Undeniably His

by Emery Jacobs

  “Yes, I’m okay,” I whisper. My gaze remains fixed on his. I blink a few times, and then continue, “But I don’t think my phone is—okay, I mean.”

  He releases his hold from my waist before saying, “Let me take a look.” He grips my hand then gently slides the device from my grasp and flips it over, revealing a perfectly intact screen.

  “Thankfully, no shattered screen,” I mumble, taking in a much-needed breath. I slip the phone from his hand and carefully place it in my bag.

  “Ms. Carmichael, tell me something.” He cocks an eyebrow and grins. “Do you normally spend Friday nights alone at Vic’s?”

  Ugh! He did see me earlier. As soon as Jane and Tristan get here, I’ll be polite and say hello, but then I’m leaving this place, going home, crawling into bed, and starting over tomorrow. I’m so over this day.

  “No, I’m not alone,” I huff as humiliation rushes from my chest to my neck and finally leaves my face hot with embarrassment.

  He shifts his weight as he moves in closer to me. God, he smells so good, like a fresh shower—clean and manly. I could easily bury my face into the crease of his neck and breathe him in forever.

  “I didn’t see anyone else sitting at your table in the back corner, just you and your whiskey,” he says, pressing his firm body to mine.

  My heart flutters wildly in my chest from his touch.

  “Have you been watching me, Mr. Matson?” I breathe out as my eyes find his again.

  His hands cup my face before dropping his lips within inches of mine. His breath is so close it’s hard to determine where mine ends and his begins.

  “Emmie, is that you?” a familiar female voice calls out from a few steps away. “Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize…. I’ll just… um… be at the bar,” she stammers as she backs out of the hallway. My eyes are wide open, but I don’t have to look at her. I know exactly who just ruined one of the most intimate moments of my life. Dammit, Jane.

  Beau drops his hands from my face and his eyes dart toward her as she walks away. No! No! No! This is not happening. I wanted his kiss more than I needed my next breath.

  “I guess you’re not alone anymore. Your friend, I think she’s waiting for you at the bar,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “Yeah, that’s Jane. She and her husband were late. That’s why I’ve been sitting in the corner alone,” I tell him, even though he probably doesn’t care why I’ve been alone all night.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Beau says, taking a couple steps back, increasing the distance between us.

  “Okay,” I mumble as I turn and walk away.

  This fucking sucks—a lot. Walking away from Beau isn’t something I want to do, not when I was only a couple seconds away from feeling his lips on mine.

  I refuse to let this night be packed with regrets I’ll dwell on for the next month or more. I stop in my trek and spin around. I rake my eyes over Beau, who is still standing in the same spot. A shiver trails down my spine as I suck in a deep breath and close the space between us.

  “Hey,” I mumble as I approach him. A thousand butterflies take flight in my stomach, making it difficult to catch my breath.

  “Hi.” He smiles, his eyes connecting with mine.

  “I forgot something. I mean, I forgot to…” I don’t finish the sentence, because in an instant, I rise to my toes and softly press my lips to his.

  I’m not sure what made me do something so bold. Maybe it’s the whiskey, or my body’s desire to be touched by him. Or maybe it’s simply because he smells so damn good.

  As soon as my mouth meets his, I immediately wish I’d walked away. His lips are stiff and dry. Oh, God, he’s not kissing me back. I completely misread his intentions. He wasn’t going to kiss me before.

  I pull away and drop my head downward before taking a step back. I can’t look at him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him again—not that I’ll ever see him again, but if I do…

  “Emmie,” he whispers.

  I shake my head, because I don’t want to see his face or hear his words. Being rejected by Andrew was almost a relief, but being rejected by Beau hits me hard. I thought I could read him. He was flirting… or was he? I’m so confused. Maybe I just wanted him to flirt with me, so I read too much into our encounter. My mind drifts back to how standoffish he was when he dropped my Jeep off a few days ago, but even with all his aloofness, he still leaned in toward me and whispered my name so softly, and as he pulled away from me, the scruff on his jaw grazed my face. His nearness was so overwhelming that day, and tonight… tonight his touch ignited an unfamiliar shudder of awareness that I’m still able to feel.

