If the crash didn’t kill him, he was going to have the perfect excuse to go see super sexy Frankie Polaski.
A clang ricocheted through the interior of the garage, and Frankie yanked the headphones down around her neck, hitting pause on the AC/DC song blaring from her iPod. She shuffled her feet, rolling the creeper from beneath the GTO she was working on. Standing, she gave her back a quick stretch before walking over to the office door.
“Just a sec,” she called as she wiped her hands on the rag stuffed in the pocket of her overalls.
“No problem,” a male voice responded through the door.
She closed her eyes and bit back a groan. That husky timbre was so distinct that there was no mistaking it. Mac Sanders. He’d brought a car by the garage a couple weeks earlier, and she was still having sexy dreams about him. She couldn’t handle having him around more than once a month. Her lady parts would literally implode with lust. Granted, she’d taken matters into her own hands to dull the edge a little when the situation became unmanageable. But even at that, her body knew what it wanted and was rebelling against the distinct lack of Mac.
She resisted the urge to fluff her ponytail and pasted a flirtatious smile on her face as she opened the door. “Hey, Mac. Didn’t expect to see you until next month,” she said, eyeing the tan cashmere sweater and faded jeans that clung to his backside in the best way.
He turned and sent her a sheepish grin. She gasped as she took in his appearance.
“That bad?” he asked with a chuckle.
“What the hell happened to you?” Her initial fear upon seeing his injuries had faded somewhat with his reassuring smile, but his face was a total mess. A mottled yellow and purplish bruise circled one warm, hazel eye, and a small but jagged cut bisected his eyebrow.
“Car accident. Guy ran through a four-way stop and hit me pretty hard. I’m fine, but I got this shiner, some bruises and—”
She let out a theatrical squeak and staggered back. “Which car?”
“Frankie.” His face clouded with semi-mock grief as he lifted a hand to his heart. “I don’t know how to tell you this…”
She gave a solemn nod. “It’s okay, I can take it. Do it fast. Like a Band-Aid.” His smoky bass held a hint of repressed mirth. “The sixty-nine Trans Am.”
Ouch. That was one of his favorites, and hers for that matter. Smashing it had to hurt more than the shiner. She arched her back and raised two fists to the sky. “Why?” she cried on a melodramatic sob, cursing the gods.
He didn’t try to contain it any longer, the laughter bubbling over. He groaned simultaneously and held a hand to his side. “Stop, stop. I’m still a little sore today, and you’re killing me.”
She winced. “Aw, sorry about that, pal. You sure you’re really all right?” “Yeah, banged up, but okay. Missed an important meeting, but was able to
reschedule, which was a relief.” “And the other guy?”
“Same. Fractured his arm and got some burns from the air bag powder, but nothing major.”
She’d figured as much based on his demeanor, but the confirmation eased the remaining tension that had been gripping her neck like a vise since he’d walked in looking like hot death.
“Glad to hear it, seriously.”
He nodded his thanks and tweaked her ponytail. “I appreciate your concern. I gotta tell you, though, it’d probably go a long way in the healing process if you finally agreed to go out with me.”
Her heart thumped harder like it did every time he asked her out, but she shook her head anyway. “Guess you’re looking at the slow boat to recovery then. I’m sure you’ve heard, I’m the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, and that could be very bad for business relationships. Especially with you being my best customer.”
“You’ve got to settle down sometime,” he reasoned, his sexy smile never wavering.
“Even if you were the guy to change my wicked ways, now’s not the time for me to settle down with anyone. I’ve got too much on my plate for anything more than a laugh or two.”
Dark brows winged upward, and he let out a snort. “As opposed to any time over the past eighteen months that I’ve asked you? If I didn’t know how much time you actually spent in this place, your determination to crush my confidence might actually be doing some damage. It didn’t hurt that I had to fight eight women off to get out of the grocery store this morning, either. Some people think I’m a catch, you know.”
