Oh, hell. I forgot underwear.
Just then, there’s a quiet rapping on the window. The Harding family’s well known in this town, though not exactly in a good way, but I’ve never had a problem with any of them. There’s Cal, and the twins, Eric and Tom. Vincent, the youngest, is probably in high school by now. Sure, they’ve given me dirty looks because of who my parents are, but they know cars, really well. All of them are rough-and-tumble, wrong-side-of-the-track boys, with a penchant for drinking too much and raising a little hell, but they’re not total assholes.
Not like their eldest brother.
But it isn’t Cal or Vincent or Eric or Tom, standing outside my car in the pouring rain.
It’s the textbook definition of asshole, and the biggest mistake of my life.
Dax Harding.
Chapter 2
He gives me this slow, easy smile and motions for me to roll down the window.
It’s just a window, I know. But it also feels like the last bastion separating me from certain doom. The fortress walls are crumbling. The second I roll it down, I’m a goner.
But what choice do I have? Slowly, I reach down and crank the handle.
He’s the same Dax Harding I remember so vividly, only deadlier. His chin is full of dark stubble, and his lean physique has filled in, in all the right places. He has a new tattoo on his forearm, some sort of reptile, snaking up under the sleeve of his white-t-shirt.
That t-shirt is almost see-through now, because the rain has gone from a drizzle to something more consistent, but Dax seemingly couldn’t care less about the bad weather.
He’s always been the type of guy you have to stare at, usually with an open mouth. There’s a definite reason why he was the object of so many of my teenage fantasies, and believe me, it has nothing to do with his ability to recite Shakespeare.
“If it isn’t Katie Donahue,” he sing-songs, giving me a little smirk. He’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I am, but he sure is just as bitter. Not that he has any reason to be. “Never thought you’d turn up again. Especially in this car. I thought for sure you’d have traded this in years ago,” he says, eyeing me and the car all at once.
“Hey Dax,” I breathe out raggedly, focusing straight ahead. I can’t very well look at his face for any length of time. He has green eyes. Green freaking eyes, like, mountain-lake, emerald green. Those eyes have this magnetic, hypnotizing power that’s nearly lethal.
And I’m not going to let them work their magic on me today.
“What seems to be the problem?” he says in a low voice, and I have to cough to suppress the animal groan that nearly escapes my lips. I’d forgotten the effect his voice has on me. It used to echo in the deepest parts of me back then, but now, it’s even lower, and impossibly sexy. I feel a strange fluttering down low, beneath my abdomen. I press my legs together under the steering wheel and pray he doesn’t notice how he gets to me.
Of course he notices. Dax Harding likes to play it dumb, but he’s not. He notices everything.
No. I’m not letting it happen. I’m not letting a Grade-A asshole like Dax Harding get the better of me. “I don’t know,” I say, sarcasm making my tone bite. “Could it be something to do with my car sitting in the middle of the road, not moving?”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Well, well, well, look who’s gone and got herself a brand new saucy attitude to go with those fancy clothes.”
I scowl, though I’m secretly happy he noticed my clothing. I hope it screams I moved on, and I’m nothing like you loud enough. I hope he knows how much better my life is without him in it. “I don’t have an attitude. I’ve driven a long way, and I’m tired, and I just want to get home. Look.” I turn the ignition and it makes the same sputter-sputter-sputter-dying horse whinny noise. “Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah.” He starts to explain, as my phone dings.
I hold up a finger and inspect the display. I see the name Fowler and every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention.
As in, Evan Fowler, douchebag attorney extraordinaire at Banks and Hoffman, who also happens to be my boss.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I don’t need this. This can’t be my life right now. Sitting in front of the guy who screwed me worse than I’ve ever been screwed, while my dick boss rides my ass from three states away. I look up at him, completely distracted. “What?”
His eyes are narrowed at the phone. “Who changed your oil last?”
I shrug. I can’t remember back that far. Actually, with Dax standing next to me, a solid, 6-foot-five wall of tattooed muscles, I’m surprised I can remember my own name. “I don’t know. I don’t really use my car much in the city.”