He wanted to kiss her.
Shane cleared his throat, not moving. “How many fingers am I holding up?” The lag time between his brain and the rest of him made him wonder if he sounded like an idiot.
Her eyes crinkled around the edges, and she smiled a little even though it looked like it hurt. “None.”
Affirmative on the idiot thing.
“Looks like you’re fine,” Shane said, his voice low. His fingers were still on the side of Bellamy’s face, and somewhere in his brain, a voice screamed that he should move them.
But she looked like she didn’t want him to.
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed.
It was a really terrible idea, but Shane didn’t care. Something high-powered, almost magnetic, was in charge of his actions, charring his free will like toast right there in the alcove.
He placed his lips on hers in the barest hint of a whisper, and for a second, she didn’t move. Tracing her uninjured cheekbone with the pads of his fingers, he curved them beneath her chin and tipped it carefully upward, increasing the contact between their bodies. Bellamy sighed into him then, parting her lips to accommodate his, her soft skin opening to reveal enticing heat.
God, she tasted like pure electricity.
Not wanting to hurt her, but not willing to let go, Shane swept his tongue across her bottom lip, letting his teeth follow in the gentlest of grazes. Bellamy arched up to him, her tongue darting into his mouth tentatively at first, then filling him so boldly that he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. He slid his hand around the back of her neck, cupping her hot skin, getting tangled and lost in her soft golden curls, until . . .
“Bellamy? Are you back . . . oh, shit!”
Bellamy’s entire body seized beneath Shane’s hands, and he pulled away from her in a flash.
A pair of giggles lifted over the muffled background noise of the bar beyond where they stood, while Bellamy wrapped her arms around herself and blushed, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, I, uh . . .” She trailed off, unable to finish.
“God, we’re sorry.” The friend who had picked Bellamy up from the garage earlier eyed both of them with a half smile as she stopped short in the dim hallway.
Bellamy’s expression went from embarrassed to mortified in less than a breath. Well, shit. Who could blame her? Her highbrow friends had just caught her kissing the lowly car mechanic. What was he thinking?
The tall honey-blonde stammered. “We just wanted to make sure she was okay, but it seems . . . well, that she is. So we can just . . .”
Desperate, Shane cut her off. “No, no. It’s a good thing you came along. She hit her head, over there by the pole and I was just taking a look.”
Bellamy’s expression morphed into a glower before she averted her gaze from him completely.
“Oh, God, Bellamy! Are you okay?” The girl Shane hadn’t met, a petite redhead, came rushing over to Bellamy, and the awkward circumstances seemed to be quickly forgotten by her friends.
“I’m fine. It was a total idiot move, really,” she muttered, a swath of blond curls falling across her injured cheek as she tried to hide her face. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
In the low light of the alcove, Shane could see the look of despair that crossed her pretty features, and he remembered the admission of her bad week. Bellamy opened her mouth, presumably to elaborate on what had happened, but he cut her off.
“It was totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I plowed right into her. Knocked her right into the damned thing. She really needs some ice.”
Bellamy’s head jerked up in surprise, causing her to yelp in pain, and her eyes narrowed on his in confusion for a split second before he looked away.
This was his out, and he was taking it. “So, if you girls can wait with her, I’ll go get some ice from the bar.”
Translation: I’ll send someone back here with some, and then I’ll hightail it out of here as soon as she’s taken care of. Had his brain gone on a complete walkabout? As Bellamy’s friends fussed over her, gasping at the mark on her face, he knew she was in capable hands.
He never should have kissed her. And judging from the way she’d glared at him and was now refusing to look in his direction, Shane wouldn’t be making that mistake again even if he wanted to.
He’d be surprised if Bellamy Blake would touch him with a ten-foot pole.
“Room service!”
Bellamy squinted at the clock on her bedside table and groaned. Now she knew what Wile E. Coyote felt like when the Road Runner managed to dump that anvil on his head.
Oh, to be a cartoon so someone could erase it all.
