AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dammit. “You didn’t scare me.”
“Sure.” A little twist of a smile again. I had no doubt he was making fun of me.
My Dart was behind him, and another set of garage doors was open at the back of the shop, letting a warm breeze flow through the space. He’d parked his truck beside my car. The smell of engine oil and gasoline wafted out to meet me. It was a pungent, unmistakable scent, but one that was not altogether unpleasant. It made me think of road trips and outboard boat motors.
A flat platform on wheels was next to a toolbox, and I suspected it was used for him to roll under the car to work on it. My only real exposure to mechanical work came from movies. I tried not to picture Wilder smeared with grease, his shirt sticky with sweat as he rolled out from under a car and said, The chassis will be good as new when I get my hands on it.
I blushed.
That fantasy had gotten specific awfully fast.
I was not interested in Wilder Shaw. He was just one of those guys who’d been born with an incredibly distracting defect: he was too
perfect. That face. Those lips. His stupid beautiful eyes. He was like one of those flowers that lured insects and animals in, only to devour them whole. Sure, he was pretty, but he was a predator through and through.
And no matter what he’d said earlier, my opinion of his brother was still coloring the way I perceived Wilder. There was no way one brother was a traitorous bigot and the other just walked away totally liberal and devoted to the pack. Nope. I’d lived in Louisiana long enough to know the brush of racism painted people in heavy strokes and light ones, but being less of a racist than Hank didn’t make him a good person. As for the traitor thing—twisted political ideals tended to run in families hand in hand with personal ones.
Who’s being prejudiced now? a voice in the back of my head scolded.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him into the garage. He didn’t invite me in exactly, but he did open the door and walk away, which I was beginning to realize was sort of the same thing.
“How big is your head?” His voice was muffled from inside his truck.
“I beg your pardon?”
His head popped up over the hood of the truck, assessed me, then said, “Looks normal.”
“Thanks?”
He had already disappeared. When he came back, he was carrying two helmets and tossed one at me without waiting to see if I was prepared for it. Thankfully, werewolf reflexes kicked in, and I grabbed it out of the air before it fell, hugging it tight so it didn’t clatter to the floor and make me look like the klutz I sometimes was.
Though why I cared what he thought about me, I didn’t know.
“What’s this?” I realized too late it was the wrong question to ask.
“A helmet.” He pulled the front door closed and swung a lever over to lock it, dimming the interior light.
Of course. Of course that was his answer.
“Is it absolutely necessary for you to answer all my questions like I’m six years old?” I glared at him, then back at the helmet, still not sure why I was holding it. Did he think the drive back was going to get extra bumpy? Was he worried I couldn’t walk around without hurting myself?
“My momma always said if you want an obvious answer, ask an obvious question.”
“I’m betting she had to field a lot of obvious questions in her time.”
Wilder snorted. “You wouldn’t be wrong. Put that on.”
I did as I was asked, though I didn’t like obeying the commands of this wolf I’d never met before. I was his superior. He should be nicer to me. And he definitely shouldn’t be bossing me around like I was his kid sister.
He led me to the back of the garage, where his plan became all too clear, and I knew I’d been a fool not to connect the dots earlier. A beautiful red Indian motorcycle was parked next to the open rear doors. It was old but in perfect condition. My pulse jumped.
“We’re not taking the truck?”
Wilder stepped up to me until he was so close I could smell the woodsy aroma of male werewolf on him. I had to raise my chin to see his eyes, and much to my irritation, he was smirking at me again. He slid his fingers under the strap of my bag, his rough skin rasping against my bare shoulder, and he lifted the bag effortlessly over my head so the strap crossed my body.
“There,” he said.
Once his own helmet was on I could breathe properly. And with my head on right I scolded myself for being once again distracted by a pretty face. I had a pretty face at home already, one I cared about a great deal. I conjured up an image of Cash as I settled onto the bike behind Wilder.