  God, I’m such an idiot.

  “Emmie,” he repeats.

  Ignoring the sound of his voice as he whispers my name is difficult. But the humiliation of his rejection still fresh on my mind gives me the motivation I need to walk away.

  “Wait—don’t.” His large hand secures my waist, stopping me from taking another step. He whisks me around until I’m facing him, but my eyes are still focused on the floor. I’m too embarrassed to even look at him.

  Beau curls his fingers under my chin and lifts it slowly until my eyes meet his.

  “Please, just let me leave,” I plead, pulling my gaze away.

  He leans in toward me slowly, his large hands cupping my face again. My hands grip his wrists only seconds before he presses his lips to mine.

  A tingling sensation zaps through me like a bolt of lightning. I try to relax, but my body is wound too tight. My eyes flutter closed as I slowly meld into his touch, his kiss.

  He’s gentle, his lips soft—such a contradiction to his rough exterior and callused hands. My lips part slightly and his tongue caresses mine as if we’ve kissed a thousand times before. This kiss… our kiss is soft, deep, wistful, and I want it to last forever.

  I release the hold I have on his wrists and slip my hands underneath the hem of his T-shirt. My fingers skim the hard planes of his abdomen slowly, gently, taking in the beauty of the way he feels beneath my touch. This is so much, yet not enough. This man… the chemistry between us is undeniable, stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced.

  Laughter coming from a group of women who are walking down an adjacent hallway jolts us back to reality. Beau breaks away from the kiss and his gaze meets mine, his eyes swimming with so much emotion—desire, uncertainty, confusion, fear. I don’t know him well enough to determine what emotion I’m seeing in his pearly grays; hell, I don’t know him at all, but I just hope it’s not fear. Why would he be scared? I sigh at that thought, suppressing all the negative thoughts that are waiting to emerge and give me a reason not to be happy about Beau and our kiss.

  “I need to head out.” He leans in and softly kisses my forehead before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And you need to find your friends.”

  Crap! I got so caught up in the moment I completely forgot about Jane.

  Beau bends over and grabs my purse, which fell to the floor during our kiss. “You’re probably going to be needing this, too.” He gives me my bag and I slip the strap over my shoulder.

  “Yes, I will. Thank you.” I smile as I smooth down my skirt and then take a couple steps toward the bar. Do I just walk away after such an amazing kiss? Or do I say something and risk sounding naïve and stupid?

  Before I’m able to speak or even walk away, Beau’s shoulder grazes mine as he moves past me toward the crowded bar. Within seconds, he’s gone, and I feel like our few minutes of passion went with him. I release a heavy sigh and make my way down the hall to find Jane.

  8

  Emmie

  “Do you even know who that guy was you were kissing?” Jane blurts out before throwing back a shot of tequila.

  After recovering from the kiss, I made it back into the crowded room in search of my friends. Jane and Tristan were sitting at the bar talking with friends, and Beau was gone. I wanted to leave, too, but I’d already drank too
much to drive myself home. So I joined Tristan and Jane at the bar and ordered another drink.

  I take a sip of my whiskey sour before giving her my answer. “Does it really matter if I knew him?” I huff out a sigh, and then continue, “Maybe after the night I’d had, I was just looking for a random stranger to make out with.” I giggle and then finish off my drink. “And for the record, I wasn’t kissing him when you walked up. The kiss didn’t happen until later.”

  Jane leans over and whispers into her husband’s ear before he grabs his beer and walks to the other side of the bar.

  “We need to talk.” Jane scoots her barstool closer to mine.

  “About what?” I slide my empty glass toward the bartender. I shake my head before he has a chance to ask me if I want another.

  “About the guy in the hall.”

