Page 2 of The Gruff Loner’s Bargain

“If you want to keep trying to browbeat your car into submission I can leave you to it, but I figured you might need a hand.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

Rain droplets stick to his impossibly long lashes, framing those chocolate pools that seem fathomless. He blinks, releasing those drops, then new ones fall.

“You know, if you wore that hat the way you’re supposed to, the bill would keep the rain out of your eyes.”

He smirks. “Maybe, but then you wouldn’t be staring at my eyes like you have been since I walked up.”

“It was only because it seems stupid to walk around in the rain, with a hat on and still get water I your eyes. You do you, I guess.” I cross my arms over my chest. It’s hard to be indignant when: A) he’s not wrong, I was totally staring, and B) I drove my car off the road to avoid a squirrel.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Does this ‘aww, shucks, ma’am’ schtick usually work for you?”

He just tosses his head back and laughs.

My eyes follow the line of his throat where it’s visible beneath his beard, and I see a hint of a tattoo peeking out from his t-shirt. A shirt that is now pretty much molded to his mouth-watering torso. Tell me I am not seeing the outline of ab muscles through a wet shirt!

This man is dangerous. Danger with a capital D. You know what else starts with D?

No, Brook! You will not find this annoying man attractive. Hot fudge sundaes are attractive too, but they make your hips and ass even bigger than they already are.

“Listen, darlin, as entertaining as this is, I don’t normally stand in the rain just to be insulted by a pretty girl. Now then, here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna get the hook from my truck and attach it to your front bumper. You’re going to follow my instructions or else your bumper will pull straight off. Got me?”

I glare at him, and my mouth and my brain want to give him a sassy retort. I don’t take orders from anyone. But thankfully, the logical part of me rears her head. “Yes. I got you.”

He nods.

As he’s about to turn, I see the undeniable barbell shape pressed against his shirt.

“Are your nipples pierced?” I blurt out. Clearly, logical Brook has left the building.

“That’s not all that’s pierced, darlin.”

My gaze darts to his septum. And then his ears. His eyebrows. No, no, and no.

Almost against my will, my eyes drift down to his …

He chuckles.

Oh damn.

Why is that hot? “I’m not your darlin.”

He just winks and then walks back to his truck. I watch him work. Guilt gnaws at my belly. He pulled over in the rain to help me and I’ve been nothing but rude and ungrateful to him. It’s not his fault he’s so stupidly hot.

He gets everything hooked up, and then he’s barking orders at me from his open truck window.

“Just turn your wheel, like that. Not too hard. That’s it, just like that.”

Damn, why does that sound so filthy? I ignore my body’s reaction—because that is just unnecessary—and surely I can blame damp panties on the rain. My car lurches, then springs free from the mud. When he’s got all four of my wheels back on the road, he puts his truck in park and comes to unhook me.

He saunters back over to my car, his snug jeans riding low on his hips.

“Darlin, try to keep yourself out of trouble,” he says. Then he leans down into my window again. His features harden. “And don’t fucking swerve for squirrels or anything else; you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

The command is gruff and rumbly and does wicked things to my nipples. I don’t even understand what is happening right now because I do not find bossy, hairy men attractive.

“Wow, thanks for the tip.”