky?”

  “Just give me a chance to prove myself.” She rested her helmet on the cabinet. The metal vibrated slightly from its weight. “I’m the best damn mechanic there is.”

  Before he could challenge her statement, she backed toward the red Saturn SC2, a two-door she guessed to be eighteen years old. Paint bubbled on its roof. Part of the rubber molding on the passenger door was missing. Glancing up, she waited until Zach’s eyes lifted from her breasts.

  The second they did, she asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

  Turning to face her, he leaned against the cabinet, feet crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his broad chest. He seemed uncertain how to answer. And then, as if something inside him broke loose, freeing him of restraint, a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “You mean the best damn mechanic there is doesn’t know?”

  She liked his teasing. She could spend days with his smile, content to be the cause of it.

  Pretending offense, she played along, arching one brow. “Even though I can fix anything you put in front of me, unfortunately I’m not psychic.”

  He offered no response. His grin began to fade, his caution returning.

  She spoke quickly. “Can I see the work order?”

  The edges of the papers fluttered in the mild breeze. He made no move to offer them to her. A song reached its last chords on the radio. The station’s peppy deejay counted down the artists whose recordings he’d just played. Finished, he extolled the hearty breakfasts offered at the Last Chance Diner.

  “Look, I need the job,” she explained. “And you obviously need the help.” She gestured to the filled bays and in the direction of the fenced lot she’d seen earlier while awaiting his arrival. Cars filled it too.

  He didn’t pull his attention from her.

  Not about to give up, unable to, she inclined her head to the Saturn and asked again, “What’s wrong with it?”

  After a moment’s pause, Zach uncrossed his arms and reached for the clipboard. Flipping two pages, he read from the sheet. “Doesn’t run good.”

  She laughed. “That’s your mechanic’s assessment?”

  Fighting what looked to be a smile, he shook his head. “That’s what Amy Dobson said. Tucson address. Must be a tourist.” He ran his finger down the sheet, adding, “The engine’s hard to start and it runs rough.”

  “It’s older than a ninety-six, right?” she asked.

  His eyes widened, showing his surprise. “Ninety-three.”

  With a shrug, she made an educated guess. “Needs plugs.”

  Zach’s brows didn’t lower.

  “Spark plugs,” she clarified.

  “Yeah, I know what they are.” He tossed the clipboard back on the cabinet. The metal vibrated loudly. “Lucky teach you about spark plugs?”

  She cursed her big mouth. “Care to make a bet that I’m right?”

  He ran his thumb over his bristly jaw. “Thought you didn’t have any money.”

  “I don’t. I’m willing to bet my job here if I’m wrong, which I’m not.”

  His thumb paused.

  “Scared you’re mistaken about me?” she asked, a smile in her voice.

  Color rose to his face. He turned his head at the sound of a car racing down the otherwise placid street. “It’s not a matter of that.”

  “Then let me show you what I can do.” Not waiting for his response or rejection, she unzipped her leather jacket, pulling it off.

  Instantly, he stared at her black tank top. The tight, stretchy material clung to her, stopping just short of her waist, showing a sliver of skin above her pants. With his attention fully on her, she approached. He watched as she folded her jacket inside out and draped it over her helmet, close to his side.

  “Where do you keep your ratchet wrenches and rags?” she asked.

  Renewed surprise played across his face.

  “I just want to take a look,” she coaxed. “I won’t hurt it.”

  Curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He pushed away from the cabinet and pulled open a drawer.

  As she grabbed the tool, he tossed a rust-colored rag on the cabinet.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “Excuse me.” She leaned past him to take the rag, hearing his slow intake of breath as their biceps touched.

  She turned her face to his. They were close enough for her to see the light brown color ringing his irises, enhancing the gold and green. He wore the look he had upon first seeing her. Purely male. Nearly predatory. Her heart thrummed in appreciation, enjoying it.

  He must have noticed her reaction and sensed his own. He stepped back, breaking their contact.

  She spoke quickly, easily. “Is it always so hot around here?”

  Zach cleared his throat. “Only after the sun rises.”

  “Tell me about it.” She kept her voice breezy. “At dawn, I was freezing. Now though…” Giving him no chance to comment, she returned to the Saturn, addressing it. “Okay, let’s have a look under your skirts, sweetheart. Don’t worry, mama won’t hurt you.”

  Opening the hood, she glanced at the motor.

  What in the fuck are you doing? Tell her to leave.