“Jenna, it’s nine in the morning.” Bellamy nestled deeper into her pillow, unable to ignore the marching band in her head.
“I know, but you slept for eight hours, so I wanted to check on you.” Jenna balanced a room service tray between both hands as she entered, silhouetted by the sunlight trying to breach the drapes in Bellamy’s bedroom.
Bellamy made a face, which she instantly regretted. God, that hurt. “I told you two not to Google ‘head injuries. ’ This so doesn’t count.” She made a mental note to kill Shane for outing her like that to her friends. It figured he’d feel the need to draw attention to her getting hurt. It had been the perfect getaway for him, after all. The whole walking-into-a-pole part had really just been the pièce de résistance of her night.
Unless you counted the whole kiss-and-run thing. How could she have fallen for something so stupid?
Jenna cleared her throat gently, bringing Bellamy back down to earth. “Are you sure it doesn’t count? Maybe you should bite the bullet and take a look at your shiner,” she offered, placing the tray on the dresser.
“You’ve been taking drama lessons from Holly. I don’t have a black eye.” The smell of fresh coffee perked Bellamy’s senses to life, and she left the rumpled confines of her bed to inspect the tray.
Jenna snickered. “If you say so. You looked like an extra from Fight Club before you even went to bed.”
Bellamy sighed. “Okay. Fine.” She glanced at the mirror over the dresser, wincing as Jenna swung the drapes open. Since when was the sun so malicious? “See, I don’t have . . .”
An inch-long bruise the size of a nickel glared at her from her reflection, as if it was made of spite.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” She leaned toward the glass until she was so close that her breath fogged her reflection. The bruise wasn’t big or terribly swollen, but it was definitely noticeable.
She would never, ever try to look cool in front of a guy again. Who gave a shit what Shane Griffin thought, anyway?
Well, apparently she did, because she’d been so torqued up over breezing past him that she’d smashed into a stupid pole.
“It’s really not as bad as I thought it would be, considering how nasty it looked. I bet it hurts like a bitch, though.” Jenna sat down on the edge of the bed while Bellamy examined the bruise from every possible angle.
“Oh! You’re up,” Holly said, bouncing into the room. “I brought you a couple of things from the store. You know, for your head injury.” She held up a plastic bag that was full to the point of straining.
“Okay, you guys, really? It’s just a bump,” Bellamy griped, padding back to the bed with a mug of coffee between her palms.
Holly ignored her and opened the bag with glee. “Motrin, one every four to six hours for pain. The pharmacist said for a really bad headache, you could even take two. Portable cold packs—you really should ice it again, you know. Look how cool these are, all you do is just . . .”
“I’m pretty sure I know how to take Motrin.” Bellamy scowled, then blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know you’re just worried. But really, it’s fine.”
Holly peered at her, unfazed. “S’ok. I thought kissing the hot mechanic guy last night might improve your mood, but I guess not. Was he a bad kisser?”
“No!” The need to deny that the whole thin
g even happened propelled the answer out of Bellamy before she heard its implications. Neither of her friends skipped a beat.
“So he was a good kisser? He looked like a good kisser,” Holly mused.
Jenna broke in, snagging a scone from the tray before sitting back on the bed. “Told you he’s hot.”
“I hate you both,” Bellamy muttered without malice. She should have known they’d do this. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, she wouldn’t hesitate to dole out a little friendly ribbing.
“We’re okay with that. You’re the only one of the three of us who scored last night. Come on! Dish a little,” Jenna said, scrunching up her nose.
“I didn’t score. To be honest, I think the whole thing was a mistake. And why do you look like you just bit into a lemon?” Bellamy took a long swallow of coffee, and the warming sensation helped lift the edges of her hangover.
“These scones are like hockey pucks. Go with the bagels if you value your life.” Jenna tossed the half-eaten scone back on the tray with a thunk.
“That’s what happens when you overwork your dough.” Bellamy shrugged, taking a cinnamon raisin bagel from the platter and tearing off a hunk. “Hey, toss that Motrin over here, would you?” It was as close as she would get to admitting that her head really did hurt.
