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Like how she’d look with her lips around my cock and those eyes looking up at me.
How her ass would look if she were bent over the hood of that Mustang she drove, with my fingers digging into her ass cheeks.
How she’d look if my face was between her legs and she was halfway through coming all over my tongue.
I reached down and adjusted my jeans. My cock was hardening at the thoughts that were running through my head. That was something I had to get under control.
Not that my cock had ever fucking listened to me.
I’d tried to make it listen, but it never did.
Damn thing had a mind of its own.
I rubbed my hand down my face. Fucking hell. I was slowly getting obsessed with the woman I worked with, and she was everything I hated.
She was mouthy. Determined. Strong. Confident. Unafraid to challenge me. Unhesitant to call me on the bullshit I spewed every now and then. She was a force of nature—the human equivalent of a hurricane that ripped through a state viciously.
Except I had no doubt she had the ability to rip through a person, too.
I sipped the coffee.
I had to rethink this. Had to get these thoughts the fuck out of my head. There was nothing good about any of this.
Fucking hell.
I’d said fuck more times in the last forty-eight hours than I had in my entire life.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
That wasn’t helping, given that was what I wanted to do to her.
I put my cup on the coffee table and threw myself on the sofa. Springs creaked beneath my weight, but I ignored them as I got comfy and pulled the cup onto my lap.
It burned my skin under my jeans.
Fucking machine.
I rested the mug on the arm of the sofa and stared out of the window where she’d park that Mustang of hers. It matched the color of her eyes to perfection.
Was that its original color or coincidence?
Shit, why the fuck did I care?
All I should be caring about was replacing the fuel injector in my grandpa’s Dodge Ram. The fuel injector that was delayed from the supplier and sending him ten shades of fucking insane.
That reminded me. I needed to call them right about now.
I took a huge gulp of my coffee and grabbed the phone.
***
“Motherfucker!” Jamie’s voice echoed across the garage.
I straightened and looked toward the door. “Hi.”
“Don’t you ‘hi’ me,” she snapped, kicking something that looked a lot like a screwdriver across the floor.
It skidded and landed a few feet from me.
Yep, screwdriver.
“Hello?” I offered. “Howdy? How’d you do? How are you? Bonjour? Ciao? Hola?”
She nailed me with a stare that would make granite soften. “Hey,” she replied. “Do you usually leave your tools on the floor?”
I gazed around at the tool-strewn floor of the garage. “Do you not look where you’re walking?”
“That’s it!” Bending down, she retrieved a tiny wrench from the floor. “I’m getting this cesspit under control!” Turning, she threw it at a box, only for it to bounce off the metal surface and back onto the floor.
The clang echoed through the garage.
“My god!” she shouted.
Except, it was more like a screech than anything.
“How do you work like this? There are tools everywhere. Do you believe you can run a reputable garage when the only thing you can find without looking is the coffee machine?”
I opened my mouth to reply.
It didn’t matter.
“Your wrenches are all over the place. Your screwdrivers are so screwed you’ve basically fed them to hookers. Your toolboxes are so unorganized you make teenage boys look tidy. And don’t get me sorted on your paperwork!” She jabbed a blood-red nail my way. “Did you fix Senator Yale’s car last week or last year? Was Mayor Reynolds’ truck last month or in January? Did you take tow Alistair Walter’s bus on August fifth or April fifth?”
I opened my mouth once again.
“My God!” she carried on yet again. “This is not how you run a business, Dexter Ryne! I don’t care if you pay your taxes. I don’t care if you pay me on time. This isn’t a freaking big city. You keep your customers in order and you make them feel like they’re all you have. Do you understand that?”
Another open-mouthed attempt was all I shot her way.
“You tell Senator Yale you remember his previous issues and you need to check it over even if you’ve forgotten. You tell Mr. Daniels that you can charge his battery.” She prodded her finger at me. “You—”
“Shut up,” I said wearily.
Jamie bristled. “What?”
“Shit up,” I repeated.
She stared at me.
“Unless you’re going to tell me something about this godforsaken town I don’t know, shut the fuck up,” I continued. “I don’t know what the hell wormed its way up your ass this morning, but you have thirty minutes to make sure it wriggles its way out of your asshole.”
