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“You were walking around half-naked yesterday, remember?”
“It’s new.”
He held her steady gaze, without defensiveness or anger. Even though he didn’t explain further, his expression of open honesty filled her with a sense of trust. She handed him the wrench over the seat between them. His slight smile told her he recognized the gesture for the unspoken show of faith as she intended.
Yet she noticed he swallowed hard again while he worked on loosening bolts. His nervousness prompted her to press deeper, to see if he would indeed answer her questions.
“Is that one of those things I don’t want to know about you?”
He looked up for a few seconds, then returned his attention to the bike without answering. It wasn’t fast enough that she felt he was hiding anything, so she dropped the subject and found another nine-sixteenths wrench to continue securing the new shock on her side.
“The cops said I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he answered a few minutes later. “But if the bullet had hit its intended target, she probably would’ve died. I’m still here.” Tara was processing that information when he added, “Evened up the score some, I guess.”
Having consciously decided she trusted him only moments earlier, his last words were a shock. Her hands stilled with a chilling thought. “You’ve…never actually…”
“Killed someone?” He met her gaze but gave her the chance to correct his guess. When she remained silent, he continued in a firm tone. “No. I got out before I was forced to make that choice with the pressure of the gang behind me. But, all the same, I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
Thank God—about the first, not the second. She brushed at the annoying itch on her nose again.
“You don’t plan on repeating the past, do you?”
He frowned across the bike seat at her. “Of course not. I’m not the same person I was in back then.”
“Then move on.”
He rested his forearm on his knee and stared her down. “How about you ignore your dad and brother.”
He had her there. “Okay, so maybe it’s not that easy.”
“And I rest my case.”
They shared a brief smile despite the serious subject matter. Tara didn’t pry any further, she simply enjoyed the comfortable silence that fell and remained, except for the once or twice he asked for direction. Wes hadn’t lied about being a fast study, and he did a great job, too. She wiped her hands and stuffed the rag in her back pocket after showing Wes how to lower the bike lift.
“Thanks for the help.”
He moved to her side of the bike to put the tools away. “No problem. Now what?”
“I’ll take her out, see how she rides.”
“And what, I watch you drive away? That hardly seems fair.”
Tara put a hand on her hip and bit back a pleased smile. “If you want a ride, Wes, just say so.”
His grin tripped her heart. “I want a ride.”
“Okay.”
He stepped closer and reached an arm around her to pull the grease rag from her back pocket. His bare arm brushed hers, but she had no time to react to the electric tingle before he lifted the cloth toward her face.
When she drew
back, he admonished, “Hold still, you have dirt on your nose.”
Tara’s breath hitched as their eyes locked and his masculine scent enveloped her. Awareness fanned through her entire body.
“I had an itch,” she murmured. His mouth lifted on one side, and she asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” Wes shifted, gently wiped the side of her nose one last time, and lowered his hand to his side. “When I was little, my grandma used to say that when your nose itches, you’re about to kiss a fool.”