She did know, but she rolled her eyes anyway. “Dude, have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re not at your best right now.” She was rewarded with a flash of his dimples. He might be kidding about the grocery-store part, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. He was a real showstopper, even in his current condition. Too bad she’d sworn off men. “I don’t think I need to worry about bruising your titanium ego. I’m just here to make sure it doesn’t run unchecked.”
“In that case, thanks. I appreciate your efforts to keep me in line,” he deadpanned.
She inclined her head. “No problem.”
He grinned again, and her eyes were drawn to his mouth. His lips were so pretty. Firm but beautifully shaped. She couldn’t count the times she’d imagined them on her neck. Her breast. Her hip. Her—
“Frankie?” His gruff voice cut into her fantasy. The smile melted away as his heated gaze snagged hers.
“I-um…when can I see the Trans Am?” she mumbled, cheeks burning. “Is it driveable?”
A long beat passed while he seemed to weigh whether to call her on her obvious preoccupation with his mouth. He shook his head and sighed. “Not even close. It’s in pretty bad shape. I was going to have Tub bring it in on the flatbed later.”
Tub owned the garage down the road. He was the go-to guy for hauling cars around town, and he also fixed most of the family cars in the area. When her dad had opened the garage right up the street, Tub had taken it personally. It was a couple years before he realized that Big Frank wasn’t trying to horn in on his business. Frank’s was a specialty shop for vintage cars, and this town was, indeed, big enough for the both of them. Ever since then, they’d enjoyed an easy, symbiotic relationship. Tub had sent many a job their way and vice versa. He and Frankie had continued that tradition for the past year, since her dad’s death.
She cleared her throat to ease the sudden tightness. “Meh. Last time, Tub dragged a sixty-nine Mustang Boss in with a tow truck. I could’ve killed him.
Who slaps a hook on a vintage, sixty thousand dollar car? He’s a frigging Neanderthal sometimes. Make sure he actually uses the flatbed this time.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Mac barked, snapping off a two-finger salute. “Where’s Dan today, anyway?” he asked, peering around her into the garage.
Danny was her body guy. While she made the engines purr, he painstakingly rediscovered the beauty of the old machines and made them sparkle.
“He’s on vacation until next week, but at least I can get started on her innards.”
“Sounds good. Give me a call tomorrow after you have a look. If we’ve got it on the lift anyway, I’m thinking I might want to make a couple modifications.”
He turned to go, and she tamped down a surge of irrational disappointment. “Will do. See ya,” she called after him, wincing at the wistful tone that had wormed its way into her voice.
He stopped and faced her again, eyeing her thoughtfully. “It’s lunchtime.
Are you hungry? I could take you out for a bite.”
She peered down at her filthy clothes and gave her oily-covered fingers a wiggle. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Imagine how people would react if you were seen with me? And like this, no less?” She let out a crack of laughter she hoped didn’t sound bitter.
“Who cares what anyone else thinks?”
“Really? Imagine how your mother would react seeing you with the grease monkey from Big Frank’s Garage.”
“It’s no one else’s business, least of all my mother’s,” he said, closing the distance between
them. “I want it to be about you and me.”
She’d known a lot of Mimi Fairchild-Sanders in her life, and they’d done quite a number on her psyche. She wasn’t cultured enough, her father’s business wasn’t highbrow enough, their pockets weren’t deep enough. It wore on a girl after a while and was a big part of why she’d rebelled as a teen. Well, that and the incident with Nicky Melita. After ten years, that reputation continued to precede her, except now, instead of letting it hurt her, she embraced it. Still, the last thing she needed was to put herself back in the line of fire by being seen with the town’s golden boy.
His hazel eyes turned a dark mossy green and she took an involuntary step closer. The minty scent of his warm breath washed over her lips as he tipped his head toward her. Their bodies were nearly touching now, the rise and fall of his chest growing more rapid. If she leaned even an inch in his direction, they’d be torso to torso. She could run her hands over that—
Cashmere. Jesus. She’d almost gotten grease all over his ridiculously gorgeous and outrageously expensive sweater. That was exactly the reminder she needed to bring her back to reality.
