Page 78 of That Moment
“Here.” She laughs softly, catching my wrists, her fingers warm and small against mine. “You’re terrible at this.” She twists the elastic into something that looks halfway decent and lets her hair fall down one shoulder again. The movement, the sound of her breathing; hell, even the smell of her skin this close, messes me up worse than the sex did.
“Better,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out rough. “Better. We should get back to work.”
I hand her the socket wrench, trying not to notice how her jeans sit lower now, the waistband still slightly wrinkled frommy hands. She crouches at the fender, wiping grease from her fingers onto a rag, then reaches for the parts tray. I stand behind her, trying to look anywhere else.
“Hand me the bolt set?” she asks.
“Mm-hm.” I grab them, step in close, and reach around her, my chest brushing her back. The contact is small, barely there, but it lights a fuse straight up my spine.
She freezes. Just long enough for both of us to feel the air shift. Then, quieter, she says, “You okay back there, boss?”
It makes me laugh. “You’re gonna make me miss the hole.”
Her smile flashes instantly. “Trust me, you never miss the hole.”
“Smart-ass,” I mutter, trying to refocus, but she’s looking at me with that look on her face. I should step back. Instead, I reach around her again, guiding her hand to line up the part, my forearm grazing her ribs.
“Here, let me show you.” She watches my hands take over hers. Her breath catches. I can feel it. She doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Our eyes meet when she looks over her shoulder. Her lips twitch. “You staring at me or the bolt?”
“Bolt’s not looking at me like that,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Adrienne.” I reach past her again, sliding the socket onto the nut, my fingers brushing hers. “There. Like that.”
“Thanks,” she whispers, turning slightly, just close enough that her shoulder grazes my chest.
That’s all it takes. My arm moves before my brain can stop it, looping around her waist and pulling her in. The wrench clinks out of her hand and hits the floor. She doesn’t reach for it.
Her breath hitches. Mine stalls completely. She turns in my arms, eyes on my mouth. The second she sighs against me, thesecond her hands slide up the front of my shirt and fist in the fabric, I’m lost in her again.
I deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers, one hand gripping her hip, the other at the back of her neck. She tastes like coffee and adrenaline. When she moans, I swear I feel it all the way down to my toes.
I lift her onto the hood again, between the same smudges I just wiped clean, her legs parting instinctively to make room for me. Her heels dig into the back of my calves as I crowd her in. She grips my shirt, pulling me closer until I’m lost in the smell of her shampoo and sweat and the faintest hint of motor oil.
“Scotty…” she whispers between kisses, her voice wrecked, soft and trembling.
I pull back an inch, breath ragged, forehead pressed to hers. My pulse hammers like I’ve been sprinting.
“What are you doing with a man like me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her lashes flutter, her mouth still hovering close to mine, and she doesn’t answer right away. The quiet between us stretches heavy and charged, alive with everything we’re both too stubborn to say.
Then she smiles. Her eyes are dark, mouth curved like she already knows she’s got me. Then she leans in, fingers trailing down my chest, over my stomach, lower. Her palm settles against the bulge straining in my jeans, and she gives one slow squeeze that drags a curse out of me.
“Maybe I like that I shouldn’t want you,” she says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “Maybe I like that you don’t try to impress me. Maybe I like that you fuck me the way I want to be fucked—rough, dirty, like you can’t help yourself.”
Every word hits somewhere different: chest, gut, cock, until I’m standing there struggling to breathe, half-aching and hard.
“Adrienne…” I rasp, but she keeps going, thumb stroking lazy circles that make my vision blur.
“You drive me insane,” she whispers. “And maybe I like that, too.”
I grab her wrist, stopping her movements just to breathe. Her pulse jumps under my fingers, matching mine beat for beat. The hollow opens in my chest again, same as before. She’s talking about sex. Not about us. Not about anything that lasts longer than the next heartbeat.
