Page 5 of The Mechanic's Match
I chuckle, the sound rough in my chest. “Sure you can, sunshine. That’s why you’re sitting there like an Eskimo in my living room.”
Her glare is fiery, and for a second, I think she’s going to toss her tea at me after all. Instead, she leans forward, setting the mug on the table, and stands.
“Oh, you want to see how tough I am?” she says, dropping the blanket dramatically.
My gaze sweeps over her, taking in the long, bare legs beneath the flannel. My flannel. Damn. My new roommate is a sight for sore eyes.
“I’m not going to stop you,” I say, my voice dropping. “Show me.”
She marches to the thermostat like a woman on a mission, her determination palpable. She punches the buttons, setting the temperature to seventy-five with an exaggerated flourish. Then she turns to me, hands on her hips, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
“There. Now we’ll see who’s soft.”
I tilt my head, rising slowly from the couch and her eyes widen again, darting to my bare chest, down to my heavy cock hanging between my thighs.
“You should be careful, Amelia,” I say, stepping closer, my voice low and deliberate. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, her bravado faltering for just a second. “You’re the one who started it.”
I’m standing in front of her now, close enough to see the flutter of her lashes, the way her breath hitches as I lean in. “I don’t play games, Princess. I win them.”
Her lips part, her retort caught somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She steps back, bumping into the wall, and I let my smirk grow as I rest a hand on the wall beside her, caging her in, punching the thermostat back down to fifty-five, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Still think you can handle the cold?” I ask, my voice a rough whisper.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, all the banter, all the teasing, falls away. The air between us is electric, charged withsomething neither of us is willing to name. Her lips curve into a small, defiant smile.
“I think I can handle you,” she says, her voice steady despite the flush creeping up her neck.
Damn. The city girl has balls.
My other hand finds her waist, my fingers brushing the fabric of the flannel. She shivers under my touch, and it’s not from the cold.
“We’ll see about that,” I murmur, my thumb tracing slow circles against her side.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then she ducks under my arm, stepping away with a laugh that’s half-nervous, half-challenging. “Nice try, Fox,” she says pressing the button to crank the heat right back up. She grabs the blanket and wraps it around herself again. “But you’re going to have to do better than that.”
I watch her retreat to the other side of the room, her hips swaying just enough to make me clench my jaw. She glances back, her smirk infuriatingly smug.
“Enjoy your arctic palace,” she says, plopping onto the sofa and pulling the blanket tight.
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I can’t help the laugh that rumbles out of me. Damn woman. She’s going to be the death of me.
But as I settle back onto the couch, the distance between us palpable but charged, I can’t bring myself to mind. Let her think she’s won this round. The thermostat war is far from over.
And if it means more moments like this—more fire, more sparks—then maybe I’ll keep the temperature right where it is. For now.
“Damn, Princess,” I drawl, letting my voice dip low. “How’re you gonna handle having just one bed in this place?”
Her cheeks flame red, and I bite back a grin. She’s too easy to fluster, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite pastime.
“I—uh—what?” she stammers, her grip on Buttercup tightening. The cat gives an annoyed meow, flicking her tail, but Amelia doesn’t seem to notice.
“You heard me,” I say. “Just one bed. Looks like we’re gonna end up real cozy tonight.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she might drop the cat. Buttercup, bless her temperamental soul, twists out of Amelia’s grasp and lands gracefully on the floor before stalking off to her corner. Jet lifts his head from the fireplace, but doesn’t move. So far, he’s been a good boy about our new roommate situation. I take a step closer to her, watching as Amelia’s gaze darts everywhere but at me.
“You’re kidding,” she says finally, her voice higher than usual. “No air mattress? No cot, no… anything?”
