He turns away. I start to smile smugly, when he just keeps turning until he’s facing me again.
“Howdy,” he says with a smug grin of his own. He sticks a dirty hand out. “Rowan O’Neil. I’m the manager around here. Also, the owner.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Seriously?”
“You want a ride or not?”
It’s like there’s a perverted elf whispering in my ear. Just like before with the thing about big shoes, him asking me if I want “a ride” has me blushing like a schoolgirl. He definitely notices it too, because his grin widens and there’s a glint in his eyes holding mine.
“Well?”
“Huh?”
Rowan sighs. He brings a hand up to scratch his perfect jaw. “Do you want a ride or not?”
“Yes,” I nod. “Yeah.” He arches a brow again, and I sigh. “Yes, please.”
“Now was that so hard?” He chuckles to himself, and before I know it, he reaches down and pulls his dirty undershirt off. I suck in a breath of air and suck on my teeth as my eyes drink him in. Sweet God, he’s absolutely gorgeous. Every muscle on his chest, shoulders, and arms, ripple and clench as he tosses the dirty shirt away. His back and arms are covered with tattoo ink, not to mention the handful across his chest and on his ribs.
He walks over to a table and picks up a somewhat cleaner looking white t-shirt with “Iron Horse Bikes” emblazoned on it. But he stops and suddenly glances back at me. I quickly look away with burning cheeks, but I know I’ve been busted. Rowan laughs deeply.
“Take a picture, sweetheart.”
“What?” I snap back.
“It’ll last longer.”
I can feel how obvious the blush is on my face. He laughs to himself and strolls past me. “Get over yourself,” I mumble.
“Truck’s this way if you still want that ride, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Fine, we’ll go with entitled brat instead,” he snaps back. “Now let’s go, brat.”
I sputter and fume as I try and find words to hurl back at him, but he’s already walking out of the garage and opening the cab door to a flatbed truck.
“You coming or not?” he yells back.
You’re never supposed to get into cars with strangers. Him being sinfully hot shouldn’t change that. Neither should him being an infuriatingly arrogant dick. The fact that he’s got my heart racing and my body tingling in ways I’ve never felt before shouldn’t change a thing. But it does. So before I know it, I’m walking over to get into the truck with the tall, beautiful stranger. And I have no idea what I’m in for.
2
Rowan
In the Marines, they teach you to spot trouble coming a mile away, or more. They teach you to keep your eyes open, your ear to the ground, and your senses keen, so that nothing surprises you. I’ve spent my whole life living by those guidelines. My whole life until today, that is. Today, it appears, trouble snuck right up on me, and just about floored me.
Five and a half feet tall, long, long chestnut hair, fierce, pretty green eyes, and glistening pouty lips. Tight body, curvy hips, an ass a man could make a meal of, legs for days, and goddamn mouthwatering tits. That kind of trouble. The kind of trouble that knocks you on your ass and stops you in your fucking tracks.
I glance over at her sitting across the bench seat from me. The truck’s windows are down, and the wind whips through her long gorgeous hair. She’s still got that little bratty scowl on her face, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to diminish her beauty. Hell, it might even make her more alluring. She’s young, too. The kind of young that might come after the word “too.” It sent up enough warning bells actually that I asked for her driver’s license when she got into the truck back at the shop. I said it was routine to check before driving someone to their car. But in reality, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t picking up some pretty little temptation who wasn’t eighteen yet.
Thankfully, Annabelle Chisholm is nineteen. That’s still pretty damn young compared to my thirty. Most people would still probably use that “too” before it. Maybe even “for you” after it. I’m not that guy, either. That’s for sure. Even before I moved out here to Silvervale, on the edge of the middle of nowhere, I wasn’t ever one for chasing tail. Never had time for it in the Marines. Never had much of an interest in it after I got back.
But this girl is bringing something out in me I almost forgot existed. It’s like her being around me has a fire starting deep in my chest. It’s not only the fact that she’s beautiful, either. It’s also not just that she’s young, and tempting, and perfect. It’s that she’s all piss and vinegar—a pretty little firecracker smoldering in the seat next to me.
Obviously, she’s not from around here. That was pretty apparent the minute I slid out from under that car and laid eyes on her. That short, skimpy skirt? The pristine-white tank top? And those fucking shoes? I mean who the fuck wears heeled shoes in the fucking desert? It’s the rest of it, too. The attitude and the entitled brattiness. The makeup, the movie-star sunglasses, the designer handbag. She sticks out, but when I look at her over there, looking out the window with the wind in her hair, all I can think of is how damn good the desert looks on her.
“It’s right up here.”
I’ve barely even been concentrating on the road. But when I finally focus, my eyes widen in surprise at the car we’re approaching. “That’s your car?” I stare at the cream-colored Aston Martin on the shoulder of the road, and I slow the truck and pull up in front it. I shake my head in disbelief. “You left an Aston Martin out here in the desert by itself?”
“Was I supposed to push it into town myself?” She mutters.
I laugh and slowly whistle appreciatively. “That’s a nice fucking car.” And by nice, I mean really, really fucking nice. Without even opening the hood or looking at any specs inside, I already know this is upwards of a two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar car.
“Thanks, my dad—” She stops herself and shrugs. “Thanks.”
I turn the engine off and hit the button to lower the end of the flatbed. “Get what you need out of it, I’ll hook it up.”
I climb down from the cab and head to the lowering flatbed. I grab ahold of the clamps and chains and crouch down to start hooking things up to the undercarriage of the car. When it’s secure, I use the controls to tighten the slack.
“Just make sure it’s in neutral.” When there’s no response, I glance back at the car. But I don’t see Annabelle. “Hey, put it in neutral so I can crank it up onto the flatbed.”
She doesn’t answer me, so I roll my eyes as I head back there. The driver’s side door is open, but I can see that the front seat is folded forward. I can just about see a glimpse of high heels sticking out from the doorway. I sigh and stomp over. “Hey, just make sure you—”
My words fail me, and my whole brain freezes. Right in from of me, Annabelle is bent over, reaching behind the folded-down driver’s seat for something in the backseat. Her little flirty skirt is flipped up high. Her legs are slightly spread with one knee up. And all of the means, I’ve got an absolute eye-full of her pert, tight, sexy ass, with a tiny strip of pink thong pulled tight between her cheeks.