Hottie (2 page)

“Now, asshole,” she urged, thumping said finger harder. “I don’t have all fucking day. Fix what you broke!”

Enough. In one fluid motion, Dane captured her hand and took it to the opposite side of her body, effectively turning her about and drawing her back to his length. She squeaked as he curled a firm arm around her waist and pulled tight, pressing her ass into his groin and trapping her soft body along his pained hardness.

His cock jutted against her rear, but she didn’t fight to get away from him. Instead, she sighed and grew still, as if waiting for instruction. He made her wait until she rested against him, and he heard a second breath of acceptance escape her mouth.

“I’m only going to tell you this once, Miss Morris.” He pressed his lips against her ear and spoke slow and low. “I won’t tolerate your disrespect. Understand?”

Shifting her slight weight from one foot to the other, she nodded.

“So, this is what you’re going to do: you’re going to go inside the office, get something to eat from the fridge, wash up and rest. You will not talk to me again about this damn deathtrap you call a car until I place the keys in your hand.”

The subtle change in her demeanor and body was immediate. There was no misinterpreting the relaxation of her shoulders, the softer flow of her breath, the slowing of her heart rate, and the shift in her concentration. He’d garnered her rapt attention. She was poised, but not tense.

“I mean it. Not a single word. Am I clear?”

She leaned into him, a little heavier, as if testing to see if he’d bear her weight, which he definitely could and did, holding her closer. Satisfied by his reaction, she melted against him and tilted her head more, giving him better access to her neck.

Could it be? Could a little submissive be hiding beneath that obstinate attitude she tossed about?

“I need to make sure we understand each other. Let me hear you say it, Phoebe.”

“You’re clear,” she yielded. “Crystal.”

He could almost hear “Sir” or “Master” in the pause she added to the end of the first reply, right before another soft exhale. He wondered if she’d said one of those titles in her head.

“Go on then.” Dane released his hold and nudged her forward. “Get inside. Make yourself comfortable and be at home.”

He needed physical distance to maintain his control. If he inhaled her sweet vanilla scent any longer, he’d spew in his pants like an adolescent.

She peered up at him from beneath long lashes, all sulky as she walked to the passenger side door. She reached in, retrieved her backpack, and without another word, sauntered off toward the shop.

Chapter Two

Two Hot Hours Later

Dane dropped the hood on the pink Cadillac. While drivable, it was nowhere near safe, so he made sure it couldn’t start. He’d have to order more parts to make it a reliable vehicle, and he’d only let her drive it once he’d made sure it wasn’t dangerous to do so. A glance at his watch showed it was late afternoon, which meant it was too late for same-day processing. Even if he ordered immediately and shipped overnight, there would be a full day’s delay before arrival.

Too bad for her. She was stuck with him.

Good for him. He had the opportunity to make it right for the lady. He had the chance to set her straight and prevent a disaster of her own making. He also had the chance to do what he’d once failed at. He’d learned a tough lesson from previous mistakes.

Was he insisting on helping her in order to selfishly appease his guilt?

No. No matter what it was for him, he had to take charge. Her stubbornness required his intervention.

Washing up in the shop sink, he weighed his next move. How much was enough? What did she need? What did he want?

Miss Morris had taken his warning to heart. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of her since ordering her inside the office. He wondered if her gorgeous stubborn ass would object to him taking her home and letting her sleep in his guestroom. He didn’t mind paying for her to stay at an inn, but he could keep a better eye on her at his house.

After drying off, he sought out the woman who’d shockingly pushed him further than any other since he’d returned to the States, but to his surprise, Phoebe was not in the office. He swept his hand down his face, questioned what was different about her. Phoebe Morris was like a drug, and he couldn’t get her out of his system.

The low, vibrating hum of running water sounded from the beyond the far wall. Dane smiled, his imagination toying with the idea of how he’d find the sexy Miss Morris playing with his garden hose, searching for some relief from the oppressive heat.

He stepped out the back door, but his imagination hadn’t prepared him, or his tortured cock, for the sight that greeted him.

Clad in white panties and a white tank, Phoebe rinsed the suds from her hair like a slow-motion wet dream. Holding the hose high in one hand, she used the other to smooth back her long, fiery tresses. Water poured over her face, cascaded down her neck, and splashed off her shoulders. The tank top’s thin material absorbed all it could hold and molded to her tits like transparent shrink-wrap, showcasing the luscious globes and offering a teasing view of the silky skin beneath.

Phoebe opened her eyes and turned his way. Her gaze settled on his aching crotch and she smiled, bringing the hose between her breasts. The damn woman was playing with fire.

Dusky nipples jutted as water sluiced over the translucent fabric and washed the collected suds away. Bubbles glistened in the sun, trickling from her stomach to her hips, slipping over the slight part between her thighs, and running the length of her smooth legs before collecting in a soapy pool at her feet.

The throbbing ache in his groin broke the thrall, forcing him to tear his gaze away from the titillating vision. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dane glanced at the large metal drum that served as her dressing table. Her open backpack revealed a rolled towel, a small computer tucked between assorted and very colorful clothing, and some miscellaneous toiletries.

Needing time to set the rules, he turned to go back inside and resolved to deal with her later. If nothing else, he’d maintain control of his own longing.

“Wait,” Phoebe called. “Come here.”

Dane stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Please?” Still holding the hose, she brought her hands together and steepled her fingers. “I want to talk.”

Intrigued, he turned, took a few steps, and planted his feet by the metal barrel holding her pack. No need to get too close.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, unraveling the paper from a small bar of hotel soap. “Showers are a luxury for a gal living out of her car.”

