and beg him to do again. Something about the way he said it made me want to purr and rub up against him, and I freaking hated cats.
“I’m going to be late for work,” I huffed. I had no idea what time it was and, at this point, wasn’t sure I really cared.
“Totally your fault.” He planted his hands on my hips, and I jolted from the fire that shot through me.
With ease, he lifted me and set me outside the shower on the plush bath mat. He shut the glass door, and I stood there dripping wet and staring.
“I need some privacy,” he called, drawing GO AWAY with his finger in the steam. “And you left me no hot water.”
I let out a scream of frustration and got right back into the shower with him. I plowed around him, careful not to touch his wet skin as I muscled my way under the water to wash off what was left of the soap clinging to me.
He slipped around me until he monopolized the stream of now lukewarm water. It cascaded down his body. I was rapt as he slicked his hair back with both hands, this my own personal men’s body wash commercial. Except live and in the flesh was so much better.
How many times was he going to stop me in my tracks in one morning?
I fought the urge to open my dry mouth and gulp down gallons of water. I couldn’t move anyway. Holt reached around me and grabbed the soap, running it over every plane of his body as my eyes followed along. Forget my own honey body wash. I was so using his soap tomorrow.
“Thought you were gonna be late?” he drawled, rinsing the lucky suds off.
One found resistance as it slid down his pec to his nipple. How had I missed how tan he was? No farmer tan, either. Did park rangers chop wood without their shirts? In the fantasy that had popped into my mind they did. It was easy to picture his sweat-slicked body when he was soaking wet right in front of me.
That’s how he got those thick biceps. Hard labor. Or rock climbing. Definitely rock climbing. Not the gym.
I hummed my approval as my gaze drifted down cut abs to the defined V—my field of view blurred until blue eyes met mine.
Holt kept a firm grip of my chin. “I said I thought you were going to be late.”
I shrugged one shoulder, darting a quick glance between us. Couldn’t see a darn thing past his chest. And I’d almost gotten to the good part.
“Get enough of a look?”
Heat flooded me. This morning had not gone to plan at all. Not that I’d had one, but if I had, it wouldn’t have been this.
“Might want to see about getting that door fixed.” His eyes flared a fraction before he strode out of the shower.
“I thought you were the handyman,” I called after him. Apparently, my voice did still work.
“I’m expensive.” He sounded farther away.
“Don’t you dare come in on me in the shower again.” Oh, now I was bold?
“It’s seven forty-five,” he yelled.
“Crap.”
Now I actually would be late, because of that jerk.
Who had his hands on my naked body.
Twice.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter Two
Holt
I’d lost my mind.
That was the only viable explanation I’d come up with after eight hours under the hood of one car or another. What kind of asshole walked in uninvited on a woman in the shower? One that had up until a few months ago lived in an abused women’s shelter for reasons unknown.
I dropped the wrench in my hand. It fell to the concrete floor with a satisfying clatter and I rolled out from underneath the 70s model Ford truck.
“Good as new.” I sprang to my feet and wiped my hands down my coveralls.
“Um, excuse me.” A lady peered into the garage area through the doorway from the waiting lobby. Her eyes darted around. She clutched the door handle like it was her life line.
“Hi.” I smiled and strolled around the truck I’d been working on. “Can I help you?”
“My-my brakes are smoking.” She hadn’t released the door handle yet.
“You parked in the drive?” I lifted my chin in that direction. She nodded. “Let’s go take a look.”
Once we were outside, sure enough her right front brake was smoking. I squatted down by her tire and inspected it. “Any grinding?” I asked.
“No. Just this.”
“Pretty sure your calipers are locking. We replace that and she should be