by Marie Harte
“I’m all over it,” he muttered.
Lou had been raised by his mother, his grandmother, and five aunts. He had five sisters and thirteen female cousins—who lived way too close by—and he’d been working for Delilah McCauley since her father had all but retired.
Lou respected women. He loved women.
Yet Patsy Sidel did nothing but bitch about her car, no matter how many times the crew and Del had begged her to trade it in for one that worked.
No, he had no urge to deal with Mrs. Sidel. Not when he had his mind full of another woman with no time for him or his charming ways, which frankly baffled him.
He swore as he busted his knuckles against a stubborn bolt, the pain right up there with the headache brewing anytime he thought about Josephine—Joey—Reeves.
It continued to confuse the hell out of him that the one woman he’d had his eye on for months still refused to respond to his obvious appeal, handsome good looks, and killer grin.
He swore to himself as he fought with the spark plugs on his current project, his thoughts on a sexy brunette who spooked if he so much as took a step in her direction.
What the hell had happened? It was like he’d fallen into an alternate reality. His badass boss had snagged a decent guy, complete with a kid and a dog. His fellow mechanics, all gruff, tatted, and coarse, had scored sweethearts. Even the boss’s dad had a fine woman who thought he hung the moon. And Liam was an all-around bruiser.
But Lou—the best-looking and smartest of the bunch—could barely get a smile from the chick he’d been digging?
He’d first seen her when she’d timidly stepped into the garage, months ago, asking for Del. His entire world had centered on that one moment, and it was like the fucking sun had spotlighted the petite brunette, showcasing the perfect woman in the center of his world.
Then she’d scurried by him, not looking much at any of the guys, as a matter of fact, and disappeared into Del’s office. Joey had come by a few times after that to deal with Del and flowers for her wedding. But somehow she managed to avoid being anywhere near Lou.
The guys thought it hilarious, since he’d made his interest clear. Even Del questioned what had happened to Lou’s famous ability to charm women. What made it even worse? Del liked the chick, and she’d invited Joey to hang at the wedding as a guest.
Again, he’d been denied. He’d tried talking to her only to have her stammer and light out as if her hair had caught fire. Then she’d disappeared when he’d tried to ask if she was okay.
Sheer luck had brought him into her shop today, inspired by the idea of getting his sister flowers to celebrate her breakup with a major asshole. Of course, Stella wouldn’t see it that way. But he did.
He sighed. Josephine Reeves. Demure. Sleek and pretty. Joey had a tiny frame, gently curved in all the right places though. Her mink-brown hair curled around her shoulders, long and thick. She had pretty features, nothing too remarkable. Lou had been with knockouts. Women with huge breasts and round asses, thick thighs, muscular frames, blonds, redheads, you name it.
But for some reason, Joey Reeves and her tiny hands, less-than-a-handful breasts, and slender figure got him harder than steel. Just thinking about her brought out all the dominant instincts he’d made good use of since he’d first taken a woman to bed.
Man, the thought of all he wanted to do to her… Touching her in the store hadn’t been smart, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Finally, they’d had a face-to-face conversation. More than the physical attraction, just being around her made his heart do weird somersaults. He’d felt happy just being near all that sweetness.
And he had another couple of hours until he’d get to see her again.
He smiled and chuckled, wondering if she’d try to pawn him off on another employee. Not that it mattered. He planned to seduce the woman into a date if it was the last thing he ever—
“Shoot, Lou.” A husky female voice jarred him from his fantasies. “My father works faster than you anymore.”
He jolted and swore, scraping across that damn bolt again and bleeding over the engine. “You need to wear a bell.”
“No kidding.” Liam, Del’s father, didn’t sound happy. No doubt insulted that his daughter had compared him to Lou. “For the record, I’m still a better mechanic than any of the dickheads in here.” He flashed a satisfied smile. “No offense, Lou, Sam.”
Sam grunted.
“What he said.” Lou swore under his breath, cradling his stinging hand.
