I make plenty of money to get by when I accept jobs, not like I couldn’t part with half of it to give her for her time, and it was good to do something fun with my hands—something I used to love—in my off time.
Not like I could do my usual routine of barhopping and breaking backs while I’m under adult supervision from my brother anyway. Or that I’d even want to when there’s only one woman both my heads are thinking about lately.
Hell, I’ll almostmissthis project when she drives outta here shortly.
I’ll definitely miss her company when I show up to paint alone for the first time in a while on Monday morning. Hopefully this weekend resets me, recalibrates me back to my original factory settings. The way I was fine to be alone a month ago, before I met her. My curse is something I know how to deal with.
“All right,” Wyatt says, pulling himself free of the mechanical maze he managed to fold himself into.
Abruptly, my eyes turn from heated to neutral. From on her, to on the engine. And I feel her gaze cool and retract as well. Where her eyes were glued to my chest, my arms, my back, they’re now large, innocent, and on my brother as he wipes his hands and prepares to speak.
“Not bad, West,” he tells me.
Why does that feel like an accomplishment coming from him?
And why did it take until I’m thirty-three to get those simple words?
“Should be good to go. I think she’s ready for a spin,” Wyatt says.
I let him do the honors, stepping back and watching from beside Amelia as he starts up Van Gogh. The garage doesn’t explode, so I’m thinking we’re off to a good start and I mighteven get invited to Thanksgiving this year if nothing goes majorly wrong on this test drive.
We both watch the taillights light up and take off out of the open bay door, and it feels like a punch in the gut when I realize that the next time I see those bad boys turn red, it’ll be the last time I see that van, or the girl who lives in it.
It’s been nice having something of a partner as I work. Companionship without judgment is rare for me, and I’m pretty sure it has been for her too.
“You did it,” Amelia breathes out, turning to face me. Her nose wiggles, the small septum ring that goes through it twitching with the motion. “You got us up and running again.” Her voice is softer than usual, but I can’t read it for once. “For a while there I wasn’t sure we’d get out of Smoky Heights. Seemed like Van Gogh was dead, and I was stuck.”
Is that hint of sadness at a future where her van was dead and she was confined to one place? Or is it possibly at the thought of leaving?
Now I’m just getting hopeful. Knowing one night with her won’t be enough, but I’m gonna have to do everything in my power for both of us to get our fill before the sun comes up and she’s just a silhouette on the horizon.
“Thank you.” The words are so soft, I’m not even sure what they’re in reference to at this point. For helping on the van? For the company, letting her feel like a normal twenty-something woman for a few weeks instead of a stranger to everyone she meets? For the night we already had that will fuel my fantasies for months, maybe even years? Or the one that’s yet to come that will hopefully convince her to come back once in a while for a repeat?
“Of course,” I tell her with a lift of one shoulder.
“You’ve done me so many favors already, and now…” The way her voice trails off, was that supposed to imply that tonight is anotherfavor?
Placing one finger under her chin, I bring her teal gaze back to mine, no matter how interesting she seems to find the floor right about now.
“And nowwhat?” I ask softly, hint of danger peeking through at that inference in her tone, like anything about what’s coming next is a favor, not because my veins will fucking explode if I don’t finally get to have her.
Favor is a dirty fucking word compared to the need I have for this woman. There’s nothing charitable about it.
“Choose your words well, Amelia. They’d better not disparage this. Us. You.” My free hand motions between our two bodies, hers so much shorter than mine.
When my meaning hits her, her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes light up with mischief and the corner of her lip folds between her teeth as she bites down on it, chin still in my grasp. From shy and self-deprecating to sexy and playful all in a flash. I want all the sides this gorgeous girl has to show me.
“Now…” she draws out the word, reworking her sentence, “I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you,” she says with a devilish smirk that matches those dirty little secrets of hers.
The ring through the nipple, those perfect tits I’ll never get over, so unexpectedly filthy beneath that angelic exterior. The way she gets off, so unapologetic, so needy. I haven’t stopped dreaming up all the ways I can give her what she needs.
At this point, my plans for her should require a permit.
“You’re mine to appreciate, darlin’,” I tell her, and I watch desire course through her, melting down through her body and pooling somewhere low in her middle. I can’t wait to taste that desire later.
Vaguely, I consider whisking her away to the dark office along the side wall, or perhaps one of Wyatt’s vehicles around here, a little payback of my own for those marks on my Charger. But the sound of Van Gogh’s arrival interrupts those thoughts and reminds me that I want seclusion when I finally get to have all of her.
Seclusion and one other thing.
