Page 11 of Possessive Mechanic

Axel

Two days later

With my hands clasped behind my back, I stand off to the side, listening as Mike McNaughton, Astrid’s dad, unveils the project we’ve been working on.

“Many people don’t realize that Rolls-Royce is at the forefront of cutting-edge aviation technology,” he says to the throng of media and corporate bigwigs in front of the podium at his manufacturing facility where he speaks. “Well, when it comes to engineers and mechanics, we think we’ve found our own ‘Rolls-Royce’,” he continues making air quotes when he says ‘Rolls-Royce’. “This guy is a real-life MacGyver, and you’ll be meeting him very shortly.”

Initially, I told Mike I wasn’t interested in coming here, being put in front of the circus that is television and the news media in general. But all that changed two days ago when his daughter showed up at my garage.

This was the perfect opportunity to see her again, yet right now as I scan the crowd I see no sign of her.

My visit to participate in this dog and pony show won’t be wasted. I’ll demand he set up an introduction with her today. I want to look them both in the eye, all of us together in the same room, to see if he sent her to check up on me. I still don’t believe her whole ‘breaking down by the side of the road’ act. There has to be more. There’s always more.

Not to mention putting my face in the spotlight only attracts the kind of attention I don’t want. It inspires copycats when it comes to my work, and it lets those that formed hate for me in prison know what I’m up to now, to more easily track me down.

But none of that matters. I’m scared of nothing. Nothing other than never seeing her again.

Not to mention being here means I’m not in my garage managing my guys, doing what I was put on this earth to do. To use my mind to develop new and interesting things.

It truly is amazing what you can learn in a prison library. How you can choose to sharpen your mind, get a master’s level of education simply from a book, just by investing the time.

And that’s what I did, devouring knowledge and trying little things while I was incarcerated. Prisoners are more creative than people could ever realize. Hell, there’s even a method of communicating by talking through the pipes within each cell’s toilet. Yes, really.

But that is the past and the future is here, working with this man and more importantly getting to know his daughter better, even though I got to know her very, very well in an intimate way that no one ever will again less than forty-eight hours ago.

Suddenly a woman walks past me, headed to the stage and my eyes turn, seeing what I came for as I instinctively lunge out, grab her by the arm and pull her back into the shadows behind the wall where I stand, where no one can see us.

“Axel?” she questions with a gasp. Needing to silence her immediately before her nerves kick in and she screams I press my lips to hers, but her hands rise up, finding my chest as she tries to push me away.

My eyes narrow as she does everything she can to pull her lips from mine.

I should be angry, beyond pissed, but all I can think about is her beauty and how it hypnotizes me. I say nothing, just stare at her porcelain skin and those baby blue eyes, which are piercing, not scared like before. Here, in her element apparently, she shows more confidence. She’s a different person altogether.

Wanting to grab those blonde locks, to jerk her head to the side and remind her what we did, my hands start to rise up to do exactly that. But as I do she does some sort of karate chop thing where she swings at my forearm, attempting to block it.

My strength is too much for her, but I don’t press the issue. Instead, I respect her boundaries and stop my assault.

My cock immediately tents my pants, which is going to be a very big problem if her father says my name anytime soon, informing me it’s time to come address the crowd.

But I want nothing to do with those people, only her. She is more important than any human engineering marvel I can come up with. She is a masterpiece in femininity herself, made by the hands of someone clearly more powerful than me, proving the theory that God must be a man.

What is it about this woman? Why does she have such an effect on me?

“What are you doing back here?” I question. “If you clearly don’t want to be around me.”

She sucks in a breath and crosses one leg over the other, bringing her hands together in front of her sex, fidgeting with her fingers.

“I’m…I’m here for the presentation. Apparently the same as you…Mr. Ferrari.”

She says my name formally and it should piss me off after what we shared together on the hood of her car. But hearing my name uttered from those pillowy lips of hers only causes me to want her more, to need to hear her say it again and again and again as we repeat the act we already did once.

“You ran,” I say flatly.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Not a whole lot of conviction in your body language to back up those words,” I call out her lie as my eyes rake over her body. Another blouse and skirt and another feral response from me, needing to get those annoying clothes off and get back inside her.

She rolls her eyes and I pull her in closer to me, yanking her by the arm. “Don’t you act all high and might now, you little rich brat. You know what we did meant something. Don’t you dare act like you went slumming with some mechanic to fulfill a bad boy blue collar fantasy and now you want to forget all about back in your high and mighty ivory tower.”

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