Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe: Roadside Assistance (Kindle Worlds Novella) (2 page)

She slid her low-rider jack under the front edge of the car and raised it up. She just needed enough room to see what kind of damage she was working with. She shined her flashlight on the undercarriage, and from the looks of it, his radiator was shot, as well as a few hoses, but nothing that would stop her from getting the car onto the flatbed.

She pushed herself up to her feet and brushed off her hands. “It doesn’t look horrible under there, but Porsche parts will take longer to come by.” He slid his hands into his pockets, drawing her eyes to the way crisp, perfectly-tailored dress pants hugged his every muscle. The pants probably cost more than she made in a week, but they sure were pretty to look at, as was the man wearing them.

“That’s fine, whatever it takes.”

He gave her a small smile, and a deep dimple appeared on his cheek underneath what looked to be a couple days’ worth of dark stubble. Too bad he was a rich playboy. She wouldn’t have minded taking a spin on him for a night or two. Too many complications to get into, climbing that tree.

“Okay, I’ll get her up. You want me to take her to Price’s?”

“To start, but I think I’d like to meet your brother before I commit to having him work on it.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you want.” Looping a finger around the hook, she gave it a hard tug to start unwinding the cable. “If you could just step back while I hook it up.”

“You sure you don’t need any help?”

He looked unsure of what to do with himself. Not a problem she usually encountered with the rich. Usually, they stood by and gave her crap about how she handled their already- maimed vehicles. Like she was going to hurt them any worse than they already had. “I’ve been doing this job for ten years now. I think I can handle it,” she said as she hitched up the car and let down the jack.

She took out her paperwork and filled in the information on the vehicle. California license plate AFR 255. Normal. Now that was a first. Usually these guys had vanity plates. When she was truly unlucky, they said something like KUMLORD. True story. She had that one once. On a Lamborghini.

Gag.

She told herself that maybe, just maybe, it was short for, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” It was either that, or she would be seeing that license plate in her head every time she tried to have sex. Not that she had much time or opportunity, since most of the guys she hung with were her brother’s friends, but just in case.

“It’s a Por—”

She nodded. “Porsche 918 Spyder, I know, I’ve got it.” The single sexiest car on the planet, if you asked her. Not that anyone did. Sleek, low-profile tires, high-arch-fendered wonderfulness. The bucket seats hugged the hips lucky enough to sit in them. She glanced over at him. He had to be at least 6’2”. Almost a foot taller than her 5’4”. His knees probably wrapped around the wheel a bit, his pants pulled tight against those muscled thighs. Damn, sexy cars made her want to—

“How do you know so much about cars?”

She stopped writing and stared him right in the eye. Was he for real? “I run a towing company. My brother is a mechanic. I would have to be the village idiot to not know about cars.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I keep putting my damned foot in my mouth.”

“Yeah, you do. How does it taste?”’

“Like broken dreams.”

She laughed. “Good one. So how did you manage to mangle such a beautiful car?”

He looked over at the car and she swore she saw him wince. “Thinking too much and not enough attention on the road.”

“That would do it. You know, you shouldn’t have a car like this out here. There are too many things that can go wrong even if you aren’t distracted.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing the waves back from his face. Odd, she missed the way it fell over his forehead. Most women would be drooling over those light blue eyes of his or those muscles hugged by his gray cotton shirt, but not her. She had a thing for hair. A little longer than what was proper, thick, and wavy. She wanted to lock her hands in it while she rode—

She shook her head. Jesus. She was starting to sound like a freaking girl.

Forgivable since she was a girl, but she had a job to do. She could drool later. “So, you have a ride?” she asked as she slid the extender ramps out and lined them up with her flatbed and his tires.

“Shit. I meant to do that after I got off the phone with Jessica.”

“Girlfriend?” Bummer. “Can’t she come and get you?”

“Just an old friend… a very married, with a husband and child at home, friend. I wouldn’t have asked her.”