She dragged a breath in through her nose and stepped back. “I can’t,” she mumbled lamely.
“You know what, Frankie? I think you can. And I also have a sneaking suspicion you really want to.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could. “Not lunch then, but what about dinner? Then you’ll have time to shower and change. We don’t even have to call it a date. It’ll just be two friends sharing a meal. What do you say?”
His earnest gaze held hers, and she couldn’t look away. “Say yes,” he urged softly.
Her fears crumbled under the weight of his stare, and suddenly it seemed silly to deny herself the pleasure of his company. As friends. “Yes.”
His smile could have powered a football stadium. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning back.
“Not around here, though,” she added hastily.
“Deal. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said. “Now, I’m leaving before you find a reason to change your mind.”
The door hadn’t even finished closing behind his fine ass when she started to have regrets. Part of her—the wild child she’d never quite managed to squash completely—quivered in anticipation of their non-date. The rest of her dreaded the thought of her name being on the lips of the townsfolk again, and if by chance they ran into anyone, this would surely cause a stir. Times like these she wished her dad was around more than ever. He would’ve given her his patented helpless stare, hauled her in for a self-conscious bear hug and said, “You’re young, healthy, beautiful and brilliant, and this is what you spend your time worrying about? Go out there and live your life. Fuck those people if they don’t like it.”
She had no memory of her mom, but based on the TV mothers she’d watched obsessively growing up, she was pretty sure that wasn’t how a mom might have handled it. But like with all the issues he hadn’t known how to deal with, at the end of the day, Big Frank had always managed to say the right thing. So what if the delivery was a little coarse?
God, she missed him. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids and she blinked furiously to ward them off. If there was no crying in baseball, there was sure as hell no crying in Big Frank’s Garage. That had been the rule since she was four years old, and she wasn’t about to start breaking it now.
Too bad she wasn’t as disciplined when it came to her own rules. She had a strong feeling that by the end of the night the ones she’d created specifically for dealing with Mac Sanders would go up in flames.
Chapter 2
Mac stood on the third level of his garage and peered around. After spending less than thirty minutes showering, shaving and getting dressed, he’d been looking at cars for over an hour. Most women would appreciate the scent of good cologne or the feel of a hand-tailored jacket. Maybe some flowers. Not his woman.
Correction.
Not this woman. Frankie wasn’t his yet, but now that she’d given him a glimmer of a chance, he was going pedal to the metal to change that. He had every intention of starting off on a high note. So did he go with sleek, understated power, a purring engine under the hood with a smooth ride? Or maybe go for some nostalgia, the kitsch and fun of a seafoam ’50’s classic that made the passengers feel like they should be drinking malts and making out at
the drive-in?
He closed his eyes and pictured Frankie, her long chestnut hair swept up into a thick ponytail. Haphazard, practical and dead sexy. The length of her neck was a constant lure, framed by the vee of her overalls. She wore them tight, almost like a dare, and they clung in all the right places. Her full breasts strained the zipper, and he imagined pressing close, breathing in her scent, laying soft, sucking kisses in the valley between them until she urged him lower. His own zipper grew strained at the thought.
Focus.
What car to set the tone? How did he want Frankie to feel? She’d already seen more than half of his collection. Tonight he needed to wow her.
His wondering gaze lit on the AC Cobra and held. It was like Carroll Shelby had designed the car forty-five years ago especially for this night. Pure, unadulterated power. Four hundred and twenty-five thundering horses with barely enough car between them and the road. This wasn’t a car for cruising, this was a car that needed to be driven.
Decision made, he approached the safe on the wall and punched in a series of numbers. When it opened, he selected the keys for bay number eight. He approached the vehicle, running a hand over the dark red paint with satisfaction. Frankie was going to love it.