  Zach’s lips parted, but only a sigh poured out as he stared at her slender well-toned arms, as pale and dewy as the rest of her.

  When she’d taken off her
leather jacket, a wave of lavender had drifted over him, making him damn near dizzy. Who in the hell was she? What was she doing here? In Indulgence of all places?

  He stepped closer, barely aware of the pain in his leg. Gaping at her seemed to have comforted his battered muscles better than a fistful of Advil.

  Her head remained bent to the motor. Carefully, she wiped the area around the plugs.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, surprised at how husky his question sounded.

  She continued working, not bothering to glance over. However, a smile colored her voice as she said, “Look at my jacket.”

  Confused, Zach returned to the cabinet and lifted the garment. Another cloud of lavender, mixed with leather, washed over him. The muscles in his chest tightened and his cock pressed against the barrier of his fly, wanting out.

  Doing his best to ignore his body’s escalating demands, he searched for and found her jacket’s inside label.

  She laughed…a deep, throaty sound that tightened his balls even more.

  “Not there,” she said, “look on the outside, the back.”

  He preferred watching her. A moment passed with their eyes again locked. She broke the contact first. Head tilted to the engine, she used the ratchet with skill, as though it had always been a part of her hand. She didn’t appear to mind the grease, oil and muck that’s a part of any garage.

  “Do you see it?” she asked.

  Zach had no idea what she was talking about, and then he remembered…her name. Turning the jacket, he grinned at the black rhinestones. They caught the light, winking it back, spelling out a series of letters in a modified script.

  “Toni Starr,” he read, thinking the name sounded comfortable on his lips, though not entirely real.

  “That’s me.”

  Sure. No woman he knew wore head-to-toe leather along with a possibly fake name printed out in sparkly letters on the back of her jacket. She had to be some kind of performer. A stripper?

  Yeah, right. A stripper who knew auto repair. “What’s your line of work?”

  “Auto mechanic, once you hire me.”

  Zach didn’t even try to stop his smile. “What was your line of work yesterday?”

  “I was looking for a job. I went through two of the towns north of here.”

  The names of those garages flashed in his mind. He lowered her jacket to the cabinet and pinched the bridge of his nose as he imagined her walking the five or so miles between those two places, unless she hitched a ride. “What was your job last week?”

  A suggestive laugh bubbled from her, telling him she enjoyed dodging his questions. “I’m a motorcycle performance artist.”

  Zach dropped his hand, looked over and completely forgot what he’d intended to say.

  Bent at the waist over the motor, her slender fingers on the fender, Toni turned her face to him, while her sweet ass…

  He swallowed. She’d assumed the perfect position for him to mount her, just like in a horny male fantasy or a triple X-rated film about a garage owner and a motorcycle performance artist.

  His balls began to hurt and his cock lengthened a bit more with nowhere for his erection to go, no place to find relief except in his mind. There, all hell broke loose as he imagined standing behind her, unbuttoning and unzipping her leather pants, peeling them from her plush hips and succulent cheeks.

  The leather would surely resist, clinging to her flesh, not wanting to leave its fragrant home. She’d wiggle slightly, helping him. The movement would deliver more of her sweet, sultry scent.

  He’d push the pants to her knees and run his fingers over the furrow between her buttocks, slipping his fingers beneath her thong. He pictured it as being black to match the rest of her clothing, unless it was red. Yeah, that was much better—red silk bordered with black lace. His pounding heart liked the image his mind presented. Perspiration prickled the back of his neck. A stray bead ran down his spine.

  More pictures unwound in his brain, creating scenes of irresistible lust. His hands caressing her hot, moist flesh. Her damp pussy, slick with arousal. Her vaginal lips plump with need. The decadent aroma of her female musk beneath the lavender and leather. Him mounting her, burrowing his cock into her narrow, heated sheath, tunneling as deep as he could go. Burying himself. Losing himself.

  In a woman who wasn’t anything like Meg.

  Memories of his late wife drifted close. Zach saw her long blonde hair, brown eyes, the dimples on either side of her mouth as she laughed. He braced himself for the all too familiar pain that always accompanied his thoughts of her. This morning, it was on the mild side. Time had blunted the emptiness and his guilt.

  Not certain whether to feel relieved or guiltier than before, Zach stared at Toni. A stranger who wore her name—fake or otherwise—on the back of her jacket, was flat broke and had worked as a motorcycle performance artist. The job title nearly made him grin.

  “You’re a what?” he asked.

