Page 99 of A Stop in Time
I’ve used an ass ton of penetrating oil to try to loosen things up and even gone at it with the rubber mallet, but the heated compression of shit gathering around the gaskets and other components has made it near impossible to take apart.
As if I’ve conjured a reason to delay work on the Malibu, a black Chevelle pulls into my driveway. I grab a rag and wipe the bulk of the grease and dirt from my hands as the vehicle heads toward my garage.
The dark-tinted windows prevent me from seeing him behind the wheel, but I can practically feel the weight of his gaze on me.
Once he pulls to a stop, I attempt not to track his movements when he emerges from the car a moment later.
And promptly fail. Because the man is a sight, that’s for sure.
He’s in a pair of jeans that encase an ass I had my hands all over yesterday, certain areas are well-worn and nearly white, and the denim doesn’t do much to disguise his muscled thighs.
His button-down shirt, black with the thinnest pinstripe pattern, is open at the collar, baring a glimpse of his medal, and the sleeves are cuffed at his elbows.
When his attention lands on me, I resist the urge to fidget. Is he here to talk about when we’re supposed to head to the Human Resources building? Or is he here…for me?
Don’t do it, I internally scold myself. Don’t be that girl. Just be cool.
He strides up to me, confidence oozing from him, and draws to a stop in front of me.
“Hey.” Ohmygod. That’s what I have to say? What a fucking conversationalist I am. He probably thinks I’m dickstruck—which I’m not. He’s just…an attractive guy, and I’m simply recalling how good it was between us. That’s all.
“Hey.”
Is it me or did the corners of his mouth twitch? His attention drifts to the Malibu before resettling on me.
Unease has my spine turning to stone, and my hands fiddle with the grease rag. Dammit, this is why I pick out-of-towners, because then I don’t have to suffer these type of encounters. I’ve never had to face who I fucked afterward and the awkwardness that shit brings.
“I guess you’re here to talk about when to head to that—”
One hand fists the front of my shirt, giving it a strong tug toward him as his other hand palms my nape, his mouth cutting off my words. Deepening the kiss, his tongue glides across mine in claiming strokes, causing a shudder to roll through me. The rag falls from my hands, and I clutch at his arms, the muscles tense beneath my grip.
He releases his hold on my shirt, his hand dropping to mold over the curve of my ass. When I arch into his touch and encounter his hard arousal at the base of my stomach, my core clenches and wetness gathers between my thighs.
How can I still want him just as much? It’s never been like this before. Never.
The side door creaks open a split second before I hear, “Hey, Mac— Oh! Sorry!” and it slams shut.
I tear my lips from Daniel’s and bury my face in his shirt. “We’ve just scandalized the poor girl.”
Humor laces his voice. “It was just a kiss.”
“And hell is just a sauna,” I shoot back with a groan. “You had your hand on my ass.”
His chest rumbles. “Could’ve been worse.” His voice drops an octave, and it glides over me like a caress. “Could’ve seen me with my face buried in your—”
I cover his mouth with my hand, my eyes filled with warning. “Danny.”
Those eyes gleam. Strong fingers encircle my wrist, gently tugging my hand away. “It’s Daniel.”
It’s only now that I realize his response lacks the aggravation it’s normally held. Now, it has a playful quality.
“Don’t care.” My voice is breathless, and I retreat a step, needing to put space between us. “Why are you here?” I nearly wince at the harshness of my words. But it’s needed.
His scrutinizing gaze pores over me, and I wonder if he detects how nervous he makes me. How unsettled I am by the effect he has on me.
When his expression shutters and his tone is devoid of any trace of emotion, I tell myself it’s for the best. “Wanted to plan. Figured we could head there tomorrow afternoon. On your lunch break.”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.”