Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,5
your drive sluggish.”
“Power brake line?”
Clueless men were adorable. Outsmarting them in “manly” tasks was always good fun. “The engine’s intake system. You’ll need a new hose.”
He cursed.
“It’s not that bad. Although I don’t have the part, I have the world’s best cure-all.”
“Does it rhyme with Shmiskey and go down nice and slow?”
She laughed at his unexpected humor, but the steamy visual intensified her hot flashes. She wanted him to go down nice and slow, but that wouldn’t help his Jaguar. Nor would a tumbler of whiskey.
She motioned to her car. “I travel prepared.” He squinted at her Prius, and she barely refrained from explaining her Charger at home was hell on wheels, and that she hated her Prius almost as much she hated her khaki shorts and floral top. “I’ll have you on the road in a jiff,” she said. “But this is a temporary fix. You’ll need to hit a garage as soon as possible.”
“But you can get me moving?”
“For a short while.” She popped her trunk, found the greatest invention known to humankind, and held it in the air. “Consider yourself saved.”
“Duct tape?” He grinned, and the effect had her stumbling over a non-existent stone. Someone should follow him with a road sign: Beware of dimples, shortness of breath ahead.
She tried to fan her face again, but the duct tape and scissors offered less relief than her hand. “You can watch me work, maybe learn something.”
His gaze dropped to her legs and traveled upward. The second he met her eyes, he looked away. “I could do that.”
He didn’t just watch, though. He talked. “You passing through Nebraska?”
“I am.”
“Work or pleasure?”
“Bit of both.”
She kept her answers short. Being the listener was easier. She could smile and nod and make those around her feel important. That part wasn’t a role. She loved learning about others, living vicariously through them. Too much interaction could end like her girls’ night fiasco.
Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome wasn’t making staying quiet easy.
He leaned his hip into his Jag, and some of that haphazard hair flopped onto his forehead. “How’d you learn about cars?”
“A friend.” Lucien, she wanted to say. The man who’d caught her stealing shoes for a shoeless friend and had seen something in her worth nurturing. She flattened her lips and focused on cutting tape strips.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
Another simple question that wasn’t simple. “I move around a lot.”
He made an impatient sound under his breath. Frustrated with his one-way conversation? Still, he kept at it. “It was stupid of me to take this car, but it was my granddad’s pride and joy. Kind of think of it as good luck.” When Clementine didn’t reply, he moved alongside her and bent to watch her fasten the tape. “You’re certainly good with your hands.”
“Best if one of us is, or you’d be stuck waiting for a tow.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t good with my hands.”
“You can’t fix your own car.”
“I’m good at other things.”
“Are you now?” She smirked at him over her shoulder, and her mouth dried. His baby blues had darkened, his irises blowing wide. His gaze skipped away again, that hint of shyness upping his appeal. A sip of not-a-Coke would be heaven right now, or she could lick the moisture from his sweaty chest.
Down girl.
She turned abruptly and smoothed the tape, ensuring it was secure. He let her work in silence, but his attention kept flitting to her, his sharp blue eyes zeroing in. With the hose doctored, he test drove the Jag. It purred as it should but wouldn’t last him long. At least he wasn’t stranded.
Even though he was late for his meeting, he walked her to her car, lingering as she shut the trunk. She took extra-long wiping the grease from her fingers.
When she faced him, he thrust his hand forward. “I’m Jack.”
She didn’t move or extend her hand in reply. If she did, he’d expect her to share her name. Normal social pleasantries. Problem was, using her alias, Samantha, didn’t feel right. She was far from home, and she wasn’t in Whichway yet. She hadn’t shed Clementine in favor of her chosen identity, but saying anything other than Samantha would be foolish. She bit down on her molars.
Jack kept his hand extended and chewed his bottom lip. When she remained silent, he said, “Is it because I’m an idiot who isn’t good with his hands and fumbled when trying to flirt with you?”
She sucked in a ragged breath. God, he was sweet. And cute.