Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
This one was great eye candy, but I was over them.
“Did you take that off for my benefit?” I called from the open bay door.
His gaze lighted on me again. “You made me spill my coffee.”
“How did I do that?” I wondered.
He hit me with a megawatt smile. The kind that probably had panties melting all across town. Maybe even the state. “You’re so pretty I lost myself there for a moment.”
Uh huh.
If I were younger–like his age–I’d roll my eyes. Instead, I crossed my arms because my nipples were hard, even though he was full of shit. I had my hair pulled back in a bun to keep it out of my face, wore no makeup, and sported a pair of stained coveralls.
He was still smiling, showing his perfect white teeth. Dimples in both cheeks and on his chin. A square jaw so sharp it could’ve been cut by a laser. This guy should move to LA and get a job modeling or acting.
He winked then reached in and grabbed a cowboy hat off the passenger seat and dropped it onto his head before striding over to me with his hand extended. “You must be new here.”
I guessed wearing a hat was more important than a shirt when speaking to a lady in Montana. Good to know.
“Yep.”
His blue eyes met mine, and I felt like a jack slipped, and I was pinned beneath a semi.
“Hey, I’m Sam. Sam Watson.” He shook my hand. “I work over at Wolf Ranch.” He looked over his shoulder, and I assumed that was the direction of the property.
“Clio.”
Sam’s palm was large and calloused. Fingernails trimmed. He cocked his head as he studied me. Took a deep breath. “Clio, like the race car?”
My brows popped. Most people outside the racing industry had never heard of the Renault Clios that my dad named me for. “Yes, actually. I’m surprised you know about them.”
He still hadn’t released my hand after shaking it. He made a purring sound in his throat. “I’d sure like to know more.”
I frowned as he lifted my knuckles to his lips.
Um, what? He was going to kiss my hand like we were in a Regency film?
I snatched my hand back before he could complete the gesture. “Whoa, buddy.” I wiped my hands on the sides of my coveralls. “Do you try to kiss Ernie’s hand, too?”
Sam’s gaze didn’t leave my face. He stared like I was some kind of goddess incarnate, not the least bit bothered by my question. “Not often. Where is Ernie?”
“He doesn’t work today. He’s semi-retired now that he hired me.”
“No shit.” Sam tilted his head to the side. His gaze dragged down the length of my body and back up. I got this kind of interest from men all the time working on the pit crew. Something about a woman doing what was traditionally a man’s job was a turn on for some. Or maybe it was just because I looked good in a mechanic’s uniform, which was ridiculous because the belted gray coveralls were streaked with grease and dirt.
“So you live here?” He glanced up at the second floor of the brick building and the apartment Ernie let us move into. It was one of the reasons I chose to take this job. If I had to uproot my kid and change cities for the third time, I didn’t want to deal with apartment hunting, too.
I cleared my throat. “May I help you with something?”
This conversation had gotten way too personal. The last thing I needed was having an interested male knowing where we lived.
Sam gave his head a little shake as if trying to rouse himself from a stupor. “Yeah, sorry. I need to order a new PTO shaft for our tractor.” The way he stepped a little more into my space and flashed that cocky smile after he spoke made it sound like he just suggested one night in paradise.
Damn. This kid–well, not quite a kid because he was maybe twenty-three but way too young for me–had a very high opinion of his flirting skills. I guessed with reason. It probably worked on every other female he’d ever met.
“Run over a stump?” I guessed.
He grinned again. “Exactly. Huh, you really do know your way around an engine.”
I shrugged. “Tractors aren’t my specialty. Ernie’s the expert. I’ll take down the information, and he can help you with that tomorrow.”
After checking and seeing that JT was busy taking the toaster apart, I headed toward the office, acutely aware of Sam’s searing gaze on my back. Or was it on my ass? Probably on my ass. You put a belt on a pair of coveralls, and men imagined they saw curves.
I grabbed a pen and Ernie’s estimation pad and spun around to thrust them into Sam’s hands, but I smacked them into his bare chest instead. His hands came up and covered mine and held them in place.