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There was a long moment of taut silence.
“Well, are you going to say it or am I?” she finally said.
She was still on her back on the mechanics’ trolley. He hadn’t noticed last night, but she had incredibly plump lips, the bottom lip rounded and full. Her sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her smooth cheekbones and small chin to speak for themselves. He’d noticed her curves last night, but it hit him suddenly that she was a very attractive woman.
“I guess it’s up to me, then,” she said. Her tone was heavy with irony when she next spoke. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
Because she’d caught him off balance again, his first instinct was to retreat. He stood, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“I wanted to look at the car,” he said stiffly.
She wiped her hands down the legs of her coveralls and pushed herself to her feet. He’d forgotten how tall she was. It was one of the reasons he’d been so startled to realize she was a woman last night—she’d been looking him almost squarely in the eye when she’d straightened and her face had been inches from his until he’d taken a step backward.
Now, she held his eye as she offered her hand.
“Hannah Napier,” she said coolly.
Joe stared at her hand a second before taking it. “Joe Lawson.”
Her hand was warm, her fingers firm. Her mouth quirked up into a lopsided, wry smile.
“Look at that—almost civilized.”
She turned toward the parking lot and started walking. Of its own accord, his gaze dropped to check out her body. More specifically, her ass. It was pure instinct, imbedded in him since puberty, and as soon as he registered what he was doing he looked away—but not before he’d noticed she had a full, sweetly curved backside.
“It’s two years old, one owner since new. I don’t normally do this but he’s a good friend and I wanted to help him out,” Hannah said.
Joe lengthened his stride to come abreast of her as they neared the car. “Why’s he selling?”
“Scored an overseas job. It’s a good car. Bit greedy with gas, but safe, solid. You’ve got kids, right? There are built-in anchors for car seats.”
He didn’t bother telling her his kids were well out of car seats. No point extending this encounter any longer than it needed to be.
“What’s he asking?”
“Thirty. It’s forty-five new, so it’s a good deal. Full leather upholstery, six-stacker CD. Cruise control, tiptronic transmission …” She glanced at him to check he was paying attention and his gaze got caught on the line of her cheekbone.
“Is this the model with the turbocharger?” he asked.
“Yep. It’s got it all. Like I said, it’s a good deal.”
She lifted a hand to smooth it down the length of her pony tail and the neckline of her coverall gaped. He caught a glimpse of shadowy cleavage and white lace.
He took a step backward, frowning. He’d seen more than enough here.
“Right. Thanks for your time. I’ve really only started looking but I’ll keep this in mind,” he said politely.
She looked surprised. “You don’t want to take it for a test drive, see how it handles?”
He made a big deal out of checking his watch. “I’ve got an appointment I don’t want to be late for.”
“Well, we’re open till five if you want to come back later.”
He nodded, already drawing his car keys from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed and she propped a hand on her hip.
“Be honest. You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked.
He frowned.
“Right. Let me guess—you don’t trust me,” she said, contempt in every line of her body. “What could a woman possibly know about cars, right? What was it you said last night? Leave it to the experts? Was that it?”
She was bristling with aggression, her chin high. As he’d thought when he first set eyes on her, she was trouble with a capital T.
“Like I said, I’ve just started looking.”
A muscle flickered in her jaw, then she swung back toward the car. As though he hadn’t announced he needed to leave, she started talking.
“Tires have got another two years in them, depending on the kind of mileage you do. Suspension is independent, double-wishbone at the back. Brakes are discs all round, and it’s fitted with ABS. It’s a six cylinder, and with the turbocharger you’re looking at zero to one hundred in about 9.8 seconds.”
She moved to the front of the car. He remained where he was, arms crossed over his chest. She stopped and looked at him, defiance shining in her eyes.
Stubborn. And a pain in the ass to boot.
“Not real good at taking no for an answer, are you?” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes, then her face went utterly blank.
“You’d be surprised.” She shifted her attention to the car for a second, then back to him. “You won’t find a better car for the money.”
It was possible she was right, of course.
