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CHAPTER ONE
GARLAND
Groaning, I roll over in my bed and cover my head and ears with my pillow. It doesn’t shut it out though. The loud thumping practically rattles my walls and windows. Jackknifing up in bed, I throw my pillow across the room, growling. Then I stalk to the window, my back stiff as a pissed off cat.
I don’t even need to look out the window to know. Our little neighborhood only has one guy that likes to blast his heavy metal music with his garage open and I know exactly what I’m gonna see.
Sure enough, Marcus is down there puttering around, the music blasting from the stereo and covering up the noises from his tools as he works on his muscle car. The Plymouth Barracuda is a fire-engine red and looks stunning.
But that’s not enough for Marcus. He’s out there all the time in that damn garage, tinkering away. Apparently nobody ever told him that you can’t improve on perfection.
I looked the car up when I saw him racing in and out of our street with it. It’s a classic. A 1970 beauty with fabulous lines and a growly engine that makes a grown man weep it’s so amazing.
If he didn’t race it up and down our street all the time, I’d probably love it too.
But as it is, the noise at all hours means that I can’t sleep. And I’m a girl that needs her zzzz’s. I’ve got to open the library in the morning and I can’t drag my butt up if I don’t get enough sleep. Not to mention I look like something that’s been coughed up by a cat.
Grumbling under my breath, I slip into my plain pink chenille robe and stumble down the stairs and out the door.
Once I’m outside my door, I start to rethink this idea, but then I firm up my shoulders and march myself over to Marcus’s house. I get close enough to see him and my steps falter. He’s bent over, his head under the hood and all I see is the best ass I’ve ever seen on a man. I mean, I’ve heard women say that a man’s ass is just about good enough to bite. I never understood that until now. His butt cheeks flex and the worn fabric of his jeans moves with every hip check he makes. My eyes dart back and forth as he shifts on his feet and I can’t look away. It’s hypnotic.
Which is how I don’t notice at first that he’s turned around. My eyes are focused inward on that very fine butt of his and wondering when women decided that men’s butts were edible.
“Uh-ummm.” My eyes focus and I realize that since he turned around, I’m staring at his crotch with a laser focus that should burn away his boxers into scraps.
My face flames as I look up and up into those sapphire blue eyes of his which are currently dancing with mischief.
“See something you like, princess?”
Dammit!
I stiffen my spine again and start to open my mouth to berate him about his music and the incredible lack of care for his neighbors. Until I realize that the man doesn’t have a shirt on. And if I thought that his butt was fine, his chest is worthy of a Greek marble statue. Toned and tan with a fine dusting of dark brown hair curling on his defined chest and trailing down into the waistband of his jeans. Jeans which lie low on his narrow hips being held up by those damn v-shaped muscles that every woman salivates over when she looks at a picture of a gorgeous man.
I fight the urge to wipe my mouth, sure that I’m drooling all over the place and not wanting to know for sure. I’d have to hang my head in shame if I knew for sure.
“Ummmm.” I’m at a loss. What the hell was I thinking?
He leans against the car, crossing his feet at the ankles, his full lips curving into a knowing smirk.
“Hello, princess? Was there something you wanted?”
“No! I mean…yes. I mean no.”
That smirk stretches his lips even more and I groan internally at the infernal cheek of him. He damn well knows what he’s doing to me and he loves it. What he does to any woman with a freaking pulse! Twenty to eighty, they probably all look at him like he’s a delicious snack. Like I am.
“Which is it…yes or no?”
I pull myself up short and lock my spine. “I’m here about all the damn noise you’re making. It’s late! You need to wrap this up. You’re keeping your neighbors awake.”
He glances around with wide eyes. “What neighbors? Nobody else lives on this street that doesn’t have a night shift job.” Then he smirks and I can already feel my temper rising.
“Am I keeping you from sleeping, princess? Maybe there’s something I can do for you to help you sleep?”
His blue eyes slide down my body and I swear it feels like he’s physically reached out and touched me. Like a burn wherever his eyes land.
My cheeks flame beet red and my eyes shoot up to lock on his laughing ones. “That will not be necessary, Mr. Gray. All you need to do is close your garage door and stop blasting your music and I will be sleeping like a baby.”
His eyes heat up to boiling in seconds. “I don’t think you look like a baby at all.”