“Well, why don’t you line someone up while I get this loaded? Then I’ll take you to meet by brother. If we have to kill some time, we can do it with a cold beer since my shift will be over. Do you upper class ever lower yourselves to have the occasional beer?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned, and damned if there wasn’t a dimple on the other side, too.

She was screwed.

2

He had to give it to Jack: she knew what the hell she was doing. She didn’t scrape a single part of his front end as she loaded the car onto the flatbed. Watching her stirred things down south, making him think the idea brewing in his mind might actually work.

If he could get her to agree to it.

Something had to be in it for her, but she didn’t seem to need anything. Independent, strong, and she couldn’t care less about his money. If anything, she seemed amused by it. She was going to be a tough sell. Even if he could figure out how to make it worth her while, she just wasn’t the kind of woman to take less than she deserved.

Admirable, but not entirely helpful.

She glanced over to him. “What?”

He turned in the passenger seat and hooked an arm over the back of her seat. “What do you mean what?”

She unbuttoned the top of her jumpsuit and shook the sleeve off one arm and then the other.

“You’re thinking so damned hard over there, I’m going to have to turn on the A/C. Is it the car? I’m telling you, it’s in good hands with my brother.”

The jumpsuit slid to her waist when she leaned forward, leaving her in just a black tank top. A fitted black tank top. His gaze landed on a dagger tattoo, with some sort of intricate Celtic design running the length of her sculpted arm. No tramp stamp for Jack. No flowers, butterflies, or hearts. Nope. A full blown “look at this” dagger, from shoulder to elbow.

“I haven’t thought about the car since you slid out of your truck.”

Startled eyes met his. She shook her head and laughed. “Nice line, playboy, but you’ll never convince me that I’m the kind of woman your kind finds attractive.”

“My kind? What kind is that?”

“The kind that drives an eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car, for starters. Our worlds are so far apart, I might as well strap my ass to a rocket and head for Mars.”

“I’ve got to give it to you, Jack; you have a way with words. Your mother teach you that?”

“What mother?”

He flinched. “I didn’t miss the taste of my foot.”

“Don’t sweat it. I don’t.”

Curiosity demanded he ask the question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Common sense warned him to not be an idiot, this could be messy.

He was going to do it.

Crap, don’t do it, Lathan.

“What happened to your mom?”

Yup, he just had to do it.

She glanced over at him. He couldn’t see a single bit of tension in her. Her clear eyes met his, open and unoffended. Her shoulders stayed loose and her grip on the wheel relaxed as she rolled into Placerville.

“She left. When I was three.”

“I’m sorry.” Inadequate. Yup, he had a way with the ladies.

She tilted her head at him before turning her eyes back to the road. “Why? I’m not.”

How did she manage to talk about this as though they were discussing what they had for lunch? “Really?”

“No. What kind of woman leaves her kids? One not equipped to be a good mother. To me, it’s better that she left than had she stuck around and screwed us up.”

“That’s…”

“Blunt?”

“Generous.”

“It’s the truth. We had a good life. My dad rocked the mom and dad roles. Neither one of us has been arrested. We don’t do drugs. We have successful jobs. Last time I checked, that was a decent track record.”

She made it all sound so easy. Maybe it was. Here he was, a rich family, a ton of money, and stressing how to get the last of it. It was for an honorable cause, but it was still him desiring just that much more than he already had. And how would he live up to everyone’s expectations? How would he not lose himself in the process of being what his family needed?

 Then there was Jack: she seemed to have it all figured out. She was an enigma. One he was willing to spend a good long time figuring out.

They pulled up to a huge blue shop with six white-doored bays. A worn “Price’s Auto Body” sign that looked to have been repainted at least a couple times hung over the middle of the building. This was no small operation, and Jeremy had to be far more than just a mechanic. Likely, he had a team working under him; a large one. Parked next to it, between the shop and a sprawling ranch-style house, were four different types of tow trucks on a large lot. Jack brought the truck to a stop and turned off the engine.

