Page 10 of The Mechanic's Match
“You’re not as mean as you want me to think you are,” she says, padding over to the kitchen. “If you were, you wouldn’t have let me stay.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I mutter, taking a swig of beer. “I’m just waiting for my schedule to lighten up a bit so I can have my peace back.”
Her smile is sly, like she knows I’m lying. And maybe I am.
“Sure,” she says, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I watch as she takes a bite, her lips curling around the fruit. It’s an innocent enough action, but my mind takes it somewhere else entirely, and I curse under my breath.
“Problem?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “You.”
She blinks, her teasing demeanor faltering for a second. Then she recovers, stepping closer. “Me? What did I do?”
I lean down, bringing us eye to eye. “You exist.”
Her breath catches, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The tension is thick, crackling like a live wire. I could kiss her right now, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t stop me. Hell, I’m not sure I could stop myself.
But I do. Barely.
“Goodnight, Amelia,” I say, stepping back and draining the rest of my beer and heading up to the loft. “Try to keep your pussy off me tonight, huh?”
“You love it!” she calls, after me. “Sweet dreams, mountain man!”
Yeah, like that’s going to happen.
Chapter Five
Amelia
I shift the last box onto the loft’s scuffed wooden floor the next day, glancing around at the space that’s as bare-bones as its owner. Fox’s loft is all sharp edges and muted colors—no pictures, no personal touches, just raw, functional space. It’s only my second day here and already I can tell it’s very him.
“This place is about as cozy as a cactus,” I say, injecting as much optimism into my voice as possible. “A bachelor pad, but with grease stains.”
Fox clears his throat, interrupting my organizing session as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing at me. “It’s a garage, not a five-star resort.”
His tone is sharp, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe? Whatever it is, I’m not letting him off the hook.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m here to add some charm.” I smile sweetly, setting a small potted succulent on his kitchen table workbench. “Step one: plants.”
He stares at the plant like it’s a foreign invader. “That thing’s not staying.”
“Oh, it is,” I counter, giving it a pat. “You can’t stop progress, Fox.”
“Progress?” He arches a brow. “You mean chaos.”
“Same difference,” I chirp, earning a low growl from him that sends a shiver down my spine. Not fear—something entirely different. “Like it or not all this clutter is going to give me a panic attack—relationships take compromise—you should try it sometime.”
A grunt is his only reply before he stalks off back to the garage.
Dinner is a disaster before it even begins.
I find a can of soup in his sparse pantry and decide to make the best of it. When I serve two bowls on his metal kitchen work table, Fox eyes them like I’ve poisoned his food.
“Don’t look so suspicious,” I tease, sliding into the chair across from him. “It’s Campbell’s, not arsenic.”
“I’d take my chances with the arsenic,” he mutters, picking up his spoon. “Usually just order pizza–”
