Suddenly, his whole body tenses, and I school my face because he knows I’m here.
He doesn’t turn all the way around. He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and then curses. I can’t hear him over the loud music, but I can see the wordfuckleave his gorgeous lips.
And that sets me into action.
I hurry over and set the bag of food on his table, and then turn to scurry out the door, but suddenly the music stops. Just as I reach for the doorknob, his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Wildfire.”
Chapter Eight
BROOKS
Maybe if I play the music loud enough, it’ll drown out all thoughts of my wildfire. Because she consumes me, and it pisses me the fuck off. All I’ve thought about is how damn perfect it felt to have her pressed against my back on the bike. I hate that she lives in that attic, but I love that she stood up to me and told me that she wasn’t ashamed.
Even though I could see the embarrassment in her eyes, and I don’t want her to feel that way.
Christ, why do I have thisneedto help her? To protect her? She’s a stranger to me, yet I want her.
And the more I dig into her car, the more pissed I get. Barry sabotaged every component of this car, making sure it would break down over and over again. I’ve never seen such a fucking mess, and I’ve been at this job for a long time. I’m so pissed, I had to take my shirt off because I was sweating.
I want to get Barry in a room and beat the ever-loving fuck out of the piece of shit.
I need to ask Jules to check her card and make sure she got her money back, or else I’ll be paying him another visit, and I won’t stop at a punch to the jaw.
Nirvana is blaring through the speakers. Old Man Hanson used to play this and other old rock music on repeat, and I never stopped because I like it.
I turn it up a notch because I’m still thinking about Jules, and then every hair on my body stands on end.
She’s here.
Without standing up straight, I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there she is, staring at me with glassy eyes, wearing a black T-shirt and shorts, holding a bag of what I assume is food.
“Fuck,” I mutter before I cut the music off and reach for the rag to wipe my hands. When I turn around, she’s already set the bag down and is making a break for the door. “Wildfire.”
She stops, but she doesn’t turn around, and I slowly walk toward her.
I don’t like having her in my garage.She looks too beautiful. Too perfect. Tooright, here in my space. It reminds me of having her here with me when we were teenagers. She’d keep me company while I worked.
It’s late, dark outside, and no one is around.
It’s just us.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, and wrings her hands together at her waist as she turns to me. She won’t look me in the face. “I was taking my evening walk?—”
She walks in the evening, too?
“—and I saw that your lights were on and heard the music. I had just closed the kitchen, so I ran back to make you dinner because if you’re still here, you might not have eaten, and I had some beef fajitas, and you used to like those. I don’t know if you still do, but it’s all in the bag, along with some chips and stuff. I feel bad that I’ve snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. Anyway, sorry that I interrupted?—”
Unable to stop myself, I close the gap between us, frame her face in my hands, and press my lips to hers, kissing her for the first time in fifteen years, and my entire being stutters to a stop as I breathe her in.
She doesn’t move at first, as taken aback as I am, and then with a little moan, she melts into me. Her hands go to my sides, and her lips part, inviting my tongue in.
God, she tastes good.
Sinking into her, I back her up until her hips meet my countertop. Her fingertips brush up and down my bare back, up my sides, over my stomach, and I can’t stop myself from wanting her, here and now.
