Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)

by Megan Erickson

  Ivy didn’t back down. “You don’t have to snap at me.”

  Alex heaved a sigh. “I don’t even know him. Hell, he could have a girlfriend back in New York or London. He could be royalty or some shit. I don’t know. I was an easy American who he met on a business trip.”

  Ivy frowned. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

  Alex blew out a breath and grinned. “Hey, he was easy too.”

  Ivy pursed her lips to hide a smile. “You’re awful.”

  “Look, it’s not a big deal. But you wanted to know why I was quiet, and there it is. We don’t keep secrets, remember?”

  Ivy’s eyes lowered. When she’d been dating Brent, she’d kept it from Alex, afraid that Alex would be upset that she’d gotten involved with a man when they’d both sworn them off. But Alex was more angry that she’d kept it from her than that she’d found a man to love. “Yeah, no secrets.”

  “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty or anything.”

  Ivy watched her daughter wrestle Honeybear to the ground. “I know.”

  “Anyway, it’s fine, it’s over. I have work to concentrate on. They’re giving Gabe more hours, and he’s a pain in my ass.”

  Ivy laughed. “Aw, he can’t be that bad.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “He stares at my boobs like all the time. I can’t even bend over or he’s ogling my ass. Kid is a walking hormone.”

  “He’s not a kid. Maybe if you and Cal quit calling him kid, he’d grow up.”

  Alex huffed. Her sister had a point. “Well, I’m just trying to lead him right. He’s already scared of Jack, so I don’t want the guy to have more reasons to yell at Gabe.” Jack was Brent and Cal’s father, the owner of Payton and Sons. Gruff as hell, but he had a big heart, even if it took a lot of digging to get there.

  “Fine, so I’ll forget about your hot British guy. But I’m glad you told me. And if you need to talk about it anymore—”

  Alex waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, you’re there for me. You love me. I’m the best sister of all time, yadda.”

  Ivy laughed, shoving Alex’s shoulder. And Alex tried her very best to push that intoxicating, accented male voice to the back of her mind so she could enjoy the day with her family.

  SPENCER STARED AT the two men, who were clearly brothers or at least close relatives. They both had gray-blue eyes. One stood with a cocked head, grinning. The other was scowling.

  Spencer didn’t prefer the grin or the scowl. He preferred his car fixed so he could go home. He rubbed his temples, wishing he had more caffeine, but he’d woken up in his hotel room feeling like he needed to get the hell out of this town. It’d been fortunate the hotel had a car service that drove him to the garage.

  The man who was grinning stepped forward with his hand out. “I’m Brent Payton.”

  Ah, so he must own it, if the sign on the front of the building meant anything. Spencer extended his hand. “Leslie Spencer. Erm, I go by Spencer.”

  For some reason, that made Brent grin harder.

  The other man grunted out one syllable. “Cow.”

  “I’m sorry?” Spencer asked.

  The man blinked those steel eyes at him. “Cow.”

  Spencer frowned. “Cow? Like moo cow?”

  Brent began to laugh and the other man’s face didn’t change. He spoke slowly this time, drawing out the word. “Cal. My name is Cal.”

  Christ, these fucking people. “Oh, okay, pleasure to meet you, Cal.”

  “I told you that you mumble,” Brent said, elbowing his brother. “Enunciate like a human.”

  “I’ll enunciate you,” Cal growled.

  Spencer thought he looked a little scary, but Brent only laughed in his face.

  These were the men Alex worked with?

  A teenager emerged from the back room, sipping from a Starbucks cup. The kid wore black Converse shoes with skulls on them, a pair of cutoff denim shorts, a tank top that exposed most of his chest, and his hair was . . . green. Bright green.

  Spencer’s father’s shop in Manchester consisted of three middle-aged men who rarely discussed anything that didn’t have to do with vehicles. Payton and Sons was clearly not his father’s shop.

  The kid stopped next to Cal and peered up at Spencer with big brown eyes.

