She releases a long, slow breath, and her shoulders straighten, as if she’s rebuilt that wall of strength that only moments ago had cracked. Staring into her drink, she swirls it aimlessly but peeks at me again. “So, are you new to town?”
Apparently, we’re done talking about what went down tonight and the relationship she has with the Hawkes.
I nod. “I am.”
“Will you be staying for a while?”
There’s the slightest dip in her voice, something someone else might not have noticed, but it’s the kind of thing I always pick up on.
A tiny fissure in that wall she’s rebuilt—or at least, attempted to.
But if I mention it, she’ll bolt and shut down completely.
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can, trying to keep my expression neutral. “That depends.”
Her gaze shifts over to meet mine. “On what?”
“On how some things play out…”
“What sort of things?”
“My job, mostly, but also something personal…”
That beautiful umber skin darkens even more on her cheeks, the only sign this woman is ever likely to give me because it’s one she can’t control.
She didn’t miss the fact that I meant her, but the real question is what she will do with it.
It would be better for us both if she ignored the flirtation, pushed away this spark between us and wrote it off as something not to explore.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to act. Waiting for her to make the decision to slam the door shut on me so that it won’t remain in my hands that seem desperate to hold it open.
She considers me for a moment, and for a split second, I see a glimmer of interest in her eyes that makes me think she might bite.
But it’s gone just as quickly.
Replaced by a steely resolve I don’t like being on the opposite side of.
Casually, she brings her drink to her lips again, and I can’t help but focus on the way her throat moves as she takes a sip from it.
Fuck.
My palm itches to wrap around her smooth dark skin, to feel her gasps of pleasure rumbling beneath it.
I shift on the hard stool, trying to relieve some of the tension building in all the wrong places.
She sets the glass down and runs a fingertip around the rim. “What do you do for work?”
“I fix things.”
Her dark brows rise. “What kinds of things?”
“I’m a mechanic.”
Those intense eyes automatically dip to my hands.
I hold them up, showing her all the calluses. “Mostly motorcycles, but I love to get my hands on anything with an engine.”
This woman’s runs fast and hard.