  “Daredevil.” She spoke casually as most would as they explained being teachers, waitresses or convenience store clerks, not daredevils. “Next month, when the circuit starts up again, I’ll be following it as I always do.”

  But until then, she needed a job here, walking to reach it.

  “What happened to your bike?” he asked. “Someone steal it?”

  Immediately, her expression grew cautious, her playful mood at an end. Turning back to the motor, she said, “In a manner of speaking.”

  Zach wondered just where she’d learned to dodge questions so well. “If someone took it, shouldn’t you be talking to the sheriff or the local police and your insurance agent?”

  On a sigh, she looked over, meeting his eyes. “My insurance agent doesn’t exist since I can’t afford it. And the sheriff’s the one who has my bike.” Straightening, she gestured to the car’s guts. “It does need a new set of plugs. There’s a nasty oil leak in there that’s going to cause them to fail eventually. They’re coated with the stuff.”

  Zach’s gaze dropped to the motor, not really seeing it, then returned to her. “Why does the sheriff have your bike?”

  “The usual reasons.”

  Frustration fought with his amusement. She was really something. What exactly, Zach wasn’t altogether certain. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed her verbal gymnastics. A low chuckle rumbled from him. “Which are?”

  Head lowered, she wiped her fingers on a clean part of the rag. “I was at that farm supply store north of here, putting on a performance in the lot.” She snuck a look at him, then examined her nails, rubbing them with the cloth. “I wasn’t hurting anything. I wasn’t anywhere near the damn store. I was just trying to make some cash until I can get back on the circuit.”

  Lowering the rag to the fender, she met his eyes. “The crowd was building up really good and then a deputy appeared out of nowhere. He wanted proof of insurance, which I didn’t have, and my permit to perform, which I also didn’t have.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Before I knew it, he was calling a towing company and impounding my bike. When I couldn’t pay the fine, the judge sentenced me to three days in jail and told me they’d keep my bike and driver’s license until I could pay the fees and get insurance.”

  Her nonchalance about the matter surprised Zach, along with something else. “You couldn’t call your folks to have them bail you out?”

  Her expression clouded immediately. She averted her gaze, watching the few cars heading down the street. When she spoke, her voice remained careful, her manner measured. “Every day my bike’s in impound, they tack on more storage fees. What a racket, huh?” She shrugged. “I figure after a month here, fixing these babies,” she rapped her knuckles against the Saturn, “I’ll have enough to get my bike, some cheapo insurance and take off, just in time for the start of the season.”

  Sounded reasonable for someone who led such an unconventional life and apparently did it all alone.

  Why that disturbed Zach, he hadn’t a clue. She was a stranger.
As interesting as the last few minutes had been, it wasn’t his job to help her.

  So what was the story with her family? Was she on the outs with her parents? And who the fuck was Lucky? An ex-boyfriend? Ex-husband?

  “You need the help,” she said, cutting into his thoughts.

  He regarded the cars in the bay and thought of those in the lot requiring service. Work that kept him busy at night after his mechanics left, sparing him from thinking too much, wondering what might have been if he hadn’t lost Meg.

  “Sorry,” he said, surprised at the catch in his voice, emotion he forced down. “I can’t hire you.”

  For seconds, she didn’t comment. And then she spoke softly, without accusation. “Sure you can. But you won’t.”

  He wanted to explain, to look away, but could not.

  They held each other’s gaze. Their silence grew, allowing other sounds to intrude. Carrie Underwood’s latest hit played on the radio. A jet rumbled overhead on its journey west, possibly to Los Angeles or Hawaii. Children’s voices, shrill with excitement, urged their parents to hurry down the street.

  “It’s okay,” Toni said at last, her smile resigned and sad, “at least I gave it a shot.” She closed the Saturn’s hood and cleaned the wrench as she approached him. After putting the tool back in its drawer, she folded the rag, leaving it on top of the cabinet.

  Each movement delivered more of her scent, causing Zach’s heart to beat far too quickly. He noticed beads of perspiration on her throat and a small mole on her left biceps, a solitary mark amidst all that pale skin. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Where will you go now?”

  Toni lifted her narrow shoulders. “The next repair shop that might need help.” She reached for her jacket.

  Zach’s hand settled on her wrist, stopping her. The silkiness of her skin jolted his senses. He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. “You said you were flat broke. Does that mean you have no money at all?”

  With a directness that shouldn’t have surprised him, but did, she met his eyes. In her expression, he detected no bullshit. It was as though he had a window into her mind and heart, seeing how truly alone she was, the fear she tried so hard to hide.