Page 52 of Carrick
My brain didn’t just stall—it rebooted entirely.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Is nothing sacred?”
She grinned—cocky, unrepentant—and spread her arms like she expected applause. “What? They were just hanging on a hook in the laundry room. Lonely. Begging for purpose.”
“You’re stealing my identity.”
She cocked a hip, arms folding across her chest. “I’m stealing your patience.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I stared, and not just in the casual, caught-you-out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye way. Ilooked.Because she wanted me to. She knew exactly what the hell she was doing, showing up like that—dressed like a mechanic’s wet dream, sauntering into my space like she belonged there.
“You want to help me fix perimeter wiring?” I asked, mostly to buy myself time.
“Sure,” she said, stepping closer. “Or I can go back inside and slowly lose my mind. Your choice.”
I should’ve told her to go.
Should’ve shut it down. She wasn’t here to play games, and neither was I. What we had—the way I wanted her—was already sitting on the edge of something too sharp, too deep.
This wasn’t a job for civilians.
But instead, I watched her tug the knot at her waist tighter and said, “Grab a pair of gloves. Don’t touch the copper until I tell you it’s dead.”
Her eyes lit up like I’d handed her the keys to the kingdom.
And fuck me if that smile didn’t lodge itself somewhere deep in my chest and burn like a brand.
Fifteen minutes in,she was covered in dust, slick with sweat, and smiling like she’d just made off with the crown jewels. She crouched beside the open control box like she’d done it a hundred times, brows drawn together, a smudge of grease across one cheekbone, fingers deft as I talked her through the relay.
“Red to blue. Ground to terminal. Don’t touch the stripped end unless you want to learn how to fly.”
She didn’t flinch—just nodded, all cool focus and steady hands. Andfuck me, she kept up. More than kept up.
Bellamy tracked every instruction like she was logging it for later. She didn’t just listen—she studied. Picked it apart. Asked sharp, informed questions that made it clear she wasn’t pretending to be competent. She was. She passed tools before I could ask, called out missing bolts and voltage readings like she shared a brain with the circuit we were fixing.
Every move she made was confident, efficient, quietly lethal.
And yeah, I noticed her body—crouched beside me, tank top clinging to her back, thighs flexing with every shift. The overalls hung just low enough to tempt, to tease at skin I hadn’t earned the right to touch.
But it wasn’t just that.
It was the way she looked doing this—sharp, alive, fully locked in. Not here to impress. Not performing. Just working. Because she could.
“You sure you’ve never worked in field repair?” I asked, glancing over at her as I tightened the terminal nut.
She grinned, eyes sparking. “What was it you said the other day? ‘I contain multitudes’?”
I huffed. “I’m starting to think you contain threats.”
Bellamy tilted her head, lips curling in a way that should’ve been illegal. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
So dry. So casual. For a second, I didn’t realize she was flirting. Not because she wasn’t obvious—but because it was effortless. Like she already knew the effect she had on me, and didn’t need to rush it.
Then she looked up from under her lashes, eyes locking on mine.
And yeah—she knew. She fucking knew.