  Spencer nodded at him and then turned to Cal. When the man stared back at him impassively, Spencer cleared his throat and turned to Brent instead. “So I’m here about the Mercedes there.” He pointed to his red sedan in the parking lot. “Alex said she’d leave some sort of note?”

  “Oh, he’s British!” the teenager shouted. Spencer flinched, and a headache began to form at his temples.

  “Yeah, we’re all aware, Asher,” Brent said.

  “Do you live in London?” the kid asked.

  It was like most Americans thought the entire United Kingdom was made up of London. “Um, no, I live in New York.”

  “Oooh.” Asher’s eyes were big.

  “Anyway,” Brent said. “We’ll take care of your car. You wanna wait around until it’s done or you need a ride somewhere?”

  A ride. Spencer gritted his teeth against unbidden thoughts of last night. When his sprite had managed to dismantle him one moan at a time. “I’ll work in your waiting room while you work. That all right?”

  Brent nodded. “Fine by us.”

  It was Saturday, but Spencer’s work never stopped. He spent a couple of hours sitting in Payton and Sons answering e-mails, trying to ignore Brent’s less-than-stellar singing as he crooned along with the radio.

  Asher came in every once in a while to straighten up the counter, but Spencer got the impression the teenager wanted to stare at him and get a chance to hear him speak again.

  Spencer wasn’t in the mood to be a sideshow.

  This town, this shop, these people were a little too much like what he moved away from. What he tried to hide when he suppressed his Manchester accent.

  Spencer left England when he was eighteen and had gone to college in New York for a degree in business and hotel management. He’d been a hotel manager for years until his friend Penny plucked him from that job and convinced her father, CEO of Royalty Suites, that Spencer’s skills would be better used as a location scout. He’d been in his current position for close to seven years now—a job that allowed him to travel. He liked that, since nowhere was really home anymore. Not Britain, not New York.

  It was a little lone wolf, but that suited him. At thirty-five, he was officially a confirmed bachelor. His mother passed away when he was ten, and his father didn’t care about grandchildren.

  So jet-setting businessman he was.

  The past week, he’d evaluated whether Tory could support a hotel and which locations would be best for a new six-floor Royalty Suites. Spencer was urging his company to go forward with the plans to build there. He thought the town could support it with business travelers. The current hotel, which was where he was staying, was older and small.

  There were several places he’d been tasked to research—one was the land behind Payton and Sons, although he wasn’t recommending that one. Tory sat right off a major highway and not far from the state’s main airport, so the need for a hotel for business travelers—like him—was evident. The location Spencer was recommending was on the outskirts of town, near the large MacMillan Investments office building. There was easier access from the highway and fewer back roads to get into the main part of town.

  He placed a couple of finishing touches on his report, which wasn’t due until Monday, and sent it off to his bosses.

  Spencer stretched, his back cracking. He rubbed his neck and as he shifted in the hard chair, his keys in his pocket jingled.

  After Alex had left last night, he’d stared at the keychain she’d left on his desk, running his fingers over the smooth surface. It was clearly something they had printed for the shop, a ring attached to a plastic tab that bore the shop’s logo and contact information.

  He wondered why she left it, but was
glad to have the memento. He resisted taking it out of his pocket to look at again, and instead thought about how he should get up and walk around a bit. If not, he’d have to find a chiropractor in town before driving back. He was accustomed to sleeping in different beds in hotel rooms, but he couldn’t remember a bed that had been less comfortable than the one he was in now. He gazed across the street and a sign caught his eye. Delilah’s Drawers.

  “What is Delilah’s Drawers?” he asked Asher, who was pretending to type on the computer.

  The teenager blinked at him. “What?”

  He pointed. “That sign says Delilah’s Drawers. What kind of shop is that?”

  “Oh, it’s, um, a high-end consignment shop. Women’s clothes, jewelry, accessories, stuff like that.”

  He shut his laptop and winced at the crick in his back. “I can walk there, yes?”

  Asher nodded. “It’s set back off the road a bit.”