He slid behind the wheel and slipped the key into the ignition. His heart thumped with a boyish glee as the engine snarled to life. The sound of that four twenty-seven side oiler roaring from the pipes would definitely make heads turn. And damn if he didn’t want to turn Frankie’s head.
Frankie flopped back onto the pile of clothes on her bed and covered her face with a pillow.
She should’ve said no.
Again.
But, damn, Mac didn’t make it easy on her. Every time he asked, he wore her down a little more. This time was even worse than normal. Seeing him hurt had hit her hard, and her self-discipline was finite. It seemed like every no she gave him left her with one less in the bank. When she’d scrounged around for one this time, she’d come up empty.
She lifted the pillow away and risked a glance at the clock. After six. He would be there in less than an hour, and she hadn’t even figured out what to wear. She should’ve asked where they were going. With a guy like Mac it could be pizza at a sports bar, lobster ceviche at an exclusive restaurant or anything in between. She briefly considered calling him on his cell and asking him outright, but vetoed that idea. The last thing she wanted was to seem like some bobble head schoolgirl with a crush. A confident woman wouldn’t sweat it. She’d pick out something that she was comfortable in and be done with it. Besides, this wasn’t even a real date. That was the agreement. She was getting all worked up for nothing.
Mind made up, she rolled off the clothes mountain and jumped to her feet. Pawing through the mound, she stopped when she found what she’d been looking for. The classic-fit Seven jeans had been a splurge a few weeks ago when she’d balanced the books for the month and realized for the first time since her dad died she’d actually made a profit.
It had been a long haul with many of Big Frank’s customers still unsure about trusting a girl alone under their hoods. Especially when that girl was troublemaking “Kinky Frankie” Polaski. She wrinkled her nose at the stupid nickname. Teenage boys could be rough, but they were like guppies in a sea of piranha when it came to the girls. It had been her best friend who’d come up with the far worse “Skanky Frankie”. Ten years after high school, she hadn’t managed to live down the reputation she’d barely had a chance to earn. Not that she’d tried all that hard.
Shaking off the sense of melancholy that had managed to seep in, she grabbed a bl
ack sweater set from the pile and a pair of chunky-heeled boots from under the bed. It was the most conservative outfit she owned. In the event that they did run into someone they knew, she didn’t want to embarrass him with her flamboyant, provocative fashion sense. So long as he didn’t show up totally decked out, she’d be safe enough with the casual look.
Once she was dressed, she peered into the mirror. She dried her hair and threw it into a ponytail. A slick of peach gloss on her lips, a smidge of taupe eye shadow and a quick swipe of mascara and she was ready to go. Understated woman on the go instead of sex goddess.
She turned away but faltered, stopping to pluck a bottle of pear body spray from the vanity. “This is still not a date,” she said firmly as she gave her neck a spritz.
The woman in the mirror rolled her eyes. “What do you know?” she grumbled.
Before the argument between herself and herself could come to blows, her cellphone buzzed. She crossed the room and grabbed it from her bag.
Mac.
Her heart thundered as her brain concocted dozens of equally panic- inducing scenarios. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. He was going to be able to make it. He’d gotten into another accident. He thought he liked her, but that was before he heard rumors that she talked to herself in the mirror like some kind of nutter.
“Hello?” His husky voice put a stop to the whirlwind in her mind, and she realized she had picked up the phone but hadn’t said anything.
“Hey! Sorry, new phone. I don’t know how to work it yet. I wanted to keep my old one, but my cousin was teasing me mercilessly and I finally caved.” The words came out in a rush, like one babbling sentence. Way to sound confident and put together.
Mac chuckled. “No problem. Listen, I don’t want to seem like a weirdo, but…I’ve been outside of your house for like twenty minutes now. I know I’m early, and I was going to wait out here so as not to rush you, but I think your neighbor might call the cops on me soon if I don’t make a move. I think she’s worried I’m casing the joint.”
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