He laughed, the sound darkly sensual. “Of course you did. You’ve already proven yourself to be a very resourceful woman. But sometimes it doesn’t hurt to accept help when it’s offered.”
“From the man who kidnapped me and tied me to a chair? No thanks. I think I’ll pass.” Even if he hadn’t kidnapped her the other night, she wouldn’t have accepted his help. She was used to going it alone. From enduring her father’s beatings to surviving her dysfunctional family, and from working her way through university to setting up her own business, Mia had always been a one-woman show. Jules was the only person she had ever let close, and even she didn’t know everything about Mia’s past.
When Nico didn’t move, she waved her hand in the direction of the road. “You can go.”
He chuckled and bent to pick up the wrench. Every movement he made was smooth, calculated, tightly controlled. She had a sudden desire to shake that control, strip off the thin veneer of civility and see what lay beneath.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s been a long time since anyone dared dismiss me quite that way.” He held out the wrench and she took it from his hand, careful this time to avoid any contact.
“So you can accept help,” he said, amused.
“I accepted a wrench.”
“A poor-quality wrench. It only has twenty-four teeth in the ratchet handle. You’re going to have trouble if you try to fit it in any tight places. You’ll have to move it fifteen degrees to reach its limit, but a handle with sixty teeth has to be moved only six degrees to turn a nut as far.”
She blushed. With money tight, she’d bought the best socket set she could afford and resigned herself to put in the extra work over splashing out for higher-quality tools. “So you know your tools. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
This time he laughed out loud, his smile transforming his face.
“I can only hope. Nothing has worked so far. I also have some familiarity with fixing up old cars. Among other things.” His finger skimmed over the hotness on her cheek, as if he didn’t believe her embarrassment was real.
“Fixing to steal them? Like you stole me?”
“You wound me, bella.” His face softened. “I give you my word I mean you no harm.”
“The word of a mob boss,” she said bitterly.
“My word as a man.” He placed his hand over his heart, his fingers resting on his double-breasted suit jacket, a smile playing over his beautiful lips.
She looked at him, considering. He didn’t appear threatening. There were a few other people on the street, so they weren’t alone. It was daylight. He was somewhat amusing, pleasing to look at, and he appeared sincere. Also, she was desperate. Time was running out. She had never missed a class, and she didn’t intend to miss this one. “If you don’t mind getting your fancy suit messed up, Mr. Mob Boss, you could give me hand checking it out.”
“Pleasure.” He carefully removed his jacket and tie, folding them neatly on the seat of her car. Her mouth watered as he removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. He was sexy in a suit, but with his broad chest and powerful shoulders straining beneath his fine cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to bare his corded and inked forearms, dark and dusted with hair, he was something else entirely—dark and primal, fiercely masculine, and oh, so tempting.
“Bella?” His soft voice pulled her out of a fantasy of those strong arms holding her down, pinning her to the bed, his powerful body hammering into her, deep voice rumbling with a growl.
She dipped her head; let her hair swing down to hide her face. “Sorry. I was … distracted.”
“I know the feeling.” His eyes darkened almost to black, and he joined her beside the car. “What have you tried so far?”
She liked that he didn’t just push her aside and take over like most guys would, and that he accepted she knew what she was doing. So far, he was behaving like a gentleman, but he had a steep hill to climb to regain her trust after what he’d done on Thursday night. “I have a good spark, clean air filter, and solid compression.”
“Fuel pump?” he offered.
“It’s got a carburetor, so I figure that’s the cause of the fuel-delivery problem. Maybe a sunken float, rust in the jets, or it might just be gummed up.”
They worked together for a short time, sharing ideas. He hadn’t lied about his knowledge about cars, but Mia knew all her Mustang’s quirks and eccentricities. With his jacket and tie off, and his sleeves rolled up, away from the places where appearances mattered, he was different. His lethal edges were tempered with a slightly sardonic humor that matched her own. Although he was no less the dangerous, seductive, powerful mobster, he had a softer edge, and his comments and suggestions were considered, respectful of her experience. When she checked her watch and realized time had run out and she needed to call a cab, she was almost disappointed to leave.
“I’ll have to come back,” she said, finally. “I’m teaching a class at a local community center, and if I don’t get a cab now, I’ll be late.”