Page 4 of Working for Her Heart

My hand slips on the wrench I’ve got all my weight against. The momentum has my knuckles slamming into the unforgiving steel. “Motherfucker!”

“Hate it when that happens. Need some ice?”

I shove my way out of the machine. “You just happen to have ice?” I ask, shaking my hand and turning toward the woman, only to stop short. My jaw drops the same as it did when this sexy vixen drove off and left me in the dust on the side of the road. “What are you doing here?” My face breaks into a wide grin. “Did you track me down?”

She does that snort and rolls her eyes. “Hardly. You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

I shrug a shoulder, sending her a wink. “Well, when you hear just how amazing you are so often, it’s kind of hard to dispute the facts.”

Her head drops forward with a groan before muttering, “Fuck my life. So much for turning over a new leaf.”

My brows pinch. “What seems to be the problem, darlin’?”

She looks up, eyes narrowed, hands propped on those round hips. “I’m Jess or Jessa, not darlin’, not sweetheart, baby doll, sugar, or whatever other sexist nickname men give women because they can’t be bothered to differentiate between us. Now we have that straight, let’s get this show on the road and get to work, or does Bill pay us to stand around flapping our jaws?”

“Wait, what? You’re Jess?” I sputter, now noticing with her hands at her hips she’s got coveralls on with the arms knotted around her waist.

Fucking Bill not warning me the new hire was a woman.

And not just any woman, but the woman who I can’t stop thinking about. The one who has me wound tighter than a coiled spring under pressure. Now Marnie’s smirk when I left makes more sense.

“That’s what I said. Is that a problem?” She rolls her eyes again. “Of course it is, because there’s no way a female could know anything about engines, right? Let alone know their way around heavy equipment.”

She arches one of those blonde brows at me, crossing her arms over tits I’ve been dreaming about for the last two days. The black tank top she’s wearing accentuates them spectacularly. Her hair is plaited into two braids, which lie over her shoulders. In my fantasies, those golden locks have been loose, splayed beneath her or hanging around us in a curtain.

The braids are giving me other ideas.

Her feet are encased in dark brown steel-toed work boots. The leather’s worn, but well cared for, confirming their years of use.

The woman was sexier than hell in the short skirt and sandals with unbound hair, but dressed like this—like she isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and knows what the fuck she’s doing when she does—is making me even harder than I’ve been in the time since we last met. Which says a lot.

Especially considering I’m at work for fuck’s sakes.

The loud clearing of her throat has my gaze jerking up. I’m chagrined at having been caught blatantly staring. I better get my shit together if I’m going to turn this around. We need another mechanic to keep up with the workload we’ve been dealing with.

More than that though, I don’t want this woman who has enthralled me without so much as trying to walk away before I have the opportunity to melt her frosty facade. With the heat she’s igniting in me, it shouldn’t take much for the thaw to happen. But in order for that to transpire, I have to change her mind about the very wrong impression she has gotten of me.

Fuck, I need to turn this fiasco around and quick before she quits on me before we even get started, because there’s no way I’m letting this woman peel out of my life for a second time.

Chapter Four

Jessa

I just can’t seem to catch a fucking break. This job was supposed to be an opportunity to start fresh in a new place, but of course the ridiculously hunky guy from the side of the road is the lead mechanic at my new job.

When I interviewed with Bill I had high hopes this position might be at least a little better than where I worked before. He’d hardly batted an eye when I walked in for my interview. I purposely put Jess instead of Jessa on my resume to keep from being discriminated against. Not to be deceitful, but to let my experience speak for itself without first being judged for being a woman.

Marnie had been great, and I think she might’ve helped smooth the way for me. Even so, Bill has been nothing but kind to me in our interactions. So I had been optimistic this would finally be a place I could work in peace.

That hope withered like fruit on the vine during a drought when Lane climbed from the bowels of the CAT he was wrenching on and I saw who he was. The guy with the Fat Boy who pulled over when I was working on Carla.

Talk about fucking luck.

Now his eyes are full of heat as they roam my body, leaving an unexpected tingling in their wake. I’m more than used to this behavior, but I don’t want to start my new job this way. Besides, it’s a little disconcerting that I’m not nearly as indifferent to his ogling as I usually am.

Not to mention the backwards baseball hat, which is like catnip. I don’t know why I find it so freaking appealing because in my experience it’s a sign of cockiness, but it revs my motor—same as most other women.

I heave a sigh, arms falling to my sides. Maybe I should cut my losses now. “You know what? I’ll just go tell Bill this isn’t going to work out.”