  “Oh my God. Why are you making such a big deal out of me kissing some guy?”

  This is typical Jane. She asserts her thoughts and ideas on every situation, including my life.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  I shrug and look toward the bartender as he slides my credit card and receipt across the countertop to me.

  “Pen?” I mouth in his direction.

  “I think the guy you were kissing is the hot guy we saw at the wine bar last week.” Jane drums her fingers on the bar as she cocks her head to the right.

  I grab the pen the bartender places in front of me and sign my ticket. Then I shove my credit card and receipt into my purse.

  “What hot guy from the wine bar?”

  She flicks her eyes in my direction and then rests her arms on top of the bar. “Remember the guy Ava and I were going on and on about last Friday.” She widens her eyes slightly.

  I nod. “Yeah, I remember, but I didn’t get a good look at him, because you two wouldn’t let me.” I grimace slightly. “Do you remember that?”

  “Well, after you left Luna’s that afternoon, so did he.”

  “Yeah, so… what are you saying?” I ask.

  “I’m saying I think the guy you were kissing is the same guy. I can’t be absolutely sure, because it’s dark in here and I couldn’t get a good look at him.”

  I shake my head and blow out a breath.

  “Okay, Jane. Let’s say it is the same guy. Why does it even matter?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s kind of strange. Don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. I would say if it is the same guy, then it’s probably a coincidence.”

  She laughs and shakes her head before pushing her stool away from the bar.

  “A coincidence.” She laughs again. “I don’t think so. I think you need to stay away from him.” She leans in closer to me before continuing, “You didn’t give him your phone number, did you?”

  “No. He didn’t ask for it.” He already has it, and he knows where I live and where I work. All of that information was handed over to him when I filled out the paperwork at his shop. But she doesn’t need to know that.

  “Good. Promise me you won’t see him again. I have a feeling he may be trouble.”

  “Okay.” I smile as the lie falls from my mouth.

  I definitely can’t tell her who I was kissing, because she would hunt him down and confront him. Which would ruin any chances I have of ever seeing him again. I love Jane, but I wish she would back off and let me live my life.

  9

  Beau

  Six weeks earlier

  “Mr. Mercedes is back to pick up his ride,” Leo says, nodding toward the lobby.

  “The guy with the flat?” I ask as I wipe the grease from my hands.

  This is one of those times when I’m happy we’re not real busy, because Leo’s dumb ass always forgets to get a name and number on these people unless he tows them in. If it’s a drop-off, he doesn’t bother, just addresses them by the car they drive—hence, Mr. Mercedes.

  “Yeah, that one. His key and ticket are out front,” he tells me, his voice full of frustration. Leo kicks open the back door and walks outside. “It’s fucking hotter than hell in this place!” he hollers before the door slams shut behind him.

  My brother can’t possibly think he’s the only one who’s bothered by the heat. Two of the four fans in the shop are out and the window unit in the lobby stopped working this morning, but right now, I don’t have the money to replace any of them. To make matters worse, it’s August—in Texas. I shake my head as I push my way through the door to the lobby.

  “Do you drive the Mercedes SUV?” I ask, grabbing the key and ticket from the Ready for Pickup cubby.

  The blond guy standing with his back to me turns around.

  “Yes, that would be me.” He smirks as his eyes dart around the room.

  “It’ll be eighteen dollars and twenty-five cents, and if you have any more trouble with that tire, you’ll need to take it to the dealership.” I toss the ticket and key on the counter in front of him.

  “A/C out?” he questions as he pulls his wallet from his pocket.

  “It would seem that way.” I glance toward the window unit before shaking my head. I’m not in the mood for this rich asshole today. Why is he even here? I’m sure there is an abundance of cool air at the Mercedes dealership.

  “This is your place, right?” he asks, pulling a twenty from his wallet.

  “Yeah, why?” I cross my arms over my chest and rest my back against the wall behind me.

