Page 8 of Diesel

Easily six-four, maybe taller, with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the shuttle. Dark hair cropped short, blue eyes that caught the light like a predators, and arms that looked like they could bench-press the shuttle without breaking a sweat.

A chain hung from his belt loop to his back pocket, glinting with each step he took toward me.

My brain went offline. Just completely shut down, packed its bags, and went on vacation. Somewhere tropical. Somewhere that didn’t involve standing on the side of a road trying to remember how words worked.

I imagined him on that tropical beach with my vacationing brain, sun glistening off all those muscles, his skin wet from the ocean, and now all I wanted to do was lick those droplets off his naked, heated body.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. On the present. Not the mountain I wanted to climb like a horny cat. I had no idea men came in that size, then snorted at the “came” pun.

Behind me, the shuttle door slid open. Greta appeared first, followed by Irene and Edith, all three of them forming a line like they were about to critique a pageant contestant.

Too late. My brain had already declared this hunk the winner.

“Well,” Greta said, her voice loud enough to carry to the next county, “hello there.”

The mountain, the mechanic, glanced at them then back at me. Something that might’ve been amusement flickered across his face.

“You the one who called for a tow?” Jesus. His voice matched his size. Deep, rough around the edges, and made my cock twitch.

My body immediately attempted a hostile takeover. Don’t you dare embarrass me. Remain flaccid.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I mean my dispatcher did. But yeah, this is the shuttle.” My hands gestured toward the vehicle like I was revealing a game show prize.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I sounded like I’d never operated a vehicle before in my life. Or a brain cell.

He walked closer, and I caught the scent of motor oil and something woodsy that I wouldn’t mind breathing in for the next hour or ten. The mountain stopped a few feet away, hands on his hips, looking down at me with those blue eyes that seemed to see straight through my complete and total lack of composure.

“What happened?”

“It made a noise. Like a—” I tried to recreate the sound with my hands because apparently I’d regressed to charades. “Like a grinding sound? Then it went errrrrrrr-clunk-nothing and died.”

Those sexy lips twitched. Definitely amusement now. “Errrrrrrr-clunk-nothing.”

I tilted my head, hiding my own smile. “Very technical term. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Can’t say I have.” But he was smiling now, just barely, and something about that almost-smile made my knees forget their primary function. “Name’s Diesel.”

It fit him perfectly. Only someone built the way he was could’ve been named after a powerful engine.

“Ollie.” I managed to get my name out without tripping over the syllables. Small victories considering my brain was still picturing him naked.

“Ollie.” He repeated it like he was testing how it felt in his mouth, and I needed to stop that train of thought immediately before it derailed into territory that was highly inappropriate for the side of a highway. Too late. “Let me take a look.”

He moved past me toward the open hood, and I stepped aside, trying not to stare at the way his vest stretched across his back or how good his ass looked in those jeans. I was failing miserably, but trying.

“He’s gorgeous,” Irene stage-whispered behind me.

“Dibs,” Greta said.

“You can’t call dibs on a person,” Edith hissed.

“Watch me.”

Diesel leaned over the engine, and I forced myself to look away. I needed to be professional. This was a business transaction. He was here to fix the shuttle, not to provide guttural fantasies for me and three seniors who were currently treating this like a spectator sport.

Like you’re not doing the same thing.

My eyes drifted back to him, watching the way his muscles shifted under the vest as he reached into the engine. The chain at his hip swayed slightly with his movements. Tattoos peeked out from under his sleeves, dark ink that disappeared into the leather.