“I’ll think about it,” he said again. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked toward his car. He could feel her watching him all the way, the awareness like a prickle on the back of his neck. Yet when he got to his car and glanced over his shoulder she had already disappeared into the workshop.
Right.
He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get going if he still wanted to check out the commercial car lots before meeting his lawyer. Then there was the grocery shopping to do, and the last of the unpacking—all before the kids were out of school at three.
He started the car and threw it into gear. As he had last night, he pushed his encounter with Hannah Napier out of his mind. She was nothing to him, the barest blip on his radar. Less.
Still, he glanced back one last time before he drove away, but Hannah was nowhere in sight.
HANNAH WAS SUPPOSED to catch up with her friend Mikey for dinner after work, but he canceled on her at the last minute, leaving her at loose ends. She figured she’d head home instead and put in some hours fixing the muffler on the bike—quietly, of course. No doubt Joe Lawson would come after her with an elephant gun or a lynch mob if she dared disturb his peace again.
The memory of his dismissive attitude over the car had risen up to bite her on the ass all day. How she hated narrow-minded men like him. She’d seen it over and over—the cautious look in their eyes, the doubt as they listened to her tell them what was wrong with their cars. As though having breasts made her less qualified to understand the workings of the internal combustion engine. Please.
She was hungry and more than ready for a shower when she rode into the street. She stopped short of pulling into her mother’s garage, however, her attention caught by the car sitting in Joe Lawson’s driveway—a Mazda SUV, same model as the one she’d shown him today, dark navy instead of black. She switched off her bike and kicked the stand out before dismounting. She tugged her helmet off as she walked the distance from her mother’s front yard to inspect the car. So much for I’ve just started looking. She’d been absolutely right—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to buy a car from her.
She narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the rear of the SUV, then dropped into a squat to peer under the wheel arch. She did a slow lap, squatting once again when she reached the left rear wheel arch, craning her neck to confirm her suspicion.
“I assume you won’t be billing me for the inspection?”
She started, then glanced over her shoulder. Joe Lawson stood there, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. No wonder she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her.
“Did you get a warranty on this thing?” she asked, standing and jerking a thumb toward the car.
He crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t say a word.
“I’m only asking because you’re going to need it. This car’s been in an accident,” she said.
He glanced toward the Mazda. “It’s been fully inspected by the automotive association.”
“Which just confirms my opinion of those idiots.” She gestured toward the wheel arch. “Take a look yourself. Something big ran into the back of this thing, ripped the chassis open. It’s been welded back together, but you can see the repair if you look closely. And the shock absorbers are all new. No one puts new shocks on a two-year-old car unless they have to.”
His hands dropped to his sides. He looked annoyed. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he knelt beside the car and craned his neck to see under the wheel well. She knelt beside him and leaned in to point out the line of the weld.
“They’ve driven around a bit to dirty it up some, but you can still see it there.”
“Shit,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear him.
He was so close his shoulder brushed hers when he shifted his weight. She stilled, then stood, dusting her hands down her jeans.
“It’s not going to fall apart or anything, but you’ll probably have issues with panel fit and rattles. Once a car’s bent out of whack, it’s almost impossible for them to get it straight again even when they put it on the rack.”
He stood. “I suppose I should thank you for sharing your expertise,” he said grudgingly. She could tell it hurt.
“That’s very gracious of you,” she said dryly.
He crossed his arms over his chest again and widened his stance, as though he needed to brace himself for what came next.
“Thank you,” he said more sincerely. “I really do appreciate the heads-up.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. He was so damned truculent, like a surly teenage boy being forced to apologize. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”
He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder as if to say, “Hey, what did you expect?”
“You should take it back,” she said, turning to look at the car one last time. “Most of those big dealerships have cooling-off clauses in their contracts. Tell them you don’t appreciate being ripped off and make them give your money back.”
His chin lifted a little—not much, but enough to tell her that there was no way he was taking the car back. Not now that she’d told him to.
She could almost admire him for his dedication to his own point of view. Almost.