  He could bring something home for Penny’s daughter, Claudia. She loved consignment shops, digging through the jewelry until she found some hidden gem of costume jewelry. He placed his laptop in his bag and stood up. “May I leave this here while I run across the street?”

  “Sure.” Asher came out from around the counter and took the bag from him. “I’ll just place this behind the desk.”

  “Thank you.”

  THE SHOP WAS tucked among some trees, with the signage visible from the road. Spencer pushed the door open and a bell rattled. He stopped abruptly inside the door, gazing around at the neat racks of clothes, the long glass counter with displayed jewelry, the large bookcase full of purses.

  Claudia would love it here. So would Penny.

  A small Asian woman appeared from a back room. She seemed surprised to see a man in her store, then quickly flashed a bright smile. Her red lips reminded him of Alex’s. “Hello, I’m Delilah. Can I help you with anything?”

  “Just browsing,” he answered.

  Her eyes lifted for a minute. “Great, well, let me know if you need help.”

  “Will do, thank you.”

  He fingered a couple of dresses on a rack, but there wasn’t anything in Claudia’s size. He thought for a minute about picking something out for Penny, but her second husband hated Spencer enough as it was. Probably best not to rock the boat even more.

  He moved on to the jewelry and had picked up a long gold necklace when a pair of pink nails clicked the counter in front of him. He looked up and dropped the necklace with a clatter.

  Recovering as quickly as he could, he picked up the necklace and placed it back, but he couldn’t stop staring at the women in front of him, who looked so much like Alex, he did a double take.

  But she wasn’t Alex. Her hair was longer and not pulled up into a severe ponytail. She wore a dress and pink lipstick. Everything about her was softer, less harsh.

  It was a surprise to him that he preferred harsh.

  This was Alex’s sister, though, no doubt about it. He recognized her from the picture in Alex’s truck.

  Well, this was awkward. Did she know? He wasn’t sure, because her expression was schooled. Was he imagining the cold look in her eyes?

  He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m looking for a gift.”

  “For a girlfriend?” The sister’s voice wasn’t anything like Alex’s. She also said “girlfriend” with an edge. Oh God, she probably knew. And Spencer stood there like a wanker, this knowledge of what he’d done last night all around them like smoke.

  But still he bristled, because what right did this woman have to interrogate him? Alex had walked out on him. No strings. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation. “A friend,” he answered coolly and noncommittally. A very good friend, who was married with two children.

  The silence stretched between them. He felt the woman’s eyes on him as he bent his head to fiddle with the jewelry again. The eyes were the same as Alex’s, that startling blue. And why was he still thinking about Alex? They’d both gotten what they wanted last night and then she’d left. Which was probably for the best.

  He could barely see anymore, so he held up the necklace to the sister. “I’d like to purchase this, please.”

  She nodded curtly and rung him up efficiently. He handed over the credit card, which she glanced at. The lines around her mouth tightened as she swiped it through her machine. He was glad this wasn’t a place that served food or she’d probably spit into his coffee.

  How small was this damn town? Would he run into the niece next? That would just be his luck.

  While they waited for the credit card machine to approve him, he stuck his hand in his pockets. “So, uh, this is a nice little shop. How do you manage to pull in such nice things?”

  She stared at him.

  Bloody hell, what did he say wrong? “I just mean, it’s a small town, just wondered how you were able to collect this much high-end merchandise.” He sounded like a pretentious prick and needed to stop talking right now.

  Ivy ripped off his credit card receipt with a thin-lipped smile. “It is amazing, since most of us can only afford Walmart.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Have a good day.”

  He figured the best course of action was not to talk anymore, so he nodded, took his bag, and left quickly. As he jogged across the street, back to the safety of Payton and Sons’ waiting room, he thought it was good he was leaving. Clearly everyone here thought he was some posh rich guy from the city. Which was only half-true. Sure, he had money now. But posh he was not, especially if they’d seen how he grew up.

  He hoped like hell that his car would be done today because he wasn’t sure he could take another weekend here.