Leaning against the back wall, he studied her. “So, you’re homeless, huh?”

He refrained from mentioning that his house, complete with shower, was across the concrete pad behind her, and she was more than welcomed to use it.

“Sort of. At least for now.” She lathered her arms. “Everything I own is in the trunk of that clunker you’re fixing.”

If she scrubbed any harder, he mused, she’d take off skin. The woman was more nervous than she cared to admit to herself.

“I wasn’t being stingy,” she insisted. “I really can’t pay you for any of the work you’re forcing upon me.”

“I figured,” he replied. “It’s not a problem. I can’t set you loose in that car with an easy conscience.” He hoped she’d tell him more. He was curious to know how she’d come upon dire straits.

“I don’t want to be a charity case,” she declared, moving a soapy hand seductively across her chest. “Is there another way I can pay you that doesn’t involve money?”

Phoebe saw the muscles in his jaw clench and a hard gleam flash in his eyes. He looked very unhappy all of a sudden.

“I hope you’re not offering to pay me how I think you’re offering, Miss Morris. I’d better be mistaken.”

The warning laced in his tone was not lost on her, but she just couldn’t figure out why she’d offended him.

Shaking his head, he stared at her chest. Confused, she followed his narrowed gaze to where her hands, and the running hose, lingered suspiciously upon her breasts.

Oh, shit!

“I meant cooking, cleaning and whatnot,” she clarified, immediately dropping her hands. However, her nipples poked out like little pebbles. She pulled the wet fabric off her skin, but when she let go, it snapped back with a resounding smack. “Damn,” she muttered.

The thin cami left little to the imagination, but Hottie would just have to deal. She only had one good bra, and she needed it for when she got back on the road. She wasn’t about to get it wet. With an awkward shrug, she turned, giving him her back, and attempted to finish her impromptu bath.

“Rather than cooking or cleaning or giving me money,” he said, “how about paying me with information?”

She had no information to give him. Did he think she was some kind of Sticksville spy?

“Like what?”

“I’d like to know your story.”

Phoebe felt shame heat her cheeks. Keeping her back to him, she concentrated on lathering her stomach. Did she dare share?

“Well, it’s a simple story, really,” she found herself saying. “I graduated from college, top of my class, started a shiny new job, and met the ‘perfect’ kind of guy there—the dashing executive type. Things got serious quick, too quick, and I moved in with him. He was kind of a traditionalist, the ‘I’m the man of the house’ kind of guy, and I was naive and stupid in love. So, I quit my job like he’d asked and did the perfect house wife thing for a couple of years—minus the wedding band.”

“Minus the wedding band? Did you want one?”

“Sort of,” she admitted, shrugging the thoughts away. “I was okay with waiting till we got established. I had no doubt we’d eventually get married.”

“But your family wasn’t happy?”

“It was just my dad, and he was also an old fashioned kind of guy, so he was thrilled I’d managed to land an up and coming executive. You know, one who could take care of me financially. My job was to keep him happy, not to make any waves, and look pretty. Dad was so wrong. Eric, that’s my a-hole ex, never had my best interests at heart. He was always first and last on his list of priorities. I was a leftover. I just didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“What did your father say about you parking your degree to play house?”

“My degree never meant anything to my dad. He said I needed it so I could find a proper husband. He considered my student loans my dowry, and when he passed away, he dictated in his will that I had to sell my childhood home and pay them off. Being that real estate took such a dump, I had just enough for the loans and his funeral expenses after the sale of the house I so wanted to keep.” She nodded and met his gaze. “It’s true. I would rather have held on to the house and worked to pay for the rest.”

Lifting his brows, he raised his hands and turned them palm side up in question. “You always do as a man tells you?”

Her mind replayed the stringent rules she’d had to learn, so she could do everything just as jerk-face, tiny-dick Eric had wanted. The bed had to be made every morning just so, breakfast had to be cooked just so, she had to be dressed and waiting by the door to kiss him goodbye when he left for work just so. Then, while he was at work, she had to clean the house, cook dinner, be dressed and waiting at the door for when he arrived back home just so—like some old family sitcom.

God, she’d been a delusional idiot. She’d believed that was how true love played between a man and a woman.

“No. Not any more. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want.” She turned off the water and looped the hose over the spout. “I don’t care what others think.”

“Why the sudden transformation?” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

“One day…” Her voice cracked and faded. She worried her lower lip while turning to face him. “One day, I came home to find what he’d deemed as my stuff sitting in two cardboard boxes on the porch. All the locks on the doors had been changed. Long story short, I’d been replaced.”

“And the life you built together fit in two boxes?” he asked.

“We weren’t married. Everything was in his name. I couldn’t prove I owned anything more than what was on the porch. There was nothing the authorities could do. When I threatened to sue him, he pulled professional rank and blackballed me. I couldn’t find a job anywhere. My friends turned out to actually be his friends. I have no other family worth mentioning. I was—am—on my own.”

He didn’t speak, but his jaw set in a tight line and his eyes grew dark.

“Anyway, I took what little money I had stashed from before we’d met, sold the diamond tennis bracelet he’d given me for my birthday, bought the Caddy on the cheap, and left that horrible mistake and my beloved shoe collection behind, never to return.”

Phoebe didn’t realize she’d been crying until Hottie, standing inches from her, cupped her jaw with both hands and tilted her face up, his thumbs gently swiping the tears from her moist cheeks. Captivated, she stared into his eyes, hypnotized by the silver flecks she found there.