Page 218 of Heresy

Priest mutters to himself as he grabs a set of keys from the reception desk then stalks past Brinley en route to the back door.

Sitting up on my crawler, I keep staring at her silently until I hear Priest’s bike start up and peel away from the parking lot.

With the curl of one finger, I motion for her to walk over to me.

At first, she gives me a defiant tilt to her chin. But after the week we’ve spent together playing this game of cat and mouse, you’d think she’d know how much worse things can be for her if she makes me chase after her.

Then again, I’m starting to think she likes the chase.

I blame myself for that.

It seems that any person’s ego would get a little inflated to know there’s one person out there who will follow after them, no matter where they run off to.

Brinley Thornton could try to escape to the deepest parts of hell, and I would tear down those gates and dance through the brimstone and fire just to find her and keep her by my side.

That’s where she belongs.

I won’t accept anything else.

Pushing to my feet, I kick the crawler away then hit a button to lower the small hydraulic lift beneath the Bel Air.

Another crook of my finger to give her one last chance.

She stills in place, her fingers tight around the can she holds and indecision written into the beauty of her face.

I tilt my head in question.

“Ah, hell,” she finally says, her eyes rolling as she moves to set the can on the reception desk then strolls her gorgeous body over to me.

Barely hearing her response over the loud music, I still know what rolled off those lips as she approaches me.

When we’re toe to toe, she stops and tips her neck back to look up at me.

“You’re filthy,” she comments before poking at an oil stain that’s smeared down my coveralls.

Leaning down to speak against her ear, I don’t miss the way she shivers. “I thought that’s what you like about me.”

Laughter bursts against my neck, her head turning enough that she can send that same shiver through my body. “There you go with that word again. I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

“Liar,” I tease.

My hands itch to creep up her sides and take hold of her body. But I’m covered in oil, dirt and grease.

Wiping my palms off as best I can on my legs, I step back just enough to reach up to unzip the coveralls and peel them off.

Kicking them free, I’m only slightly less filthy, my stare running a slow trail back up Brinley’s body to lock on her eyes.

Less filthy in body, maybe.

But not in mind.

“You ever seen the inside of a ‘57 Bel Air?

Brinley shakes her head and looks around me to take a peek at the car. “It’s gorgeous.”

Not just gorgeous. This Bel Air is fully restored, so damn close to original that you would think you’ve stepped back in time. Priest and I have been working on it since the day he rescued it from the inside of some old dude’s garage and towed it back to the shop.

Sitting for so many years hadn’t done much to protect it from exterior rot, but the interior stayed damn near pristine.

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