Chapter Text
It was almost dark and you breathed a sigh of relief as you managed to coax your old Ford into the lot. Bluish smoke wafted from beneath the Mustang’s exhaust and from beneath the hood. Now, you were no mechanic by trade, but even you knew that couldn’t possibly be anything good. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
The sign over the bay of garages read Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs in rather old-fashioned looking gold script, and the doors were closed. To the right of the bays, there was a door and above that door, another sign, in the same old-fashioned script, read Office and from within, a light blazed. Wonderful. Hopefully that meant a warm body lingered inside. Please, please let there still be somebody there. You only barely knew where in town you were, and you weren’t even sure this tiny little town had an actual name.
The Mustang rolled to a stop and you were pretty sure it actually wheezed as you killed the engine and yanked the key from the ignition. Whatever was wrong, it was going to cost a small fortune to fix. You didn’t even need to be a mechanic to know that.
To top everything off, it was raining. No, raining was not the right word. It was fucking teeming out. Rain hit the windshield so hard and so fast, the garage lights were fuzzy-looking blobs that didn’t resemble anything other than fuzzy-looking blobs. As for the other cars in the lot? You could only assume they were cars. They were just darker, fuzzier-looking blobs through the raindrop spattered windows.
No one came to the door. Wonderful. That meant you had to sprint though the deluge, which would have been fine, had you not chosen to wear a white v-necked tee shirt that day. Too bad it looked so cute with your ripped jeans and the weatherman made no mention of rain at all. Now, if you didn’t move fast enough, you were going to give whatever warm body you happened upon a nice show.
You waited a few minutes more. Maybe someone inside just moved slowly and would be out in a minute or two. Or maybe the rain would let up. No on both counts and actually, the rain fell harder now. Even the weather was against you at the moment. Damn it, why was Mother Nature such a bitch sometimes?
“Fine,” you muttered, taking a deep breath as you reached for the door handle, “it’s run or sit here all night.”
The door swung open with a creak of old steel hinges and you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the rain, then forced yourself to get out of the car. The urge to kick the car was a strong one, but not only were you wearing sandals and would probably only succeed in smashing the hell out of your foot, but the rain came down in buckets now, so you’d probably drown if you tried it. Instead, you settled for slamming the door. Unfortunately, when you did, the rear driver’s side window promptly slipped halfway down. Old cars were awesome to look at, but could be a bitch to maintain and this one was the queen of all the bitches. Icy raindrops pelted you as you unlocked the door, yanked up the window, and held it in place from the outside as you slammed the door shut once more, then booked across the lot to the office.
You might as well have saved yourself the trouble and just strolled leisurely across that damn lot because by the time you reached the office, you were soaked to the bone anyway. Your hair was nothing more than wet strings now as you shoved it out of your eyes. Then you looked down. A mistake. The white balconette bra seemed like such a sensible choice when you got dressed this morning. It was cute and more importantly, it was comfortable. However, while most of each boob was covered, the cleavage created by that cute little bra was not so well hidden. Wonderful. All you could do was hope that whoever was still in the building wasn’t the least bit interested in boobs at all.
Your car keys dangled from your hand as you offered up a silent prayer to whatever power—if any—might be listening, and grabbed the knob. It turned easily, and as the door swung open, a bell tinkled merrily to alert anyone lingering in there a warm body was out here.
“Shop’s closed!”
The voice emanating from the back was a smooth baritone that actually sent a shiver along your spine, and that was something that never happened before. It was, without a doubt, the most sinfully deep voice you’d ever heard and you could only imagine the man behind it.
But, now was not the time to be ogling a voice—if such a thing was even possible. Your car was dead. You were stuck. So, unless you wanted to sleep outside in said dead car, you had to hope you could get a pity look at it, if nothing else.
However, you were now even painfully aware of how the cold, wet tee shirt stuck to you. You tugged it away from your boobs, only when you let go, it just slapped back against you, feeling even colder and wetter now. Wonderful.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” you called back, shoving your wet hair out of your eyes, “but I’m kind of… stuck.., here.”
A low sigh rolled up front, followed by the squeak of leather and the whir of wheels across the floor. A moment later, you saw the owner of the voice and all you could think was—
God help me…
He was gorgeous. Absolutely, utterly, totally gorgeous. And he practically filled the damn doorway—all broad shoulders and wide chest that looked even broader and wider in the black tee shirt bearing the words Durin’s Garage in gold over the left breast. That damn tee shirt was stretched so tightly across those broad shoulders, across that wide chest. So much broad. So much wide. Topped off with beautiful pale blue eyes and long, wavy, silver-streaked black hair caught loosely at his nape, probably to keep it from getting caught in a fan, or anything else, in an engine compartment. Normally, you didn’t find bearded men all that attractive, but if they all looked like this one bearded man? You’d fall on your knees and convert at that moment to join the Church of the Bearded Man Worshippers.
“Stuck?”
You nodded, trying to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “My car is dead. And I mean, like really dead. I just barely got it into your lot and I’m pretty sure it is not turning over again. And I know you’re closed, but please? I don’t even know where I am really, and now I’m stuck here with this dead Ford POS.”
Probably not the smartest thing in the world, admitting you didn’t know where you were, but at that point, you didn’t care. Your car was deader than dead and you were stuck.