Like the rest of the guys who worked in the shop, Liam Webster wore his brawn well. Six-two and built like a brick, the guy looked and acted a decade younger than his sixty years. Hell, Lou was no pushover, but he had no intention of ever going up against Liam. The old man looked like the type to fight dirty. With a daughter like Del, he no doubt knew how to handle conflict.
On a regular basis.
Del McCauley, now that she’d married Mr. White Picket Fence, looked good wearing a gold band on her finger. Other than the ring, going home daily at five, and smiling all the damn time, his boss hadn’t much changed. Then again, it had only been a week since she’d officially become a Mrs.
Lou realized Liam had used the word dickhead and Del hadn’t laid into him. “So we can swear again?”
“Yeah.” Liam blew out a breath. “Now that my princess snagged herself a man and is living in wedded bliss, the rest of us are free to talk like normal people.”
Prior to her wedding, Del had pronounced the garage “swear-free” for months in an effort not to swear at her own wedding.
“It worked, Dad.” Del grinned. “I didn’t say one fucking thing wrong.”
“Ah, there’s my girl.” Liam hefted a beefy arm over her shoulder and squeezed until she squeaked.
Lou grinned. Del really was a cute Amazon. “You two taking off?” The time had reached five already.
Only two more hours until he got to visit his own princesa.
“Yep. Time for this old man and his daughter to go home. I’m eating at the McCauleys’ tonight.” Liam beamed.
Must be a great thing to see his daughter married to a decent guy and into a hella nice family. Lou constantly struggled to keep his sisters in line and his cousins from going off the deep end when it came to men and bad choices.
“Oh?” Lou wiped his hands on a dirty rag to stanch the bleeding.
“God, Lou. Stop.” Del marched off and returned with a clean rag and bandage. “Use these.”
Lou used the rag to take care of the excess blood, then slapped the bandage on his throbbing knuckle. “Check that, Liam. Your baby girl is all domesticated. Want to kiss it and make it better, Del?”
She flipped him off, and they laughed. “Don’t work too hard, Lou.” Del shook her head and darted a sly look his way. “Wouldn’t want to be too late when you pick up those flowers for your sister.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I know all and see all, Cortez. Remember that.” She huffed. “And make sure to tell Heller to stop hogging all your time when you see him tomorrow. I need you in here too, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lou worked for Del mostly, but his paint work he did through Heller’s shop. Heller’s Paint and Body—which had read Heller’s Paint and Auto Body before the Auto fell of the sign—specialized in high-end paint jobs, and Lou got a real kick out of creating works of art with wheels.
“I’m not kidding. I don’t care how big or mean Heller thinks he is. You belong to me.” She scowled, then turned on her heel and stalked back to the office.
Liam shook his head. “Be nice when you tell him that.”
“Oh, I will.” Only a man courting death mouthed off to Heller.
Liam followed his daughter out of the garage.
“Tell Heller what to do? I don’t think so.” Lou snorted, heard Sam’s mumble
of agreement, and got back to work.
Heller had first been his boss, but now Lou considered the guy a friend. A lot like the jack-holes working in Webster’s, Heller had size, muscles, and a toughness brought about by a hard life. He also had a stare that could shrivel a guy in seconds. In addition to his fierce physique, the guy had a brain like a computer. Heller didn’t say much, but when he did, people listened. He was fucking smart and lethal.
He also looked like an angry Nordic god, and his scowls sent most people running in the opposite direction. Lou didn’t mind and liked the guy just fine.
“Del said you’re working at Heller’s tomorrow?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.” Lou went back to finishing the Chrysler. He had to get started on that next oil change. They didn’t make any money off the routine jobs, but they kept clients happy and coming back because they did everything for the car. Easy stuff, but Lou also had another to finish before he could leave to get to Joey’s flower shop on time.
“He’s not a bad guy.” Sam didn’t say any more.
Done with his project, Lou drove the Chrysler outside, took the Grand Am into the bay, and readied it for an oil change.
