Revving Her Up

by Daniels, Joy

  Sharp beeps sounded from outside as Mike backed the tow truck into the drive. Cole hit a switch on the wall and the garage’s door started to rise, bringing the Porsche into view. Why had he agreed to help again? Austin would have understood if Cole had said he was too busy. The racing season was starting in a couple of weeks and he had better things to do than fix a damned sports car.

  Then he had to offer his own lift. Like she wasn’t dangerous enough to his sanity in public.

  Mike lowered the Porsche to the ground and ran around to unhook it from the truck’s cable. Cole could have offered to help but the other man seemed to have it under control. Besides, this was probably the closest Mike had ever been to a Porsche—why spoil the man’s fun?

  Mike drove the car over the waiting lift, got out and handed Cole the keys. “Nice car, eh? Never thought I’d like one of these foreign jobs, but I got to admit it feels pretty good.” He gestured at the racecars that filled two of the other bays. “Not as nice as those, of course, but not too bad.”

  “No, not too bad.”

  Cole bit back a smile and popped the trunk, which was in the front on a Porsche. He pulled out the pair of matching travel bags sitting there. After closing the trunk, he set the bags under a table and nodded to Mike, who flipped a switch on the wall behind him. The Porsche rose into the air.

  Mike stepped away from the moving car and looked around the shop. “Man, you must be busy. Sure was nice of you to bring her car out here.” He looked back at the Porsche. “I hope she appreciates it.”

  Cole snorted softly. She appreciated it all right. Cole hadn’t missed the way Sarah’s face had lit up when she saw his house. He shook his head. It always came down to money with women like that. Well, he’d learned his lesson—the next woman he got involved with was going to accept all parts of him, racing, Rapture and all.

  “That one’s a looker, eh?” Mike asked and for a moment Cole wasn’t sure if he meant the car or its driver. But the next sentence cleared up his confusion. “Reminds me of that babe you brought around a while back. What was her name?”

  “Natalie,” he said between clenched teeth, then forced himself to relax. It wasn’t Mike’s fault he had a weakness for stuck-up city girls.

  “She was hot but not too friendly. Didn’t like racing neither,” he added and looked up at the Porsche. Clearly, anyone who didn’t like racing was not worth discussing in Mike’s book.

  Cole tried to imagine Sarah at a racetrack, surrounded by beer-swigging rednecks and big-haired biker chicks. He snorted. Yeah, right. Natalie had loved the money racing brought in, but looked down her nose at racing fans and even the drivers themselves. So what if most of them had never gone to college? Not everyone needed a piece of paper to prove they were good at something.

  His sister didn’t. She’d worked damned hard to compete in a man’s sport, but had Natalie appreciated that? His almost-fiancée had claimed to be a feminist, but her values had only extended to women in office buildings and courtrooms, not those “playing with grease monkeys and toy cars”. He’d never forget the look on Carrie’s face when Natalie said that. He shook his head. How could he have been so blind, letting his dick guide him instead of his head?

  He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  A few hours ago Sarah had been zipping along in her Porsche on her way to The Spa at Westwood for a little doctor-prescribed R and R. Now she was aching with need, her breasts tight and her body on fire after practically begging a stranger to kiss her. A small-town mechanic, no less! What was wrong with her?

  On the other hand, the logical side of her brain chimed in, with a house like this the man was clearly more than “just” a mechanic. So what was he?

  And what the hell kind of game was he playing? She knew he was interested—she hadn’t imagined the almost-kiss in the living room. But when the horn had blown, he’d pulled back as if nothing had happened. Thanks to Mike’s lousy timing, nothing had happened, but they seemed to be getting somewhere. Or so she thought. So why was he teasing her, leading her on? That was not the behavior she was used to from the men she pursued. It made her edgy. Restless. Off-balance. And insanely aroused. Damn him.

