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Heat brushed up my cheeks as I watched him, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. The shirt hugged his massive arms, showing off the detail of muscle that made me squirm. His dark hair was shaggy, sprinkled with tiny bits of gray hairs. It was brushed out of his face and a little wavy so that it curled around his ears. His beard was thick and bristly. That, too, was dark with a sprinkling of pepper colored strands.
I refrained from approaching and forced myself to push away the urge to sniff him. He just seemed so… manly. Like if I wrapped myself up in him, he’d smell of the outdoors on a cozy winter day. His height caught me off guard, too. I was five foot nine inches barefoot, and here he stood, a good six inches taller than me.
The stranger was circling my baby, clearly interested in the potential of fixing her up. I could tell by the way he paid me no mind as I approached. That was probably a good thing, considering I was staring at him with stars in my eyes.
Clearing my throat, I crossed my arms. He continued to admire Dad’s car, still paying me no mind. Did that make him more attractive to me? That he was more invested in a beat up vintage car than he was me? I think it did, but I wasn’t in the position to question my sanity right now.
The car needed work, no doubt. I knew that, and it was on my long list of shit to do. But he didn’t seem to care. The way he cocked his head, stopping at the back right bumper where I’d slapped on some duct tape to hold it together. It didn’t seem like he was judging. No, there was a curiosity in the way he held his gaze. He hadn’t noticed that I was outside because his one track brain was still transfixed on my car.
Even without a decent paint job, the classic car still attracted car collectors. Usually, it was weird men who thought it was for sale despite there never being a sign that said so. Guys like that didn’t enjoy finding out it was owned by a woman. Sometimes it was businessmen who just wanted to own it to say they did, and they harassed me if I told them no. Others were true classic collectors. Lovers of the trade.
But she wasn’t for sale. She would never be for sale. She was all I had left of my dad. Still, I needed this guy out of my way so I could get in my car and go about the rest of my day.
“She’s a work in progress,” I said, opting for the polite route.
Something told me that he was just admiring. Maybe he wasn’t here to tell me the stingray should be in someone else’s hands. To say I didn’t know the first thing about restoring a classic.
At least I was hoping, because that would be a goddamned turnoff, and I wanted to be turned on right now. Especially with this man, who was a good ten to fifteen years older than me.
He glanced up, pulling his gaze from the car at the sound of my voice. His gaze traveled down my body, and he didn’t hide the fact he was checking me out. My core tightened. I kept my eyes on his face, and that’s when I noticed a grease smudge above his left eye.
Ahh, he must have been the mechanic from the body shop next door.
“She’s a beaut. Could use some fresh paint,” he said, his voice deep.
The sound did things to me. Things I hadn’t felt in a very long time when it came to men turning me on. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was hard because of the way his muscles were flexing right now.
Fuck he’s got a nice body.
Swallowing, I said, “Yeah. On the list. Busy at the moment.”
I jerked my head back toward the bar.
His gaze followed my gesture. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before making eye contact with me. “So you’re the one who outbid me.”
My brows furrowed, not sure what he meant. I was never told that there was a second bidder on the property. “What?”
“The bar. I was going to expand my shop. You outbid me.”
“Oh.” I croaked. And I knew I came extremely dull, because it was like I couldn’t string together a good sentence.
I closed my eyes, trying to keep myself collected. Of course, the first man I came to find myself attracted to since my breakup with Kyle last year was my neighbor in business. And, of course, he had to go and be a rival. I bought something he wanted. There’s no way he’d be interested in anything with me. Whether that was a friendship or more, I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
Not that I blamed him, but I was alone for the next six weeks, damnit! It would have been nice to find someone to scratch that itch while Paisley was away. But I couldn’t go and hook up with someone I’d be seeing daily. Talk about awkward.
“I’m Thea,” I said. “I just moved here a couple weeks ago.”
“Thea. I’m Shane.” He cleared his throat, then glanced toward the Stingray again. “I’d love to work on the car for you, if you ever need anything.”
I nodded, clenching my hands at my side. “Sure.” I wasn't sure how my voice didn’t crack that time, because now I was picturing this guy working underneath my car shirtless and covered in oil. The thought heated my insides to a boiling, uncontrollable temperature.
Shane waved, then stalked away. My gaze followed him, trained on the bulging muscles of his biceps, and then it dropped low. To his ass. Nice muscular curve. And biteable. Totally fucking biteable.
Fuck, I’m doomed.
Chapter Three
Shane