“Helped me out with Senior a while back,” Sam continued, his deep voice like the growl of an angry bear. And that was Sam in a good mood. The guy had huge arms tatted from his wrists to his shoulders and up his neck. His scruffy cheeks showed him regrowing a beard and ’stache. Sam didn’t laugh much, but he smiled more since dating Ivy than he had in the three years Lou had known him.
Sam didn’t like many people. The gang at the garage, Ivy, and J.T.—Del’s brother. And now…Heller? “Heller helped you out?”
Like Sam, Heller could be particular about those he called friend. Lou drained the oil, waiting for Sam to continue.
Sam told him about a fight at a popular bar they frequented and about how Heller had stepped in to keep things mostly fair. Meaning Sam kicked the asses of four douchebags while Heller made sure no one brought a gun to the fight.
Sam looked away from the engine he was working on. “Make sure to tell him the next beer at Ray’s is on me. The plan is to head there Friday night.”
“Nobody told me.” Lou scowled.
“I’m telling you now, Romeo. Try to get a life and show up. Or is your mom still keeping you in on curfew?”
Lou cursed him in Spanish, getting an honest-to-God laugh out of Sam. Freaky. “Are you on drugs? What’s with all the cheer, man?”
“It’s called love, Lou. You ought to give it a try. With just one woman, I mean.”
“Funny.” Lou changed out the filter, then took the oil pan and dumped it in the drum in the back. He returned, put on the new filter, cleaned up the undercarriage, then finished refilling the oil and putting the vehicle to rights.
Sam, being Sam, refused to let it go. “Of course, since you’re still panting after Del’s flower chick, maybe you’re actually gonna follow my advice, huh? Doing your best to find some love, Casanova? Except the chick is smart and sees right through all that charming shit that normally works.” Sam smiled. Again.
“You got a point to make, Mr. Mouth?”
“Nope. I’m done. Heading home to Ivy for dinner.” Sam sounded more than satisfied, and Lou couldn’t blame him. He liked Ivy, the sweet thing. Though he still had no idea what a cutie like her was doing with a thug like Sam.
Sam left the bay to hang up his coveralls and grab his jacket. He returned to the bay, then parted with, “Hey, Lou, you ever find a date, we’ll double. How about that?”
“Fuck off, Hamilton.”
“Eat shit and die, Cortez.” Sam left, whistling.
The bastard.
Noting the time, Lou hustled to finish his last oil change. He cleaned then locked up after himself. Nothing he could do about the bloody bandage or smell of oil coating him like cheap cologne.
He raced to the flower shop, praying she’d waited an extra ten minutes past closing.
Not that it mattered. He’d still give Stella a shoulder to cry on, even without the flowers. If Joey had gone home, he’d have to swing by the next day. Or the next. Not that Lou would resort to harassing the woman. But if she’d just give him a chance to show her how much fun he could be, he knew he’d have a shot at seeing the real Joey Reeves.
Preferably in just the skin God gave her.
He groaned, now aroused again, and did his best to think clean thoughts as he motored through traffic to win a certain princesa needing a white knight. Or, at least, a slightly tarnished one.
Chapter 2
Joey glared at her phone, not pleased to still be stuck hanging around the shop fifteen minutes past closing. She’d already texted her mother, but since Brandon had been invited to dinner with a friend, she didn’t have to pick him up until eight anyway. She would have texted Lou to see what had held him up, but if she did that, he’d have her personal number.
What to do, what to do… Oh, screw it. Lou Cortez could just—
A car zoomed into the parking lot in front of the store. A sleek, highly polished, dark-purple muscle car. A Camaro maybe? She had no idea. But the thing had been custom designed for sure. She stared in wonder at the lifelike cobra subtly shimmering on the back side panel before the car turned to park and she couldn’t see the image anymore. Artwork like that had to cost a fortune. No amateur spray painting. Lou’s car would look totally at home at a car show.