“Let’s go talk to my brother and figure out what’s next.”

“Sounds good.”

He followed her down the driveway past a recent model yellow Mustang and a black Dodge Ram 3500 Dually, and into the house.

The screen door snapped shut before he made it all the way in, catching him right in the backside. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t expecting it. The momentum propelled him forward, right into Jack’s back. He caught her shoulders to keep her upright and they froze. The soft skin of her shoulders heated under his hands, and before he could think better of it, he dragged the tip of his finger over the dagger on her arm.

Her breath caught. “What are you doing, Lathan?”

“Not sure… it just felt right.”

She peered up at him from over her shoulder. “It’s not a good idea.”

He smiled, watching her eyes heat, and dropped his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. He just needed a taste.

“She said it’s not a good idea.”

With his lips hovering just over her skin, he glanced up to see an auburn-haired man with angry green eyes glaring at him from where he stood across the room.

Jack stepped into the room further, putting a few feet between them, and rested her hands on the back of the couch. “Don’t start your shit, Jeremy. I handled it.”

“Yeah, I saw how you handled it.”

“Lathan Kincaid, my brother, Jeremy Price. Jeremy, don’t be a dink. You still want that beer, Lathan?”

Sliding his hands into his pockets he smiled. “Sure, a beer would be great.”

“Have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”

Jeremy uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Lathan. “So, Lathan, what the fu—”

“Don’t make me kick your ass, Jeremy,” she called over her shoulder.

He snorted and yelled into the kitchen to her, “You can’t beat me up.”

She shed her jumpsuit somewhere along the way and reentered the living room with two long-necked bottles of North Stigmata, a specialty beer from a local brewery, and wearing a faded pair of thigh-hugging Levi’s paired with the sexy tank top.

Jesus.

“I can too beat you up, and you know it. So cut the crap.”

“Yeah, well, you fight dirty,” Jeremy mumbled.

Sibling banter. He missed that the most. He and Liam had only been two years apart, and best friends growing up. They did everything together. Sure, they had the occasional fight, but nothing they didn’t solve with a fist or two before going back to best friends again. It had really only happened a couple times, over girls. Not surprising with how close they were in age.

He missed him all the time. When the hell was the gaping emptiness going to finally go away?

Jack handed a beer to Lathan. “Here, sit.” She pointed a finger in her brother’s direction. “You taught me well. Now, enough of that, let’s talk business. Lathan has a Porsche 918 Spyder out there that needs a bit more than a Band-Aid.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow and scratched the short beard on his chin. “No shit?”

Lathan tipped back the bottle and took a few gulps. “Yup. Banged her up good rolling over debris in the road. Jack said I should trust the repair to you. I guess all I need to know is why I should trust you with it.”

“Because I’ve worked on them before.”

Lathan leaned back and assessed Jeremy. His gaze was as open and honest as his sister’s. “You hold a certificate?”

“I hold four. My training was in exotic cars before I had to take over Price’s. If you need references, I’ve got them in spades.”

Had to take over Price’s? There was a story there. “Your training? Have you worked on anything exotic since then?”

“I finished a McLaren P1 two weeks ago. Million-and-a-half-dollar car. Idiot drove it right into the corner of his house. Lives three hours away, but asked for the best, so it was brought to me.”

Jack grinned before taking a long swallow of her beer. Her slim throat worked as she swallowed, and for a moment Lathan forgot what the hell he was doing. Just one tug of that long ponytail and he could expose that pretty skin.

“So, you want me to take care of her or not?” Jeremy asked.

Lathan cleared his throat and tore his gaze from Jack. “That would be good, thanks!”

“Well, since that’s settled, Jack, drop it in bay one, and I’ll start on it first thing in the morning. Now, I need my beauty sleep, so I’m going back to bed. Jack, can I see you for a minute first?”

“Sure.”

They stepped into the kitchen and, yes, it was rude, but Lathan listened in.