  Muffled bangs and bumps came from the hall that Cole had disappeared down. He’d be busy with her car for a while. That left her free to regroup and turn to what she really wanted to do—explore the abode of the mystery man who had gotten her so unexpectedly hot. Uncover some clues that might help explain his unusual appeal.

  She returned to the foyer. Above the table where Cole had tossed his keys hung a large framed photo of Cole in stained coveralls with his arm around the shoulders of a tall blond guy in a racing jumpsuit. The two men stood grinning from ear-to-ear before a red racecar festooned with logos and the number 72 painted on the door. Words were scrawled across the bottom of the image: Thanks, buddy—couldn’t have done it without you! A signature was written beneath the words, but Sarah couldn’t make out the name. On the opposite wall, another photo showed a driver on the hood of a banged-up racecar, one fist raised in a victory salute. Although the helmet obscured her face, the snug racing suit revealed that the driver was a woman. We did it! was written across it in big letters.

  Sarah turned to take in the living room. The signed photos were only two of many racing-related pictures scattered about the large space. There were photos of Cole with different cars and drivers, one with him waving from the driver’s seat of a car and many of cars speeding down racetracks. Scattered among these was racing paraphernalia, including pendants, framed racing posters and a couple of checked flags. Issues of Car and Driver sat on a wooden coffee table before a large leather couch. A flat-screen TV dominated the opposite wall. The whole space was done in cool shades of blue and green with touches of wood throughout. Masculine without being overpowering. Tasteful and classy. And not a woman’s touch in sight.

  Sarah spotted a collection of photos on the large mantle and headed that way. She could learn a lot about a person from their personal photos. Like whether there was a Mrs. Cassidy.

  No wedding photos graced the stone surface, but front-and-center was a picture of Cole with his arm around a gorgeous black-haired woman. The two of them stood smiling behind a good-looking older couple. Sarah’s stomach clenched until she noticed that both Cole and the younger woman shared their blue eyes with the older man and their black hair with the woman. Unless she was mistaken, this was a picture of Cole, his sister and their parents. So far so good. She glanced at the other photos. A younger Cole horsing around with a bunch of guys in a boat. Raising a toast with a large group in a bar. A cluster of boys wearing football uniforms and mud surrounded by cheerleaders. In all of them Cole was happy, relaxed. The people around him smiled. While there were women in many of the photos, there was no one whose body language said “significant other”. She released the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. While she might be willing to stretch her rules to include sex with a mechanic—okay, at this point she was eager to do so—doing it with a man already spoken for was out of the question.

  She continued her investigation in the kitchen. The appliances were all top-grade. Stainless-steel refrigerator. Six-burner stove. High-quality pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack. The dishes and pots in the drying rack suggested recent use. She tried to remember the last time she’d used her own matchbook-sized kitchen to do more than microwave leftover takeout. She couldn’t.

  The hall Cole disappeared down held a small bathroom and a laundry room and ended in a large metal door that presumably led outside. Having exhausted the snooping potential of the downstairs, Sarah wandered back to the main room and found herself at the foot of the staircase. She placed a foot on the bottom step, itching with curiosity about what was upstairs.

  Who was she trying to kid? What she really wanted to see was his bedroom. What kind of bed did he sleep in? An old-fashioned four-poster? A modern platform? One thing she was sure of given the man’s size and the space he took up with his presence al
one, it was definitely a king. Plenty of room for two. Of course, she had no reason to be up there, no excuse except for plain nosiness. And if he caught her in his bedroom of all places… An unexpected thrill ran through her at the idea. What would he do if he found her there?

  What would she want him to do?

  What was it about this guy? Could he be any further from her usual button-down type? Before Trent, she’d dated a sophisticated financial analyst named Manny. She recalled his neatly manicured nails and tried to imagine him under a car. Unfortunately, she was also unable to imagine him revving her engine, which was why she’d ended their relationship after three unsuccessful “attempts” that had left him satisfied and her desperate for something more.

