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A scoff of anger at my own criticism topples from my lips just as a loud series of raps on the driver’s side window scares the ever-loving daylights out of me, making me flinch enough to almost lift me off the seat.
I look up into the darkest chocolate-colored eyes I’ve ever seen, rimmed with black lashes so thick they would make any woman envious.
But the eyes don’t belong to a woman. In fact, they don’t belong to someone with any semblance of femininity at all. Instead, the man with the sexy eyes is the blatant definition of masculinity with his chiseled features and plain black t-shirt stretched over muscular, broad shoulders, exuding enough testosterone and manliness that I’m convinced he could melt the glass window between us with the heat that radiates off him.
I’m still gawking at him in awe when he holds up his hands in askance. He doesn’t say it aloud, but his arched eyebrow and hand gestures say it for him. Are you going to open the door or roll down the window?
In the city, I probably wouldn’t, but I doubt Cardon Springs has its own resident serial killer so I take my chances and open up the car door. You know, once my hormones stop taking over every synapse firing in my brain, allowing me to think of something other than what this man’s angular jaw must be like to touch.
“Hi,” I say, trying to be polite. “I already called someone to help me out. They’re on their way.”
“I know. Your aunt called me,” he explains in a voice that’s low and gritty. “Looks like I’m that someone you’re waiting for.”
I don’t know why, but a rush of heat creeps into my cheeks at that, flustering me even more. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that. My body is screaming, Yeah, Mister, I’ll bet you are, and my mind still hasn’t gotten past the sexy huskiness of his voice or the dark eyes that look through me, not at me.
Through me, not at me. My brain finally catches up a beat later, and I realize just how right I am. Because he’s not looking at me the same way I’m taking him in at all. In fact, this man is barely meeting my gaze now that he’s managed to get me to open the car door. The realization deflates me slightly.
“I’m Craig,” he continues when I haven’t spoken out loud. “I own the repair shop here in Cardon Springs. Nancy called and said your car wouldn’t start, wanted me to take a look. When she mentioned she was just on the way to pick you up, I told her I could drive you home so she didn’t have to come out.”
The city girl in me knows damn well I shouldn’t take his story at face value—it’s a typical story for a serial killer. Except that he knows Aunt Nancy. Or says he does. The man is too gorgeous to be a serial killer. Maybe.
“She said she was coming here herself.” Technically, she didn’t say that at all, but I’m not mentally prepared to leave my life in this stranger’s hands without at least questioning something.
His gaze is fixed on the car I’ve just stepped out of—stupid move if he is a serial killer, I know—and he takes idle steps around the front of it. “Your name’s Megan, right?” he asks, crouching down to check out something near the wheel well, then proceeding to stand up and continue on toward the front of the car, popping the hood. A gust of grayish smoke rolls out from under it. “Nancy’s been going on about you for years. I think just about everyone in town knows something about you.”
That’s embarrassing to think about, but it sounds exactly like my aunt. She loves to gush about me. I’m just a little worried about what topics she has chosen to spread around town. “It sounds like you know Aunt Nancy pretty well.”
“Hard not to when we’ve lived in the same town pretty much my entire life.”
I can?
?t even see his shoulder or head anymore. He’s bent over under the hood of the car. Even from where I’m standing near the driver’s side door, I can see that his worn jeans are slung low on his hips, and he wears a faded leather belt.
Damn, he’s attractive, I think. Even when I can’t see his face.
“Funny, she’s never mentioned you,” I say, immediately regretting it once I realize how rude I might seem if it’s misconstrued.
Craig pokes his head out from under the hood, a faint, crooked grin curving his mouth upward. “Well, I’m not the one who’s Nancy’s cherished genius of a niece, am I?” When he winks at me a moment later, I’m not sure whether to be mortified or flattered.
“I’m not a genius,” I retort.
He has already ducked back under the hood. “You’d never know it by the way Nancy talks about you.”
I reach in and pull my purse from the passenger seat of the car and slam the driver’s side door, giving myself a moment to collect my thoughts. “What else has she told the fine folks of Cardon Springs about me?” I step forward, peeking under the hood, taking the chance to view the way his dark hair is cut short, clipped close to his head, revealing the smooth muscles of his neck at the base of his skull.
He doesn’t look up from the engine he’s inspecting—or at least I think it’s the engine—but I hear a scoff erupt from his throat. “That you’re overqualified for the job you got at the Chronicle with your degree in journalism, but that she’s pretty much busting at the seams with excitement at having you live with her. Oh...” He glances up, slamming the hood down, his cocky grin still in place. “And that you need a new car.”
I know he’s trying to be funny, but the falsity of his first comment and the truth of his last one hits home just a bit too much. I do my best to keep a lighthearted expression on my face, but my smile must falter because I see the flash of apology in his eyes.
“That’s where you come in, Mr. Mechanic,” I chuckle, trying to laugh it off. “You can fix this one, right?”
His gaze lowers to the car before him, then up to meet mine again. “Let me see what I can do, Megan.”
“Sounds promising enough,” I tell him. “Were you serious about giving me a ride to Aunt Nancy’s place?”
“Nah.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I was going to make you walk.” His lips are pressed tightly together to suppress a full-fledged grin, one I know would be sexy as hell if he let it come out. But he doesn’t, instead pointing toward the red pickup truck parked behind my car on the side of the road. “Get in. We don’t want to keep Nancy waiting any longer to see you.”
As much as I want to see my aunt, and as much as I have been waiting impatiently for that moment when she gives me a warm hug and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay—because that’s what she always does, and that’s what she does best—it occurs to me that I’m a bit disappointed. Every minute closer to being dropped off at Aunt Nancy’s house is one minute closer to not having Craig and his intense eyes and crooked smile in my line of vision.
