Page 6 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

Another simple question that wasn’t simple. “I move around a lot.”

He made an impatient sound under his breath. Frustrated with his one-way conversation? Still, he kept at it. “It was stupid of me to take this car, but it was my granddad’s pride and joy. Kind of think of it as good luck.” When Clementine didn’t reply, he moved alongside her and bent to watch her fasten the tape. “You’re certainly good with your hands.”

“Best if one of us is, or you’d be stuck waiting for a tow.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t good with my hands.”

“You can’t fix your own car.”

“I’m good at other things.”

“Are you now?” She smirked at him over her shoulder, and her mouth dried. His baby blues had darkened, his irises blowing wide. His gaze skipped away again, that hint of shyness upping his appeal. A sip of not-a-Coke would be heaven right now, or she could lick the moisture from his sweaty chest.

Down girl.

She turned abruptly and smoothed the tape, ensuring it was secure. He let her work in silence, but his attention kept flitting to her, his sharp blue eyes zeroing in. With the hose doctored, he test drove the Jag. It purred as it should but wouldn’t last him long. At least he wasn’t stranded.

Even though he was late for his meeting, he walked her to her car, lingering as she shut the trunk. She took extra-long wiping the grease from her fingers.

When she faced him, he thrust his hand forward. “I’m Jack.”

She didn’t move or extend her hand in reply. If she did, he’d expect her to share her name. Normal social pleasantries. Problem was, using her alias, Samantha, didn’t feel right. She was far from home, and she wasn’t in Whichway yet. She hadn’t shed Clementine in favor of her chosen identity, but saying anything other than Samantha would be foolish. She bit down on her molars.

Jack kept his hand extended and chewed his bottom lip. When she remained silent, he said, “Is it because I’m an idiot who isn’t good with his hands and fumbled when trying to flirt with you?”

She sucked in a ragged breath. God, he was sweet. And cute. And his flirting had been subtle but lovely. In another life, she’d have played up her femininity. Gone on a date. Finished that date with a toe-tingling kiss. This wasn’t another life, though. This was her life, and she had a job to do.

Still, thistles invaded her throat, scratching it up. The scratchy pressure built, burning hotter until…

“Clementine,” she squeaked.

His hand hadn’t moved. Neither had hers.

“Clementine,” he repeated, as though tasting his first chocolate cake.

He tilted his hand slightly, angling his palm upward. An invitation. One she couldn’t resist. She pressed her hand against his, and whoa, the feel of his scorching skin. Warmer than the sultry air. It felt so good to touch him, a man who knew her name, even for this fleeting moment. A breath shuddered through her.

“Clementine,” he whispered again.

They both held on, longer than was decent. Sweat slicked their palms, the heat between them intensifying, along with her fluttering pulse.

He held her gaze this time, momentarily. When he glanced away, he quickly looked back. Moisture clung to his brow. A few lines dripped down his cheek, drawing her eyes to a drop sliding along his throat, over his collarbone, toward his chest. She forced her attention up, but it didn’t help. His lips were full and sensual. He had thick eyelashes, longish sideburns. Not like the belching Elvis from the gas station, but not exactly in fashion…something she should have noted. Details never escaped her, especially when heading to a job.

Elvis impersonators wore sideburns. Jack could be a fan. He could show up in Whichway for the festival. She could run into him again, this man who knew her real name.

She yanked her hand back, ignoring the sharp pang at the loss of contact. “Good luck in your meeting.”

“Can I have your number?”

“I’m just traveling through.”

“We could swap Twitter or Instagram handles? Or that snapping thing. Snap that Chat? I don’t do social media, but I could make an exception for the woman who rescued me.”

“I’d rather not.”

Avoiding looking at his handsome face and seeing all she couldn’t have, she turned her engine over and peeled away as quickly as her crappy Prius allowed.

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