  The same scene had played out again and again. Each of her recent lovers had been handsome, sophisticated and successful, but not one had lit her fire. Even her trusty electronic companion had let her down. It was sad. No, for a woman who loved sex and who craved orgasms as much as she did, it was fucking pathetic. If she didn’t find satisfaction soon…

  But Cole was a stranger. If she couldn’t come with someone she knew or even by herself, why would things be any different with him? The last thing she needed was another failure. Memories of coming so close only to fizzle at the last moment made frustration well up in her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  The doctor had assured her that this kind of thing happened to women all the time. She just had to relax. She blinked until her sight cleared. Sex with a stranger wasn’t the best way to do that. She gave an irritated huff. If only she could know for sure.

  The sound of male laughter brought her back to her current predicament. As convenient as it would be for Cole to fix everything that ailed her, the chances of that were slim to none. What she really needed was to get her car fixed and be on her way, not to snoop around a stranger’s home, no matter how hot he might be.

  Cole laughed again and delightful shivers danced across her skin. She looked up the stairs with regret and turned away, heading toward the source of the sound. She picked up her pace. Her best course of action was to get out of there as soon as Cole fixed her car, so a desire to see the man himself had nothing to do with where her feet were leading her.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Five

  When Sarah pushed through the steel door at the end of the hallway, the scene that met her eyes looked more like a high-tech laboratory than a place to fix cars. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Just as Cole was more than an ordinary mechanic, this was more than “just” a garage.

  Fluorescent light reflected off the spotless concrete floor and the white metal cabinets and drawers that lined the back wall from floor to ceiling. An open cabinet in the corner revealed shelves filled with shiny metal parts of different shapes, ranging from the size of her fist to the length of her arm. Multiple computers and monitors perched on the long tables that separated the three cars that filled the main space.

  Closest was a logo-covered blue-and-yellow racecar. Its shape was roughly the same as the cars she’d seen on the highway, but the similarities ended there. This speedster sported a kind of wing on the back and thick tires. It had no fender and the front end of the car nearly touched the ground. A coarsely woven mesh covered the driver’s window instead of glass.

  Sarah sensed something else odd about the car, but she couldn’t place it—

  It didn’t have any doors. How the hell did the driver get in? Through the window Dukes of Hazard style?

  A silver racecar sat in the middle of the room. It was similar to the first but without the logos. This one had doors and through the open window she spotted two seats. That seemed odd for a racecar, but what did she know? The only racing she’d ever done was in a cab speeding down the West Side Highway. Farthest away, her Porsche was up on a lift. It seemed tame in comparison to the racers beside it. From the TV ads Sarah knew her convertible could reach speeds of a hundred and sixty miles an hour. How fast could these racecars go?

  The two men stood beneath the Porsche’s front end, elbow-deep in the car’s underbelly. Cole’s muscles bunched under his tight white tee and Sarah’s libido clicked into gear. Reluctant to wander among the cables that snaked across the floor, she called across the room. “I see you got it up.” She winced when the words’ double meaning hit her.

  Cole smiled. “Oh yeah, it’s up all right. Been up for a while.” He released whatever he’d been holding and stepped back. Mike stepped back as well and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve.

  “And is it what you thought? The front tie…” What the heck had he called it? “…thing?” She frowned. She hated sounding like an ignorant girl.

  “The front tie rod. Yeah, it’s busted. Come.” He beckoned with a wave. “I’ll show you.”

  Curious, Sarah picked her way across the room to where the two men stood. The closer she got to Cole the harder her heart beat, until she was sure they’d be able to hear it. She stopped a few feet away from the men and took a steadying breath.

  Cole pointed up at something between the front wheels. “See here? The bar between the wheel and the axle?”

  Sarah craned her neck to see into the car’s underside and tried to ignore the delicious tension in the pit of her stomach brought by Cole’s proximity. She thought she knew what he was talking about but couldn’t be sure—there were a lot of metal bits and bars under there. “I think so.”

