Metal clattering against concrete toward the back of the garage snagged my attention. “We’ll see how the day goes,” I said absentmindedly, backing away from my brother and navigating to the dark blue Volvo.
Immediately, I spotted Shelly’s legs and boots sticking out from beneath the car. I grinned, because her legs were bare, which meant she was wearing her cutoff shorts.
I nudged her boot with mine. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” The word sounded strained, then she grunted, then she cursed.
“Are you okay down there?”
Shelly wheeled out from under the car; I backed up to give her space. Squatting next to her as she sat up, her elbows resting on her raised knees, I indulged my desire to devour the sight of her. She’d braided her hair in a circle, so it resembled a crown and reminded me of a milkmaid or a wooden-shoe-wearing lady from The Netherlands. Her expression was unperturbed, but the set of her mouth gave her away. Her teeth were clenched, her lips curved downward, which made her bottom lip protrude a millimeter more than the top.
Shelly wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of grease over one eyebrow. “Someone has stripped these bolts. I’m going to have to use the auto lift.” Her gaze flicked over me, as though unwilling to settle on one place.
“You want help?”
“No, thank you.” Her attention was affixed to the wrench in her hands, she hadn’t looked me square in the eyes yet.
I lowered my voice even though Duane wasn’t likely to overhear us. “Do you still want to have dinner at Daisy’s? Or we could go somewhere else.”
She shrugged, fiddling with the wrench. “I’ll go anywhere you want.”
“Seven? We’ll leave together?”
“Okay.”
I studied her, unable to read her mood beyond evasive. “Shelly.”
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
“Why?”
“I love how it feels.”
Her eyes lifted to mine suddenly. There it is. I welcomed the stuttering double beat in my chest.
As though unable to stop herself, she asked, “What does it feel like?”
Holding her gaze, I let a slow grin spread over my features and watched for any answering sign of heart palpitations in her. I was not disappointed.
“Beau,” she whispered, her stare growing gratifyingly hazy. “I like it when you smile.”
“What else do you like?” I captured her protruding bottom lip for a quick, biting kiss; skimming the tips of my fingers along the underside of her calf to the silky skin at the back of her knee.
A little moan stole past her parted lips. The sound was a potent mixture of pleasure and frustration, and it made me grin. As I leaned away, one of her hands lifted like she was going to grab me by the shirt to stay my retreat. In the end she didn’t, instead making an empty fist and gritting her teeth again.
I stood, meeting her fiery gaze, not hiding the fact that her reaction pleased me.
Her hot stare moved over me, like I confounded her. “I like how you look at me.”
“How do I look at you?”
She gifted me with an almost smile, giving her head a subtle shake. “Stop wasting time. Get to work.”
“Afraid the boss will see?” I wagged my eyebrows.
Rolling her lips between her teeth, she turned her head just so, squinting at me and saying nothing.
So I inclined my head once and drawled, “Ma’am.” Then turned for the stairway leading to the second-floor office, knowing her eyes followed me the whole time.
I needed to change into work clothes.
I also needed a minute.
Too bad we didn’t have a shower on the premises, because I could’ve used a cold one.
* * *
It was a good day. In fact, it was the best day in recent memory.
Stealing touches and trading looks—the hot spiky sensations prickling my skin when I caught her watching me or when she caught me watching her—definitely contributed to the greatness of the day, no doubt.
But more than that, much more, discussing solutions like two colleagues, with mutual respect and esteem, was even better.
She asked my opinion about a rusted-out camshaft. I asked her to consult on a warped flywheel. She was brilliant. I had fun. Talking with her, troubleshooting with her, being with her was fun.
The hours got away from us. Duane had left with Jessica around 5:00 PM. Before I knew it, I’d run out of time to drive home for a quick shower. Forced to settle with washing up at the large basin sink at the back of the garage, I couldn’t muster any irritation for the inconvenience.
The sink had three faucets, was made of stainless steel, and was slightly larger than a standard-sized bathtub. As far as I knew, no one had ever tried to climb in and take an actual bath, nor would they want to. It was where we cleaned tools, rags, and grease from our hands throughout the day.
When the need arose for a quick wash, my general practice was to tie the sleeves of my coveralls to my waist, strip off my undershirt, and clean up using a washcloth and a bar of soap.
I’d just soaped my neck when Shelly appeared. She stopped short, clearly not expecting to see me half-naked and covered in soapy water. Her eyes moved over my body in a way that was reminiscent of the day she’d caught me changing in the upstairs office—hot with appreciation.
I smirked even as the spiky heat materialized beneath my skin, making my heart gallop.
“Hello, Shelly.” I tried to sound smooth, unaffected, and mostly succeeded.
Not removing her eyes, she choked out, “Hello,” continuing to stare as though in a trance.
My smirk widened.
Abruptly, she tore her gaze away and walked past, heading for the front where the roller door was already closed. Grinning at her retreating back before she disappeared into the supply closet, I glanced at the clock, noting it was just past 6:30 PM.
I was just about to call out to her, to tease her, when she reappeared, holding a washcloth in one hand and a towel in the other.
The self-satisfied smile I’d been wearing disappeared and my wide stare bounced between her and the washcloth. “What are you doing?”
“Washing.” Shelly twisted the faucet next to mine, draped her towels over the far edge of the sink, and whipped off her T-shirt.
Like before, I caught a tantalizing flash of lace and skin before I averted my eyes to the wall in front of us.
“Shelly . . .”
“Yes?”
I swallowed thickly, unable to block the sight of her bare skin in my peripheral vision. Presently she was peeling off her shorts. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut as traitorous images—some from my dreams, some new fantasies—assaulted my inner vision. She was torturing me.
“Please pass the soap when you’re finished.” Her voice held humor. Not a lot, just a trace, just enough that I’d notice.
I gritted my teeth, holding the soap out for her to take. “I’m trying to be gentlemanly here and you’re making it real hard.”
She plucked the bar from my hand. “Really? It doesn’t look hard.”
Coughing a disbelieving laugh, my eyes flew open and then I quickly squeezed them shut again, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands least they wander in her direction. “What’s your middle name?”
“Catherine.”