He stepped out in the same jeans and gray tee he’d been wearing earlier, complete with black boots and a black denim jacket. What would look casual on anyone else looked spectacular on Lou. All he needed to turn himself into an advertisement for the ideal man’s man would be a woman on each arm, a beer in hand, and that amazing smile he’d turned on her earlier.
He hustled up to the front door and knocked, peering inside past the closed sign and tugging at the locked door.
She sighed, went to the front, and opened the door. “You’re late.” Oh yeah. Manager Joey was sticking to her guns. Joey had no time for those who didn’t stick to her schedule, sexy smile or not.
He held up his hands in surrender, and she noticed a big bandage on one that hadn’t been there before. “Lo siento. I’m so sorry. Totally my fault, but the sludge in Johnson’s car made the oil take forever to come out. And my boss is a total hardass. If I hadn’t gotten that last oil job done, I’d be working on Blue Altima tomorrow, and that car is straight-up cursed.” He spoke fast, his accent thick.
“Blue Altima?”
He shivered. “You have no idea how many fingers, wrists, and arms I’ve busted with that thing.” He held up his bandaged hand. “This is nothing. I’m really, really sorry I’m late. I swear. I broke a few speeding records to get here.”
Familiar with the city traffic, she well knew it could take twenty minutes to go a mile in this town, even after rush hour on a Monday. She tried to hold onto her mad, but he’d talked so fast and looked so earnest, she couldn’t. “Come on. I’ll get you the flowers.” And then you can leave and not come back.
Behind her, he seemed to loom. Joey was on the short side, and Lou had to stand a few inches over six feet. He made her feel downright tiny. When she reached the counter, he started to follow her behind it.
She turned and automatically put a hand out before she could think about it.
He took an extra step before stopping, so that his warm, broad chest pressed against her palm. He glanced from the contact to her face, his expression impossible to read. But intense seemed to describe it well enough.
She blew out a breath and quickly lowered her hand. “Nobody goes behind the counter unless Stef says it’s okay.” Stef’s orders, and Joey was nothing if not a stickler for the rules.
He took a step back and crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Stef?”
“My boss.” And friend. The woman had taken a chance on a teenager, and unlike
Joey’s parents, Stef had never judged her for her choices. “There you go.” She pointed to the flowers she’d put together in a square glass vase, sitting on the back counter.
“Oh man. Are those for Stella? They’re perfect.”
Seeing that he made no move to follow her back and that he seemed thrilled with her arrangement, she relaxed. “Purples, whites, and a few sprigs of pink to mix it up. It’s lightly scented, a hint of lavender. You said she’d like that.”
“Yeah.” He whistled. “This should help ease the sting from the jackass who dumped her.”
She cringed. “Ouch.”
He looked back at her and smiled. “Nah. He was a jerk. She’ll be much better off with someone else.” He dug in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and slapped a card down. “Whatever it costs, it’s worth it.”
Joey rang him up, making no mention of the fact she hadn’t charged him extra. As much as he bothered her, she couldn’t hold being a good brother against him. She handed his card back, then waited for him to sign and leave.
He signed, then handed her back the slip.
But he didn’t move, didn’t even reach for the bouquet. “So, Joey.”
Those eyes mesmerized her, and she quickly looked down and fiddled with his ticket. He had that bedroom stare she’d seen before, the one that invited a girl to take all her clothes off, lie back, and wait for the good times to roll. How sad that anytime she saw this man she barely knew, she thought of sex. Talk about needing to get back into the dating scene to cool her jets. Desperation did not a pretty girl make.
She wanted to look him back in the eye, to mouth something smart. She’d say, “So, Lou,” and just pause the way he had. Except Manager Joey had left the building, and girlie, stupid, shy Joey took her place. She felt tongue-tied. Crap.
A regular customer, a person she talked to without fear of complication, and she had no problem conversing. The moment she felt that something intimate, that spark of desire for a man or a relationship, she turned shy. It was so weird and totally unlike the real Joey. And also a telling sign of whom she should steer clear of.