  Chapter Four

  ALEX LOVED TO watch her girls dance.

  Ivy spun so that her dress flared out around her thighs. Delilah shimmied her hips, her black hair shining in the lights above the dance floor.

  Jenna was laughing, her head back, her arms out, as she twisted her hips and rolled her head back and forth, long hair flying.

  Alex stood with her elbows on the bar behind her, a foot cocked on the lower rung, an empty shot glass dangling in her hand. She placed it on the bar top and kept watching her friends.

  She lived for girls’ night out. Nothing but her friends and some booze and a whole lot of forgetting about all the reasons Alex’s life wasn’t at all like she thought it’d be.

  But that was okay, because her skin was warm from dancing and her head was buzzing from the alcohol and there were a lot of guys in here looking to blow off steam.

  Just like her.

  Steam that had been building up all week because she couldn’t get that damn fancy-pants man with the accent out of her head. It’d been only one night, but that one night had thoroughly messed with her head.

  Just thinking about him made her eyes fall shut, her lower belly heat up. She didn’t want to admit it when she was sober, but now that she was half-lit, she could concede she craved him a little.

  She loved how hyper focused he’d been on her. When she’d had his attention, she’d had his full attention. He’d made her feel so damn wanted, even sweaty after a day’s work. He hadn’t cared. He’d wanted her. And her forwardness hadn’t seemed to make him question his self-esteem. He didn’t have to be top dog; he wanted her however she was willing to give herself.

  Dammit, she needed another shot.

  Something brushed her elbow and she turned her head. A man with a ball cap pulled low over his brow met her eyes. He was big—broad shoulders, work-roughened hands. He smelled like cigarette smoke and beer, and a short beard surrounded his full lips.

  He was giving her that look, his gaze lingering on her mouth and her breasts.

  A month ago, she would have smiled. Flirted. Let him take her home.

  She would have ripped off her clothes and torn off his and tumbled onto the couch or in bed or wherever was closest.

  She would have lost herself in the feeling of a man’s hands on her, his lips wetting her skin,
his cock inside her.

  And she would have left immediately afterward.

  It would have been fine. She was happy then. Except now she wasn’t. Because all she could hear was Spencer’s voice, and she craved that in her ear and his hands on her skin.

  Not this guy next to her who looked like he would be up for a rough ride.

  So she didn’t smile, and she donned her effective resting bitch face, and turned away.

  The man snorted, ordered his beer, and walked off.

  She closed her eyes, listening to the beat of the music, and dropped her head between her shoulders. She jerked when a hand landed on her arm, but when she looked up, it was only Ivy. Her smile was soft, her cheeks flushed. She squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s girls’ night and you’re hanging out at the bar like a weirdo.”

  “That’s what people do, ya know, at bars. Hang out near them and drink.”

  Ivy tugged on her hand. “Delilah wants to dance with you.”

  Alex squinted at her sister. “How drunk can I get?”

  “Pretty drunk. Brent is picking us up, and Vi is sleeping over at Cal’s.”

  Alex nodded, ordered another shot, and downed it in one gulp. She slammed the empty glass on the bar. “All right, let’s dance.”

  By the second song, the alcohol was burning a fiery path through Alex’s body. Her limbs were loose, and her head was spinning a little. She knew she was on her way to the not-cute drunk stage, but she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

  When they took a drink break, a water was placed in front of her. She glared at Ivy, who blinked at her innocently. Alex grumbled and sipped the liquid through her straw.

  “So,” Delilah said. “I heard you’re training Gabe.”

  Alex used a napkin to mop up a spilled drop of water. “Yeah, I am.”

  “How’s that going?”

  Alex shrugged. “It’s okay when he’s not staring at my boobs.”

  Delilah opened her mouth but Jenna cut her off. “I thought the rule was that we don’t talk about boys on girls’ night out.”

  “I’m not talking about boys,” Delilah protested.

  “Gabe’s a boy.” Ivy stated the obvious.