  “How’s business?” He closes his wallet, shoves it back into his pocket, and then slides his payment across the countertop.

  “Business is good.” I push myself off the wall, grab the twenty, open the register, and retrieve his change. He doesn’t need to know that, as of right now, at three in the afternoon, he’s one of only four customers we’ve had all day.

  Even though my dad was a drunk, he managed to keep this place afloat for forty years. I think a lot of it had to do with his employees. He always had good help, and that was the key to his success—well, not actually success, but he built a decent business and was able to provide for his family. We never did without anything we needed.

  Two years before he died, he passed the proverbial torch to me. Dad had so much confidence in me, always saying I would take Jim Matson’s Automotive to the next level. It was my future. He led me to believe I was a great mechanic and had a good head for business, and he said those two qualities along with strong family values were all I needed to make this shop greater than it had ever been. It’s been almost five years since his death, and I’m sinking a little more every day.

  “Hmmm… how long’s this place been here?” The blond asshole paces the small space of the lobby as his eyes appraise every inch of the room.

  “Your change is here next to the register. I’ve got to get back to work. Thank you for your business.” I wince as I thank him, because this is one case where I’d rather he take his flat tires somewhere else. I don’t like him. He’s arrogant and nosey, and I’m positive he’s up to something.

  He can stand around in this heat box of a lobby for as long as he wants, but I’m done with all his questions. I step away from the counter and walk toward the shop door.

  “Before you leave, I have a proposition for you,” he says, his voice full of confidence.

  “Excuse me?” I turn to face him once again, a combination of curiosity and agitation wash over me. What in the hell could this guy want with me?

  “Yeah, I think I can help you with the marketing aspect of your business, and maybe get someone in here to do something with this room.” He jerks his gaze toward the sitting area. “This shop has the ability to thrive; it just needs a little help. Did you know you’re the only automotive repair shop in this area? Not another one for several miles.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and grins.

  This guy’s obviously not as smart as he thinks he is, because he should be able to look at this place and tell I don’t have the money to invest in a marketing consultant. I certainly don’t have the funds to make the outsid
e or inside look better, because if I did have it—the money—I would’ve already hired someone to help with those things he mentioned.

  “What do you think?” he asks, walking toward me.

  “I think you need to leave.” I point to the exit.

  “Just hear me out. This is what I do for a living. I know how to promote, sell, and market your service, and that’s what you need to get this place back producing again. Let me help you grow this business—your business,” he says, and he doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he continues. “First, let me introduce myself.” He takes a couple more steps toward me and extends his hand. “I’m Miles Carmichael.”

  I look down at his hand and cock an eyebrow. He slowly pulls it away and slides it back into his pocket.

  “I didn’t catch your first name.”

  My eyes travel to the window that separates the shop from the lobby. Leo’s leaning over an old Ford that’s been here for two weeks. I told him he’d never get that thing running again. He’s wasting his time, and the owner’s not going to pay him a dime for the hours he’s spent under that hood unless he can drive it out of here.

  Fuck! Leo depends on me to make this place work, and he’s not the only one counting on me. There’s Mom and Rhys, my family; I’ve got to keep this place open for them. I’m just not sure if this guy is the person to help me deal with my problems.

  “I didn’t give it,” I tell him as I walk back to the counter. “Look, man, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t have the money to hire a marketing team or a decorator to come in here and make all this shit look pretty. We fix cars, and that’s not supposed to be pretty.”

  He throws his head back and laughs—at what, I don’t know, because there is nothing about the situation that is my life that’s even close to being funny.

  “You’re right, automotive repair isn’t supposed to be pretty, but you need your customers to be comfortable. No air with a shitty fake leather couch and that ten-year-old coffee pot doesn’t look even remotely comfortable.” He walks toward the sitting area and looks up at the air conditioner. “If you agree to my proposal, I’ll have someone out this afternoon to replace this unit.” He shifts his gaze toward me. “Then at least you’ll have cool air to offer your customers.”