  Cole stepped behind her. Before she realized what he was going to do, his hands landed on her shoulders and he steered her to a spot under the axle. Standing behind her, he pointed to the left wheel. “See the narrow metal rod inside the wheel?”

  He paused but Sarah’s mind had gone blank the moment he’d touched her. His hand on her shoulder was like a brand sending a heated awareness across her chest. Her nipples pebbled. Several inches stood between them, but she could feel his body behind her as surely as if they had embraced. It took all of her willpower not to lean back and close the gap.

  “See it?” he asked again.

  She nodded, not sure if she could speak. She glanced at Mike who looked up at the car as if nothing unusual was happening. Maybe the blood rushing through her ears wasn’t as loud as she feared, the rapping of her heart against her ribs not visible through her top. A quick glance down showed that her peaked nipples were obvious so she crossed her arms, nodding more forcefully this time.

  “That’s the tie rod. It connects the front wheel to the rest of the steering system.” The part of her brain that was functioning was pleased to note that his voice lacked the condescension she usually got from auto mechanics. He pointed over to the right side. “And there’s the busted one.”

  The rod on the right side was bent down at a sharp angle. That explained why the wheel was sticking out.

  Cole stepped back. The spot where his hand had rested felt cool, her entire back chilled. “I think that’s all that’s wrong,” he said, “but I want to check one more thing.” He picked a long-handled tool off a worktable.

  Sarah nodded as if she had a clue as to what he was talking about and moved away. She needed to put some distance between herself and this man. She needed to get a grip before she did something embarrassing. Like dragging him into the nearest backseat.

  With mingled relief and regret, she recalled that none of the cars in the garage had backseats.

  Cole stepped back from her car and nodded. “Yup, that’s it. We’ll have to replace a couple of things and fine-tune your alignment, but that’s all. You really got lucky. It could have been worse.”

  “A lot worse,” Mike said. “But you’re lucky. Cole’ll fix you right up.”

  If only. But they were referring to the car. “Great. So, you can fix it.”

  “I’ve fixed cars a lot worse off than yours,” Cole said with a laugh as he clamped the tool on to something behind the Porsche’s front wheel. “You’ll be ready to go in no time.”

  Ready to go? As in car fixed and out of here?

  Sa
rah watched the play of muscles across Cole’s back as he grabbed the long handle with both hands and pulled. His biceps strained with the effort and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers twitched, eager to feel the strength in those limbs. To touch those rock-hard planes. To discover if he really was the cure she’d been looking for…

  She shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? Relaxation was the cure, not some mysterious mechanic from Nowheres-ville. No matter how hot he was—or how hot he made her—she wasn’t willing to put her instant attraction to this man to the test. The risk was too great. After all, she’d been attracted to each of her previous lovers and look what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t.

  Why would things be any different with Cole?

  With that depressing thought, Sarah tamped down the last embers of her desire and looked at the clock on the garage’s back wall. It was almost five. “How long do you think it will take you to fix my car?” She mentally calculated the remaining distance to the spa. If she left by eight, she’d still be able to make the late check-in…

  “A couple of hours.” Cole rolled his shoulders in a way that made Sarah’s insides do somersaults. “Once we get the part.”

  “Great.” She was trying to recall where she’d left her purse when his words penetrated. “Get the part? You mean you don’t have it here?”

  Mike laughed. “No, ma’am. Porsches have special everything. Not much call for them around here.”

  She failed to see what was so funny. “When will it arrive? I have a reservation at The Spa at Westwood. They’re expecting me tonight.”

  “The part will have to be sent over from Richmond,” Cole said. He had a look of sympathy on his face. “That ain’t happening today, darlin’. Sorry.”

  Now that she had decided that it was best to go, she couldn’t. An unfamiliar feeling of panic gripped her. “Not leave tonight?” Her voice cracked. “You mean I’m stuck here?”