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“Not sure what’s going on. Could I have a ride, please? In your vehicle,” she added with a quick smile. “My car appears to be dead.”
“You have Triple A?”
“No. Drop me off at O’Halloran’s if you wouldn’t mind. One of the guys can come back here to give me a tow.” Seeing Brad might stir up all sorts of feelings, but she’d take her chances with her libido over extra minutes spent in a cramped space with Wide Toothy Smile.
Especially since her skirt was just tight enough to have earned more than the standard leer he usually aimed her way. No, this was a full-on visual sexual assault.
Amazing her bottom didn’t have burn holes.
Derek shook his head. “O’Halloran’s is a small operation. Not a lot of techs there, and I know you must need your car fixed right quick. Let me bring you to the Quickie Lube on Route 16. That’s where I bring my ‘Stang.”
Route 16? Miles and miles away? Oh hell no. Her smile flashed again. “Thank you, but O’Halloran’s is the best in the area. If you’re not headed by there, I’ll call Brad—”
“No, no need for that. I’m here, aren’t I?” He patted his noticeably puffed chest. Telly didn’t strut around half as much as Derek Winters did. “Here, get on in, Sara dear.” He held open the passenger door with a flourish and motioned her inside.
After turning on her sedan’s hazard lights, Sara hurried around the car and murmured her thanks. It was only a three-minute ride. What could possibly happen?
Other than a few near knee grabs, a thick-fingered arm pat, and a heavy whiff of tuna fish breath as Derek leaned across to open her door once they arrived at Brad’s shop.
He insisted on coming inside with her though she asked him—damn near begged him, actually—not to. The last thing she wanted was for Brad to go all caveman and start asking why they were together. Not that she’d ever witnessed Brad going caveman, but the guy had more than enough testosterone that it wasn’t a leap to imagine he might. Add in their awkward morning after, and things probably would be strained enough without any unnecessary fuel for the fire.
Derek marched up to O’Halloran’s door and held it open, ushering her inside. She tried once more to get him to leave as she stepped onto the paint-spattered concrete floor. “Thank you, Derek, I appreciate it, but—”
Her voice died away at the blast of music and the clear baritone filling the humid space. The Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride” had been turned into a rocking anthem and played at a decibel that probably would’ve frightened away the customers, had there been any but her. And she wasn’t frightened by the sounds and sights, she was mesmerized.
Brad stood with his foot on an overturned barrel and his hands wrapped around a shiny wrench that had become his de facto microphone. He sang with his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he really were on stage. His hips rocked to the beat, and an infectious smile spread across his gorgeous face while he wailed through the song in a way she doubted the Beatles had ever anticipated.
Sara’s heart sped up to locomotive speed, and she gripped the strap of her purse, barely able to keep from rushing across the room and tackling him. How in God’s name had she ever resisted him for a minute, never mind months? He sang with complete inhibition. Totally in the moment. Completely absorbed and happy. The way he did everything else.
Especially the way he made love.
She couldn’t keep from grinning while the last notes faded away and the couple of mechanics around Brad laughed and smacked him on the back. Without conscious intention, she started to clap, continuing even when Brad’s head swung sharply in her direction. His eyes widened to take her in, then shifted and narrowed at the sight of the man crowding close to her side.
Ignoring his suddenly tightened jaw, she strode forward and gestured to his battered boots. “So where’s your tip jar? I want to show my appreciation.” The sentiment came out huskier than she’d intended, and she swallowed at the hungry look that stole over Brad’s face.
He set aside the wrench and flicked off the radio. The sudden silence was deafening. His employees, most of them wearing blue overalls and ball caps, had all fallen mute at her and Derek’s arrival.
She glanced down at her outfit. Yes, she was dressed professionally, but did she stick out that much? She didn’t want to make Brad’s friends uncomfortable.
Any more uncomfortable than she was anyway.
“In front of all these people? Dr. Carmichael, you surprise me.” Though another smile replaced the one that had fled his face the instant he’d seen Sara, there was no mistaking the hardness of his features as he turned toward Derek. “Winters. Never seen the likes of you at our humble shop.”
Derek sniffed. Literally sniffed. “That display you put on could be why.”
Brad’s smile widened. “Aw, come on, man. I was gonna ask you to duet with me. How about ’The Bitch Is Back’?”
She hid her smirk behind her hand and coughed delicately. “Derek gave me a ride because my car died. He’s probably got a lot of important things to get to. Don’t you, Derek?”
Derek frowned. “Actually, no, I—”
Brad’s amusement disappeared. “Your car died? Where?”
“Not far from here at all. At the bottom of Stockholm Hill.”
“Why didn’t you ca
ll me?” He looked from her to Derek. “Unless you have an arrangement with Winters I don’t know about.”