“So you’re not going to give up any details about your rendezvous with Mr. Goodwrench? Really?” Holly poured some orange juice for Bellamy to swallow the pills, looking disappointed.
“I would, but there aren’t any. I told you, it was a mistake,” Bellamy mumbled around the Motrin.
Jenna laughed. “What, like forgetting to pay your cable bill? Come on!”
Bellamy blushed, heat creeping all the way up to her ears. “No. I meant the kind of mistake that involves beer goggles,” she said, ripping her bagel into tiny pieces.
“Um, you’ve got some rose-colored beer goggles, sweetheart. Jenna’s right. That man is fine.” Holly cracked open a cold pack and passed it over wordlessly.
“Not me, him.” Bellamy’s words were so quiet, they almost qualified as a whisper. She leaned into the cold pack, feeling the ache of it seep into her cheekbone. It was embarrassing enough that she’d walked into a pole trying to look cool in front of the cocky jerk, but then to go and kiss him like a groupie on top of it all? Insult and injury were supposed to be metaphorical, for God’s sake!
Jenna lifted her gaze from the bagel she was buttering, confused. “But he seemed sober.”
Bellamy cut off her thoughts with a wave. Nope. Her ego was a sinking ship as it was. She simply couldn’t dwell on it. “Either way, it was nothing. As a matter of fact, it was less than nothing.” Shifting the cold pack, Bellamy traced a line down her half-numb cheek. “Hey, does this look bad enough to get me out of work for a couple of days? I’m thinking I should milk it for all it’s worth, and fifty bucks says Bosszilla asks for photographic proof of bodily harm before she gives me another couple of days off.”
“Oh, come on! Your car is about to be in a bazillion pieces. She won’t let you off the hook?” Holly rolled her eyes.
Bellamy smirked. “Clearly, you’re forgetting the time I took two days off for my great-aunt’s funeral in New Jersey. She made me give her the obituary so she could call the funeral home to verify everything.”
“Well, the bruise isn’t terrible, but we could Photoshop you to make it look really awful,” Holly suggested, falling for the change in subject hook, line, and sinker.
Bellamy played right along. “Knock yourself out. I have twenty-four hours to come up with a viable excuse, or else my boss is going to go full frontal bitch. And trust me when I say, it’s not a pretty sight.”
She sank back against the headboard as Jenna and Holly argued over whether being mauled by a bear in the mountains was a viable excuse. The subject of Bellamy’s clandestine barroom kiss had been all but forgotten, swept under the rug as if it had never happened. Which was just the way she wanted it, because the whole thing had been a mistake of epic proportions.
Now if only she could get the feel of Shane’s mouth, hot and oh so male, out of her head, she’d be just fine.
Chapter Seven
By the time lunch rolled around, Shane had been under Bellamy’s Miata for three hours, and that was after running the five mile loop behind the old log cabin he rented. The unease he’d felt all morning sloshed around in his belly by the gallon. If a five mile run and yanking a transmission that was as stubborn as its owner didn’t work to lighten his restlessness, Shane was out of ideas for what would.
“Lemme guess. You’ve been here a while. And by a while, I don’t mean twenty minutes,” Jackson drawled from the side door of the garage as he came in, huddled deep in his jacket against the January cold.
“A while, yeah.” It wasn’t Shane’s fault he couldn’t sleep, for God’s sake. He had work to do.
“Tell me you at least stayed in bed until after the sun was up, you freaking workaholic.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, man.” Getting paid meant getting it done, and Shane had waited long enough to start pulling the tranny on this thing. Plus, if he kept his hands busy on Bellamy’s car, then maybe he wouldn’t be so tempted to be doing other things with them. Christ, it was a good thing this tranny would take all afternoon. Maybe he’d offer to tune up Jackson’s truck, just for good measure.
Jackson shook his head, joking as he ducked to stand under the car. “Don’t you ever rest?”
“Got plenty of time to rest when I’m dead,” Shane quipped over his shoulder with forced humor.
