AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER1
Claire
The purrof my pink Cadillac's engine fills the air as I pull into the garage, echoing off the walls and sending a shiver down my spine. I've been through hell and back lately, but one look at this place tells me I'm in good hands.
"Hey there," a deep voice calls out, snapping me from my thoughts. The rugged mechanic approaches me. He’s wiping his hands on a greasy rag. I look up, up, up until my eyes meet his, and holy moly. My heart races, and I find myself struggling to maintain my composure.
The sight of his thick arms pumping up and down as he wipes the oil from his hands to his sleeves has my heart beating out of my chest. I can feel my body flush as I watch him, a nervous smile spreading across my face.
I can see his lips moving, but his words are drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
He's beautiful, in a rugged sort of way. His chest is huge and muscled, and his arms are thick. His dirty, ripped jeans fit him perfectly, and I wonder if they're going to burst at the seams. His black work shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a chiseled, ripped torso. His arms are sculpted, leading to a bulge in his jeans. He's the most handsome man I've ever seen.
"Welcome to Wolf's Garage. I'm Billy. What can I do for you?"
"Hi, I'm Claire," I stammer, my cheeks flushing with heat. "I, uh, think something is wrong with my car. It's been doing this weird thing where it jerks and stuff."
As soon as our eyes meet, I feel the connection. My lingering gaze alights on his rugged features—the stubble lining his strong jaw, the gentle curve of his full lips, the intensity in those blue eyes that seem to see straight through me. And when Billy smiles at me—a crooked, teasing grin that makes my heart skip a beat—I know without a doubt that this attraction is mutual.
"Your car's a real beauty," he says, nodding toward my pink Cadillac as he leans against the side of it. "You don't come across many like her these days."
"Thank you," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. The air between us is electric, charged with an energy I can't quite put my finger on, and I find myself wondering just how much of it is simply a product of my overactive imagination.
"Mind if I have a look under the hood?" he asks, his gaze never leaving mine.
Good lord, the way this man is looking at me...I'll let him look at anything he wants...
"Be my guest," I murmur, fighting the urge to fan myself as the heat rises between us. It's almost tangible, like a physical force pressing us closer together, and I can't help but wonder what would happen if we gave in to it.
"Thanks," he says, and for a moment, the spell is broken. I watch as he expertly lifts the hood, his muscular arms flexing with the effort, and I realize that this man—this skilled mechanic with his grease-stained hands and rough exterior—is everything I never knew I needed.
"Everything looks good from here," he tells me, his voice low and smooth. My pulse quickens, and I'm suddenly overcome with an inexplicable desire to run my fingers through his dark hair, to trace the curve of his cheek, to taste the salt of his skin.
"Good," I say, trying to regain my composure. "I wouldn't want her to break down on me."
"Of course not," he agrees, his eyes locked on mine once more. The chemistry between us is palpable—an ever-present current that threatens to sweep us away if we let it.
And this is insane. You would think after all the stress I've been through lately, these kinds of thoughts would be thelastthing on my mind—especially about some guy I don't even know.
"Would you like some help with that?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears.
I immediately flush. What the fuck am I doing? I don't know anything about cars. How the hell would I help him?
He ignores my idiocy—or is amused by it. "I've got it," he replies, his smile never fading. "But I appreciate the offer."
"Your hands," I point out, my voice barely audible over the sound of metal clanging against metal. "They're covered in grease. Do you ever get used to it?"
Billy looks at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he chuckles and glances down at his stained hands. "You learn to embrace it," he replies, his voice rough yet melodic, like gravel under tires. "I guess it's just part of the job."
The smell of gasoline permeates the air around us, an intoxicating mixture of danger and desire that sets my heart racing. I watch as he wipes his hands on the rag hanging from his pocket, the fabric darkening with each swipe.
"Did something happen that made you want to become a mechanic?" I ask, my curiosity piqued by the way he handles my car with such tender precision. His fingers dance effortlessly across her engine, coaxing her back to life with every touch—and I can't help but wonder what kind of man hides beneath the rugged exterior.
Billy pauses, his expression thoughtful as he stares into the depths of my car's engine. "My father was a mechanic," he admits after a moment, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness that sends a shiver down my spine. "He taught me everything I know. It's been a way for me to feel connected to him."
I bite my lip gently, struck by the vulnerability and honesty in his response. Here stands a man who wears his heart on his grease-stained sleeve, unafraid of what others might think. It's a quality I find both admirable and irresistible.
"Your father must have been a great man," I say softly, my eyes never leaving his as the heat between us continues to rise. "To have raised someone as skilled and passionate as you."
