Page 61 of A Stop in Time
Once it’s just above me, I release the button and step beneath it, pulling out my small flashlight I keep in my front pocket. Clicking it on, I do a thorough inspection of the underside and frame.
Booted feet draw to a stop along the right side, but I studiously ignore him and continue my close survey of his vehicle.
“How’s it lookin’?” His husky voice skates over me, and though it might hold a fraction of the iciness, there’s no mistaking his suspicious perusal of the replacement tires and rim I’ve installed.
I resolutely ignore the little lurch my heart gives, yearning for last night’s version of Daniel Madrano, and step out from under the Chevelle. “Looks like it survived and you got your money’s worth out of this armor.”
I click off the flashlight and tuck it back in my pocket. “I’ll ring you up in a minute so you can have a receipt if you need it for insurance or whatever.”
I head toward the door leading from the garage to the air-conditioned section where all the small, tedious parts and pieces are organized. I’m behind on updating that inventory, but I haven’t exactly given a thought to hiring any help. Just the idea of having another person around and constantly in my space makes me nauseous as hell.
I swipe my forearm against my sweaty forehead, ignoring him as he follows me inside. The instant I step foot in the cool, temperature-controlled area, relief hits me like a tidal wave, releasing a fraction of the agitation lingering in my shoulders.
Resolutely ignoring him, I step behind the counter and pull out the carbon copy receipt book and calculator. I pad both the labor and parts cost, as I said I would. I write it down on the bill, total it, and rip off the top portion. I slide it across the counter to him.
Once he reads it, he lifts his unreadable gaze to mine, and reaches for his wallet. I busy myself by grabbing the credit card reader and ensuring it’s powered on. When cash is tossed down on the counter, cutting into my view, I go still, my gaze flicking to him.
He just keeps tossing bills down. Eight one-hundred-dollar bills before he tosses down two twenties.
I gape at him. “Are you kidding me right now? Who the hell carries that much cash—” I stop myself abruptly and hold up a hand. “You know what? Never mind. I forgot who I’m dealing with.”
Evidently, my snarky tone irritates him. When I collect the cash in one sweep, prepared to put it in the cash box beneath the counter, he snags the wrist of my hand that holds the money. In a lightning-fast move, he pulls me closer, bending my body over the counter, and leans in to bring our faces closer.
My fingers twitch, but I stand firm.
His voice is a husky rumble. “Didn’t seem to mind last night when my dick was buried balls deep in your pussy.”
Damn him. No man has ever made me want to punch him in the junk while simultaneously turning me on.
I hitch my chin up a notch and offer a haughty smile. Reaching with my free hand, I give the side of his cheek two condescending taps. “Whatever delusions of grandeur help you sleep better at night, Danny.”
His gaze turns glacial. “It’s Daniel.”
“Don’t care. Now, let go.”
He hesitates, and those strong fingers ease their ruthless grip, but he doesn’t release me. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I said, let me go.”
His attention drops to the fingers he has wrapped around my wrist, appearing almost transfixed by the sight of his darker skin contrasting against mine.
A sigh falls from his mouth before he utters softly, “I am sorry for comin’ at you the way I did.” He lifts his gaze to mine and amidst the usual placid features, remorse flickers through before he releases my wrist.
My shoulders deflate as some of the fight evaporates from me. Some, but not all. Eyeing him warily, I stride toward the cash box sitting below the counter. His attention weighs heavy on me as I slide the wad of cash inside.
I let the metal lid slam shut, the caustic sound echoing between us. Without another word, I breeze out the door, returning to the garage. A moment later, I have his car lowered from the lift and back it out of the bay.
And, yes, I leave his car running when I slide out from behind the wheel. I leave the door open, too. Because the faster I can shove his ass in this car and get him out of here, the better.
I choose to ignore that stray thought in the back of my mind that whispers, But he’s different from the others.
Yeah, he’s different, all right. In the I’ll shove the muzzle of a gun beneath your chin and threaten your life kind of different. That, I can definitely do without.
He stands with his feet planted on the concrete floor of the garage, eyes boring into me. I gesture dramatically between him and his car. “You’re all set to be on your merry way back to your world.
“Where you’re right at home selling drugs, murdering people, cutting off people’s fingers, dressing like you’re auditioning to be a ninja or a terrible imitation of the Man in Black, and basically doing whatever gang shit you normally do.”
When he doesn’t make any move to get in his car, I make another sweeping gesture from him to his vehicle. “It’s just right over there. A few steps in front of you, and you can slide your gang ass inside and drive off into the morning sun.”