Page 158 of Ransom

"Wait. You can't just—" I don't know how to finish that. You can't just maneuver your way into my life. Send my employee away. Show up without notice. Make me hope. He actually sent Matt away. This isn't casual or spur of the moment. My heart rhythm picks up, but I can’t quite decide if it’s excitement or nerves.

Who am I kidding? It’s both.

"Can't just what? Work on cars?" His eyebrow quirks up. "Pretty sure your dad taught me everything I know about engines. Unless you think I've gotten rusty?"

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I can't think of a single reason to say no that doesn't sound ridiculous. Not when he's standing there in those coveralls, looking at me like that. Why do I want to say no again?

It's habit.

I've been so busy thinking about what everyone else wants and needs, I didn't let myself think about me. But I want him here. I want him, period.

Ransom steps closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. My breath catches as his chest nearly brushes mine.The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced by something deeper, more intense.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek with a gentleness that makes my knees weak. Electric shocks race through my body at that simple touch. His calloused thumb traces my jawline, and I can't help but lean into his palm. I missed him so much I ache with it. It’s so much worse than it was before. All those feelings from years ago have come rushing back in the last week, but they’ve gotten bigger, more intense.

They are very, very real. And I don’t want them to go away. I don’t want him to go away, ever.

I see the same emotion reflected in his eyes, pupils blown wide. His breath comes faster, chest rising and falling rapidly. Just this—just his hand on my face—and we're both shaking like teenagers.

"Matt's gone for the week," he says, voice rough. "I'm filling in."

"What are you doing, Ransom?" The words come out barely above a whisper.

His thumb strokes my cheek again. "Spending time with my girl."

"I'm not your girl."Shut up you stupid cow. Just say yes and buy some handcuffs, so you can stay attached to him forever.

"You've always been my girl." His forehead touches mine, and my eyes flutter closed at the contact, then open again at the sincerity in his soft words. "Since the first moment I saw you in that garage, in those baggy jeans, looking right through me, you've been mine."

My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. Twenty-five years of wanting, of missing, of trying to forget—all of it crashes over me in waves.

My self control, my emotions are held together with old gnarly duct tape at this point, and I don’t know if I can handleanymore. I’m so damn happy he’s here. And I’m sad he’ll have to leave at some point. And I’m so overwhelmed by all of the feelings, I’m not sure what to do.

He seems to sense that, and gives me a small smile, rubbing his thumb along my temple.

"Put me to work, Baby."

I watchfrom the corner of my eye as Ransom slides under the Ford, his movements fluid and practiced. All morning, he's followed my lead without complaint—changing oil, rotating tires, whatever mundane task I've thrown his way.

"Hand me that 3/8 socket?" His voice echoes from beneath the car.

I pass it to his outstretched hand, our fingers brushing. "Since when does a corporate CEO know their way around a socket set this well?"

A low chuckle drifts up. "You thought I'd gone soft, didn't you?"

"Maybe." I lean against the workbench, crossing my arms. Yeah, he'd worked with Matt last week, but Matt was in charge; that was obvious. Though that should have been a hint that Ransom's not the man I remember. He hated taking direction from anyone but my dad. Did he just mellow out? Is it part of his strategy? Because he definitely has one, and I'm realizing I'm okay with that. If he wants to work on me, to make me fall in love with him, then that's just fine. He doesn't need to know I'm already there.

I've forgiven him. It's done. But having him work to get me back soothes a little part of me that was still holding the hurt from when we broke up.

He rolls out from under the car, grease streaked across his forearm. "It's my business, Blair. Can't sell what you don't understand." He wipes his hands on a shop rag. "I worked the floor for years before we made it big. Still do, sometimes, just for fun."

"Fun?"

"Yeah, fun. Me and my brothers like to fuck around on our own vehicles now and again."

"All of you?"

"Some more than others. Nick's got a real talent for diagnostics. Jonas prefers the business end. But yeah, we all get in there." He stands, stretching his back. "Back when we started, we all chipped in. We had to."

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