Page 4 of The Mechanic's Match
I meet his eyes, my heart pounding. “I told you earlier. Research for my blog.”
“Research,” he repeats, his tone skeptical. “Or running from something?”
The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t answer. “W-what makes you say that?”
“Everyone up here is.” He leans closer, his presence overwhelming. “Whatever it is,” he says, his voice a rough whisper, “you won’t find it here. But you might find something better.”
I swallow hard, the intensity in his gaze stealing my breath. This man, this gruff, infuriating man, is going to be the end of me.
And I think I might like it.
Chapter Two
Fox
The loft is a battlefield. Not in the dramatic sense, but every glance, every word, feels like a calculated move. And right now, the war is over the thermostat.
I sit on the sofa later her first night in my space, legs sprawled out, laptop balanced on my knees working on updating accounts for the garage. The air is crisp, like it should be—because I keep the damn thermostat set at fifty-five. It’s how I work best. Always has been. The cold keeps my head clear, my body sharp.
I hear her before I see her. The soft shuffle of her steps against the hardwood floor.
“What in the actual Arctic tundra is happening in here?” Amelia’s voice rings out, a mix of disbelief and exasperation. She steps into the living room, bundled up in a ridiculous mountain of layers—my flannel wrapped around her body, a furry blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape, her tiny hands clutching a steaming mug of tea.
“Fifty-five degrees,” I reply without looking up from the laptop. “It’s perfect.”
“Perfect?” Her voice rises an octave, and I risk a glance at her. She’s a vision of outrage, her cheeks flushed and her nose tinged pink from the chill. “Fox, I can see my breath in here. Are you trying to turn me into a popsicle my first night? Is that your plan to freeze me out–” she stops abruptly.
Her eyes widen, and it takes me a second to realize her gaze has dropped lower—right to where my naked junk is on full display for her greedy eyes. I’m well-endowed, there’s no doubt about it, but this girl is looking at me like she’s never seen a dick before. Then it occurs to me–could she really be innocent? A virgin? I shake the thought of her untouched innocence from my head. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I keep thinking like this.
I smirk, closing the laptop and setting it on the coffee table, enjoying the way her eyes are taking me in. “I run hot.”
“You sure do,” she mutters, then snaps her head up, her face a shade redder. “But this is ridiculous. Normal people set their thermostat to seventy-two. You know, a temperature where your roommate doesn’t get frostbite.”
“I’m not normal.” I lean back, stretching an arm over the back of the sofa, enjoying the way her eyes dart nervously as if she’s afraid my half-hard dick might bite her. “And I don’t have a roommate. I have you.”
She narrows her eyes, clutching her tea like it’s a weapon. “Don’t tempt me to spill this on you.”
I laugh, the sound low and rumbling. “Relax, sunshine. You’ll get used to it.”
“Used to it?” She steps closer, her bare feet hesitant on the icy floor. “Fox, I’m pretty sure penguins would object to these conditions.”
“Come warm up, then.” I pat the cushion beside me, raising an eyebrow. “Jet won’t bite,” I gesture to the sleeping dog near the fireplace, “I can’t make any promises for myself though.”
Her lips press into a line, a mix of irritation and intrigue flashing in her eyes as she glances from the dog to my eyes. She doesn’t move right away, but I see the slight shift in her stance, the way she clutches the blanket tighter. Finally, she huffs and sits on the far edge of the sofa, as far from me as the furniture allows.
“You know,” she says, her tone overly sweet, “I could crank the thermostat up to eighty while you sleep. Turn this place into a sauna.”
“And I’d wake up, open some windows, and turn it right back down,” I reply, my smirk growing. “So unless you want to find yourself living in an igloo, I suggest you don’t.”
Her jaw drops, and the look of horror and fascination on her face is priceless. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Her laugh bursts out, sharp and disbelieving, and I can’t help but grin at the sound. She tugs the blanket tighter around her shoulders and leans back, her legs curled beneath her. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re soft.” My eyes drift to the way her flannel-clad arms poke out from under the blanket. My flannel, oversized and swallowing her curvy frame. “Cute, but soft.”
She scoffs, her nose wrinkling in that way that makes her look like she’s holding back a smile. “I’ll have you know I’ve survived snowstorms in the Andes and desert nights in the Sahara. I can handle cold.”
