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She sighed. “Thank you.”
With a nod, he opened the trunk then worked out the spare tire. She stood on the side of the road, watching every move he made with calculating, judging eyes. Neither spoke while he went to work on the tire. Within minutes he had the car jacked up, the busted tire off, and was tightening the lugs on the spare.
Of course, being a man whose cock hadn’t had any action beyond his own hand in a scary amount of time, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at her every few seconds. At one point, a bird squawked high above them. The woman turned and glanced up, putting her backside right in his line of sight. And day-um, he’d be dreaming about that lush ass for days to come. High, tight, round, fuck, it was a thing of beauty. Whether those expensive jeans gave the illusion of a perfect ass or she spent hours doing squats, he didn’t care. The visual worked.
He shifted as the crotch of his pants grew tight. From the corner of his eye, he caught the woman shivering. “Cold?” he asked.
Jesus, why was he initiating conversation? No one would accuse him of being chatty. In fact, most considered him standoffish. It was something his siblings loved to rub in his face.
She spun his way. “Yeah, I’m not used to this Vermont weather. I’m, uh, from California.”
Ahh, that explained quite a bit. Probably some rich housewife like the ones on those ridiculous reality TV shows. “This isn’t even close to cold yet, but I’ll be done in a minute, and you can get back to your seat warmers.”
“It’s okay.” She walked closer, those long legs eating up the distance between them until she practically loomed over him, where he was crouched next to her rear passenger wheel. “I actually like it. It’s refreshing.”
A hint of something sweet, but not overly so wafted his way. Shit, she even smelled expensive. He glanced up at her, and this time, her eyes widened, and she took a step back.
Seriously? What did she think, he was gonna lunge for her there on the side of the road? He wouldn’t be in business long if he attacked random female motorists instead of fixing their cars.
The thick silence wormed its way under his skin until he couldn’t stand it. He swore he could feel the discomfort and fear coming off her in waves. Leave it to the classy woman to judge him for his tattoos, beard, and profession.
“You staying nearby?” Shit, that sounded too much like a come-on. Like he was feeling her out, seeing if she’d be willing to invite him to her hotel room.
That snooty eyebrow rose again, this time accompanied by a haughty glare. Clearly, she’d interpreted it as a poorly executed pickup line. This was why he didn’t make small talk. He sucked at it.
“I’m staying at my house,” she said in a tone that indicated she found him far beneath her on the social scale.
Let’s face it, he was.
“All right,” he said, as he straightened. “You’re good to go.” He lifted the blown tire, tucking it under his arm.
He caught her eyes widen as his biceps bulged against his Henley and couldn’t help his smirk. Looked like the lady wasn’t a complete stone.
“Thank you,” she said, voice clipped. “I appreciate you coming out so quickly. How do I pay you?”
He fished a crinkled business card out of his pocket. “You can pay when you come in for the new tire. Give that number a call tomorrow afternoon to see if we got it in yet. Unless you want to take it directly to the dealership, but it’s a hike from here.” Taking her card now would only prolong the interaction. If he was lucky, JP could deal with her when the tire came in and he’d never have to see her again.
“No, uh, this is fine.” She took the card with two perfectly manicured fingers, turning it back and forth in her hand as though inspecting dirty underwear instead of a piece of paper with a slight grease smudge.
“Won’t kill you,” he muttered as he hauled her tire to his truck.
“Excuse me?”
The innocent way she’d asked had his blood boiling. What a bitch. He couldn’t stand fakes or liars, and this woman was the worst kind. The ones who pretended to be kind and unprejudiced while judging and mistrusting him behind plastered-on smiles with a safe distance between them.
“I said, getting a little grease on those fancy fucking fingers won’t kill you,” he said. “Neither will I. Won’t try to fuck you either.”
She frowned. “Wha—”
“Not my type, lady.”
With a snort, she squared her shoulders. “And you think you’re mine?”
It amazed him how a woman six inches shorter than him could look so far down at him, but this one managed to do it just fine.
