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This man was a predator. It was her first thought. Long, lean, and dangerous, the kind of man Sabella had learned to steer well clear of after her husband’s death. Once bitten, twice shy. She had learned her lesson about that air of danger, and she had no desire to revisit it.
He leaned casually against the desk, his palms flat on the surface as he watched her with predatory intent. For a moment, just a moment, she went back in time, to that day she had first pulled into the lot, her car overheating, her nerves frazzled because she was late for a job interview. It was hot, she was sweating in the late-summer Texas sun, cursing her move from Georgia and the Texas heat that seemed to take forever to get used to.
And standing in just that position had been Nathan Malone, the owner, and later her husband. His eyes had raked over her slowly, a smile tilting his sexy lips as his eyes, Irish eyes, brilliant, seductive, stole her heart.
She felt her mouth go painfully dry. Her hands were shaking, her stomach cramping, as she stared back at the stranger. She didn’t know this man, she didn’t want to know this man, but for a moment, just a moment, she glimpsed the past with him. A bittersweet, painful knowledge of love and loss and everything fate had denied her.
“There are no openings. Please leave.”
Okay, so that was really rude, but she was really busy too. And she didn’t need the headache she knew would come with this man.
“Rory assured me there was an opening for a mechanic.”
Oh God, that voice.
His voice was deep, raspy, almost guttural. It raked over her nerve endings and sent an edge of dark response. Damn, damn, damn. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need her body awakening now after so many years in a deep freeze. She sure as hell didn’t need it awakening for a man more dangerous and likely a hell of a lot harder than any other man she had ever known.
His voice was cool and filled with purpose, but the undercurrents were dark, hungry. She had never heard that in her husband’s voice, had never seen it in his eyes.
She turned back slowly, forcing herself to stare at his chin, the short clipped beard and mustache blurring his features. Were those scars?
No, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t care.
“Rory isn’t here.” She had to force herself to speak, nearly wincing at the raw sound of her voice. “And he doesn’t run the place. I do. There are no openings.”
He shifted. As though fascinated, Sabella glanced down, seeing the powerful lean thighs covered in faded denim and leather, the hard abs beneath the thin cotton shirt he wore. Boots covered big feet, a sturdy base for at least six feet four inches of hard male.
As her gaze moved back to his face, she watched as his eyes moved to the wide windows that looked out on the gas bays and parking lot. Several cars sat deserted beneath the hot, midday sun, awaiting attention. The gas pumps were empty, the blacktopped lot cracked and sporting several lumps of hearty grass. Yeah, so the place wasn’t looking so good, she thought, pushing back her frustration, her pain. But she was doing her best. And it looked a hell of a lot better than it had three years ago when she had dragged herself out of her grief enough to realize what she was losing.
“You’re doing a good job here, but if you want to survive, you need someone willing to do the job right, and to get the best out of the men working under you.” His gaze swung back to her, the blue of his eyes threatening to steal her breath again.
His voice was quiet, reasonable, but it sent a flare of fury racing through her system. How dare he be here, ruining the fragile balance she had found in her life with his blue eyes, his raspy voice. She lifted her chin defiantly, hating it, hating his eyes, and the weariness that seemed to fill them. And she refused to let herself care.
“I’m doing just fine, all by my lonesome, mister,” she assured him mockingly. She drew herself stiffly erect. “You’re a stranger here—”
“Ma’am, I’m stating a fact.”
Oh God . . . She wanted to scream at him, to beat at him for stealing her peace, for taking the fragile calm she had finally managed to build around herself with the unexplained response she could feel roiling inside her. “All I need is the job Rory promised.” He flashed a hard smile. “He is your partner, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “Look, mister—”
“Noah. Noah Blake.”
Noah. Irish. Go síoraí, I’ll love you forever. For a moment, the slightest wish whispered through her mind and she thought of Nathan.
He hadn’t loved her forever though. His need for danger, for the adrenaline rush and excitement, had carried him away from her, and he’d found death instead. Leaving her alone. Leaving her to survive without him for six heartbreaking years.
Now another Irish wildman was stepping into her life, trying to t
ake it over? She shook her head. No, never again. No man would ever fill her, ever own her as her husband had. It wasn’t possible. And she wasn’t going to give this one the chance.
She opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared back at him as the old, driving fury consumed her once again. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly.
“I said no. Now leave. I have work to do and I just don’t have time for you.” She turned on her heel and stalked back into the garage, stemming the hollow pain that beat at her throat and moistened her eyes.
She was finally forgetting, she didn’t need to be reminded of Irish eyes, soul-stealing kisses, or promises broken.
Her husband was gone. He was dead, his body sealed in a government casket and lowered into a dark, open hole. She had watched them cover it, watched each shovelful of dirt as it sealed a reality she had fought to reject.
