Hard to Break - Bella Jewel Page 0,5

is. He has been building cars since before he was eighteen and is now well-known for his television show Hot Fury, where he is filmed building some truly amazing cars. Some of the best racers in the world have cars from him. He’s … epic. He’s not only built cars for racing, he’s also built customs for millionaires, celebrities and even for charity auctions. I’ve seen him on television, watched him, swooned over him like every other hot-blooded female in the world.

He was my idol when I was younger, I spent hours watching his show. He inspired me to keep following my dreams, even when I wasn’t sure this was the right place for me. Seeing the way he created such beauty, made me determined to one day build another car for myself.

And he’s in my garage.

Wait, why is he in my garage?

“Morning there, little angel,” he purrs, letting his eyes travel over my body.

I shudder. He just checked me out. Oh my lord, Tazen Watts just checked me out.

Swoon.

I changed into my coveralls earlier, when the job got a little more greasy, so I have them down, tied around my waist so he is getting a full view of my tank top–covered breasts and nothing more. I don’t like bras when I’m working. My breasts don’t agree with me on this poor choice, but they don’t get a say in the matter.

“Ah,” I say in a weak voice, and I know my eyes are wide and shocked. “C-c-c-can I help you?”

Great, just pretend you don’t know him. It’s better that way.

There’s a good chance I’m going to pass out.

“Yeah, you can help me all right,” he says, his eyes lusty. God, he has beautiful eyes. In fact, he has beautiful everything.

I don’t even try to stop my eyes as they travel over him. He’s standing there, looking devastating as hell, and I have the urge to rush over and lick him. Tazen is the picture of hot male. He’s tall, maybe six feet, and built like a brick wall. He’s all muscle, from the bulges at his shoulders to the biceps pressing against his shirt.

His longish brown hair is a mess, but in the best possible way, as it curls slightly near his collar. His eyes are the color of milk chocolate, melted milk chocolate. His skin is lightly tanned and he’s got killer dimples. There was a time when I stared at those dimples every time I watched his show. They are to die for. Tazen Watts has the power to make any girl’s panties melt off, even if they’re batting for the other team. He’s that beautiful.

I’d take a guess and say he is around thirty, and he is rocking it. Oh yes … rocking it.

“Well,” he says, his voice a low, thick husk, “you going to help me, angel, or are you going to stand there and give yourself wet panties checking me out.”

My eyes snap up and I splutter, “My panties are not w-w-w-wet.”

I’m stammering. Someone kill me.

He gives me a lazy, half grin. “That so?”

Oh boy.

“What can I do for you?” I say, trying to steady my shaky voice.

A dimple appears in his cheek. Well, now I have wet panties. “I’m here to see a dude named Quinn. Heard he’s running this,” he glances around, “old fucked-up place. Get him for me, will you, love?”

Oh. He. Did. Not.

My back snaps straight and all my attraction for him flies out the window. He just insulted my garage, and worse, he insulted me. I hate being called love, and more than that, I hate arrogant men that assume that it must be a man running the place, because it couldn’t possibly be a woman. I study him and then grin. “Of course, I’ll just go and fetch…” I trail off and run my fingers down my cleavage. “Him.”

His eyes drop to my fingers hovering over the swells of my breasts, and I want to slap him.

Tazen who?

Asshole.

“You do that.”

I turn and with a grin, I untie my coveralls, pull them up over my shoulders, wipe any emotion off my face and turn back to him with my hand extended. “Hi there, I’m Quinn. How may I help you today?”

He blinks.

Then he narrows his eyes.

Then he bursts out laughing.

“Right, good one.”

I don’t smile and I watch as his eyes travel to the name embroidered onto my coveralls. Then they widen and he mutters, “Fuck.”

“Yes, that would be an appropriate word,” I point out. “Now, what exactly brings