Page 17 of The Mechanic's Match
She doesn’t push, just keeps cleaning up, and for a moment, the garage is quiet except for the steady drip of oil.
By the time the oil is drained and the new filter is in place, she’s somehow managed to knock over a toolbox, spilling sockets and wrenches everywhere. Grease stains her hands, her cheeks, even the tips of her hair. She looks like a complete disaster—and yet, I can’t tear my eyes away.
“Stop laughing,” she says, pointing a grease-covered finger at me.
“I’m not laughing,” I lie, fighting the smirk tugging at my lips. “You’re just...a mess.”
She scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. “Maybe if someone had given me better instructions?—”
“Better instructions?” I interrupt, stepping closer. “You’re the one who turned the wrench the wrong way.”
“Because someone”—she pokes my chest—“was too busy being grumpy to explain it properly.”
Her touch sends a spark through me, and before I can think better of it, I grab the rag from the workbench and step even closer, tilting her chin up with one hand.
“You’ve got grease...everywhere,” I murmur, my voice rough as I gently wipe at the smudges on her cheek.
Her breath hitches, and the air between us thickens. She’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, the way her lips part slightly, like she’s waiting for something.
“Fox,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I don’t think. I just act.
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers, slow and deliberate. She gasps against my mouth, her hands clutching at my shirt as I deepen the kiss, pulling her closer until there’s no space leftbetween us. She tastes like coffee and stubbornness, and I’m instantly addicted.
But then she pulls back, her eyes wide and searching. “What are we doing?” she asks, her voice shaky.
I run a hand through my hair, stepping back to give her space. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice gruff. “But I know one thing, Amelia, I want you. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out, like she’s not sure if she should run or stay. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
And then the hum of the garage fades to sudden silence as everything plunges into darkness.
Chapter Nine
Amelia
"Power’s out." Fox’s grumble echoes from somewhere near the workbench.
I blink, adjusting to the sudden loss of light, and mutter, "Well, that’s just perfect."
Fox’s flashlight app flickers to life, casting a small, shaky beam across the cluttered garage.
"So…what now? Do we just sit here in the dark and wait?"
"Well, Princess, would’ve been easier ifsomeoneremembered to buy batteries for the flashlights," he mutters, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
I whirl in the direction of his phone light, narrowing my eyes even though he probably can’t see it. "Oh, so this is my fault now? Maybe if you wouldn’t have been distracted with the boys–”
Fox’s low chuckle cuts me off, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"
"Not when I’m right," I fire back, feeling a ridiculous sense of satisfaction at the huff of frustration he lets out.
“Follow me, and hold on tight.” He grunts, his hand catching mine before guiding me up the stairs to the loft in slow,measured steps. When we reach the top, he swings the door open and ushers me in tenderly. "Stay put," he orders, the sound of his boots crunching against the floor as he moves around the loft. A moment later, he’s back, tossing something heavy over my shoulders. "Here. Don’t want you whining about freezing to death."
It’s a blanket—soft, surprisingly warm, and it smells like him: a mix of motor oil, cedar, and something undeniably masculine. My sarcasm falters as his fingers brush mine, lingering just a second too long. The air between us shifts, growing thick with an unspoken tension that makes it hard to breathe.