“Suit yourself,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he said. He beeped the car open, then reached into the back and collected a grocery bag. For the first time she noticed the long, curling scar that ran from the base of his left thumb, around the back of his hand and up his strongly muscled forearm to disappear beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his sweater. Where on earth did a man get a scar like that?
It hadn’t occurred to her before to wonder what he did for a living, or why he’d moved into the neighborhood, but suddenly both questions were on the tip of her tongue. She bit down on them. As though he was going to answer anything she asked him when she’d made him look like a fool. She might not be an expert on men, but she knew that much.
He shut the back of the car with a firm click. The grocery bag rustled in his hand. She realized she was hovering for no good reason whatsoever.
“Anyway,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“See you around.”
He didn’t bother responding. She could imagine what he was thinking, though: not if I can help it.
He headed toward his house. She watched his shoulders rock from side to side with his long stride, then her gaze dropped to his butt. His jeans were faded and soft and they molded his ass faithfully. It was a good ass, too. Firm-looking, round. Quintessentially male.
Hannah registered what she was doing and swiveled on her heel. Who cared if he had a nice ass? It was attached to the rest of him, and that was arrogant and pigheaded and not-so-nice.
Still, she’d more than put him in his place tonight. He might have won this morning’s skirmish, but tonight’s battle was definitely hers.
Grinning, she headed into the house. Score: one all.
She was still smiling when she pushed open the connecting door from the garage and entered the kitchen. She could hear voices and guessed her mother was already in front of the TV, watching her soaps. Hannah rounded the corner, ready to regale her with the story of her two encounters with Joe Lawson.
“Hey, Mom, guess what just—” The rest of the words died in her throat when she saw who was with her mother. “What are you doing here?”
Her sister stood abruptly and smoothed a hand down her skirt.
“I was just going,” Kelly said. She was very pale and her hands were shaking.
Hannah felt sick. She hadn’t seen Kelly in months, not since the last confrontation when her sister had begged Hannah to forgive her, to understand, and Hannah had told her she couldn’t.
Kelly started gathering her bag and coat.
“Hold on a minute,” their mother said. She put a hand on Kelly’s arm. Hannah looked at it, then at her mother. “Kelly is visiting me, that’s what she’s doing here. She’s my daughter, too, Hannah, and I need to see her and know how she’s doing, just as I need to know how you’re doing.”
Bile burned at the back of Hannah’s throat. How long had this been going on? How long had her mother been comforting her sister behind her back? Didn’t Kelly have enough attention and love and adoration in her life?
Without a word, Hannah turned and started for her bedroom.
“Hannah.” It was Kelly, her voice high with tension.
Hannah kept walking. She had nothing to say to her sister. Nothing that hadn’t been said before, anyway.
“I came to talk about the apartment. We both feel really bad about you taking a loss on the sale. Please let us make it up to you,” her sister called after her.
Hannah shoved her door closed, the echo of the slam loud in the small room. Arms folded over her chest, hands gripping her elbows, she crossed to the window and glared out at the backyard.
She couldn’t believe her mother had been offering comfort to the enemy, and she couldn’t believe her sister was still trying to foot the bill for the sale of the apartment she’d once owned with Lucas. It had been Hannah’s place, hers and Lucas’s. Their home, not her sister’s. Kelly had had nothing to do with picking the decor, choosing the furniture, deciding which part of town they wanted to live in. Hannah was damned if she was going to let her sister reimburse her for her losses because she and Lucas had been forced to sell in a bad market. Kelly had stolen Lucas, stolen the dreams Hannah had had for her future with the man she loved. But Kelly couldn’t take this one small thing away from Hannah: if it killed her, Hannah would pay off her share of the remainder of the mortgage, no matter what. Just to prove to herself and the world that it had happened, that it had mattered. That for a whole year and a half, Lucas Hall had been hers and not her sister’s.
There was a tap on the door. Hannah tightened her grip on her elbows. If her sister dared to walk through the door …
“Hannah, it’s me,” her mother called.
“I don’t want to talk.”