“Aren’t you just a ray of frickin’ sunshine?”
“Sorry. This thing’s a pain in the ass.” It took Shane all of three seconds to notice his buddy’s ear-to-ear smile. Damn, those things were contagious. He couldn’t help but return the favor, and was relieved to feel his bad mood get knocked down a few pegs. “What’s with you?”
“I am taking Samantha Kane to the Pine Mountain Resort bonfire tonight, that’s what’s with me.” Jackson’s grin turned downright goofy as he looked up at the work Shane had done so far.
Shane laughed. “That explains the shit-eating grin, I guess.”
Jackson’s hands went up, signaling guilty as charged. “Well, if you hadn’t taken off so early last night, you’d be in the know. Where’d you get to, anyway? One minute, we’re standing there throwing back a cold one and the next thing I know, you’re a ghost.”
Good thing Shane had the bored look down pat, because he was giving it a workout right now. “Yeah, I was just beat from working all day. I’d have said good-bye to you, but you looked kind of occupied.”
Jackson went for round two with his grin, and Shane just shook his head as he continued. “So it all worked out, huh? You were pretty cozy with her when I left.”
“Yup. She even let me kiss her good night. Man, that woman can kiss. Hot enough to singe my toes, dude,” Jackson said, lost for a second in what was probably a vivid recollection.
“I don’t think that’s your toes,” Shane volleyed, but then suddenly, he was caught up in a recollection of his own. One that didn’t involve his toes, either.
Well, shit.
“Yeah, yeah. She’s not that kind of girl. Not yet, anyway,” he laughed. “She stuck pretty close to the safety net of her friend just to make sure I wasn’t a consummate creep. And speaking of her friend—” Jackson narrowed his eyes as Shane busied himself again with the car overhead. “You gotta come to the bonfire with me tonight. Melody was really into you. If you’d stuck around, maybe I wouldn’t have been the only one who got kissed senseless, you know?”
Shane skipped around the irony of those words and the mention of Samantha’s friend, dodging both like the land mines they were. “Yeah, I’m going to pass on the bonfire. I’ve got a couple of things I have to take care of.” Never mind that those things would probably take all of an hour. As far as Shane was concerned, even a flimsy excuse was a good excuse to stay away from that fat-cat resort.<
br />
Jackson shot Shane a look of disbelief. “What could you possibly have to take care of on a Saturday night?”
Crossing the room to put his wrench down with a clank, Shane shrugged. “If I don’t hit the grocery store, I’m going to be stuck eating ketchup for dinner. Plus, I gotta swing by Grady’s.” The way the old man had looked the other day still played at the back of Shane’s mind. He’d looked tired, and not for lack of sleep.
“Well, you should come to the bonfire after. I know you avoid the resort like the plague, but I’m telling you, you won’t be disappointed.”
Shane looked up from where he’d been carefully straightening the tools on the workbench. His trip to the Double Shot last night had been enough social interaction to last him a month. The faster he could get back to working in the garage, paying off his loan and forgetting everything that had happened in the back room of that bar, the better.
“If you say so, Jax. Now are you gonna help me yank this tranny, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”
Just like that, Shane’s life went back to normal.
Bellamy examined the fridge in the suite’s kitchenette with disdain. “We made pretty fast work of that hospitality basket, huh?” The only signs that it had even existed were some lonely slices of cheddar cheese and a jar of spicy mustard with nothing but dregs at the bottom.
“Yeah, sorry. I got the munchies last night after we came back,” Holly said, looking sheepish from where she lay sprawled on the couch.
“That’s an understatement. No lie, I thought she was going to lick the jar.” Jenna laughed, moving just in time to dodge Holly’s elbow.
Bellamy cracked a grin. The hourlong massage and matching facial treatment she’d indulged in had gone a long way toward improving her mood, especially since the aesthetician had put special effort into reducing the bruise on her face. With some strategically placed concealer, she’d be good as new.
Turn Up the Heat Page 6