To your horror, his gaze dropped. He caught himself, but you still felt it, and when a slight smile lifted the corners of his lips, you contemplated just leaving the car there and hoofing it out of town as fast as possible. At least, you would unless the floor opened up and swallowed you whole, but the odds of that happening were slim to none.
To his credit, his expression remained utterly businesslike, as if women in wet, white tee shirts came into his shop every day of the week. Of course, seeing how fucking hot he was, it was entirely possible that happened all the time and this was nothing new to him.
Don’t think about that. Just. Don’t.
He came around the counter. “Dead how?”
“Dead as in not running.”
Those laser-beam blue eyes rolled. “I figured that much out on my own. What happened?”
“I don’t really know. I was about three miles from here when I noticed blue smoke wafting from the hood and the tailpipe. I just managed to sweet talk it into rolling into your lot, where it wheezed once and died. Trust me, it. Is. Dead.”
“Blue smoke. Blue smoke is definitely not good.” He strode past you to the window and peered out into the thickening darkness. “Which one is yours?”
Dear God, he filled out Levi’s like nobody’s business, and that made you feel even more like a drowned rat. Water dripped from your hair to soak your tee shirt just in case you’d forgotten you were soggy. “The metallic blue Mustang in the middle of your parking lot.”
The bell jingled merrily when he opened the door and a moment later, he let out a low whistle. "What year is that? Sixty-eight?”
“Sixty-seven, actually.”
“Damn.” He looked over his right shoulder at you as he tugged an umbrella from a bight orange bucket that said ice melt on the side. “You’re driving a fifty-four year old car and you’re surprised it died on you?”
“I happen to like that fifty-four year old car and no, sadly I’m not surprised at all. It’s just I can usually fix what goes wrong with it because it’s mostly minor stuff. But this time, I’m pretty sure it’s beyond my capabilities.”
He arched one brow, but said nothing as he popped open the umbrella and splashed out toward your car. Yes, driving it could be a challenge at times. It took forever to warm up in the winter and sometimes stalled out for absolutely no reason no matter what time of year, but this was the first time it up and died on you in years. And honestly, you didn’t even want to think about what it would cost because blue smoke and a dropping gas gauge probably meant blown cylinders.
You were already soaked pretty much to the skin, so what was a little more rain at that point? You followed him out, trying like hell not to notice that he’d popped the hood and now bent over to peer into the engine compartment with a flashlight and it was only dumb luck that kept his ass from bursting into flames because you could not help but stare at it. Damn… good genes or time well spent in the gym, or maybe a combination of both. Either way, you didn’t really feel the rain any more and in all honesty would not have been surprised to see steam wafting from your wet clothes.
“Yeah,” he straightened up and carefully pushed the hood back down with one hand, “I’ll have to get it into the shop and take a look, but I have to warn you, I’m thinking the problem is with the cylinders, Miss—”
You told him your name and then sighed, leaning against the fender and lifted your face up to the rain. With any luck, you’d drown right there and then, or you’d melt or something. “That’s what I was afraid of. Dare I ask how soon you can look at it?”
“We’ve got a few cars ahead of you. It hasn’t been a good couple weeks for ladies traveling through town. At least not a good week for their cars, anyway. I’m not so sure they’d complain.”
You rubbed your forehead with one hand. The last thing you wanted to hear was about his escapades with these unfortunate souls who probably weren’t quite so unfortunate to be stranded at this particular garage. “Not to be that person, but how many is a few? And I guess my next question is, where is the closet hotel, motel, or B and B?”
“Let’s get this into a bay and I’ll go see what’s on the schedule for tomorrow.” He closed the umbrella and handed it to you. The backs of your fingers brushed the backs of his, and you’d swear you heard a snap of electricity at the contact.
He, however, didn’t seem to notice, just as he didn’t seem to notice the rain spattering him. He moved to open the driver’s door. “Put it in neutral, you steer, I’ll push.”
“I know the routine. Remember, it’s a fifty-four year old car. I’ve done the you steer, I’ll push more times than I care to think about.”
He smiled and when you lowered yourself into the seat and tucked your legs in, he pushed the door closed. You shifted the manual transmission into neutral, waited for him to open the bay door almost dead center from where you sat. He came back around and when he yelled, “Ready?” you told him yes and tried unsuccessfully to ignore how your jeans stuck to your legs and to the seat at the same time.
It took a little effort first, but then the Mustang rolled relatively easily into the bay, and the bank of doors behind you lit up red when you stepped on the brake pedal. You set it back into first gear, and with both hands, pulled the emergency brake, which was a lever located under the dash on your side. Two hands to tug as hard as you could and it locked into place.
You got out and watched him tug down the bay door and twist the handle to lock it. Then, he came back over to you. “It’s a nice car, even if it is dead right now.”
“I’ve had it since I was fifteen. My dream car was a sixty-nine Mach I, but this was what I could find. Not quite the same, but I’ve gotten kind of attached to it over the years.”
“You must’ve to keep it on the road this long. You don’t see too many old cars on the road nowadays, which is kind of a shame, really. I miss working on them. They’re so much easier to tinker with, even if getting parts can be a bitch at times.” He stepped closer and you couldn’t help but notice the way the overhead lights played along the silver streaking his wet hair, the way they glinted off the ornate-looking silver cuff holding his hair at his nape. A hint of motor oil and grease hung in the air, but as he drew closer, there was something else. Something clean, with a hint of cedar to it. You didn’t know if it was his shower gel, or cologne, but it gave you the urge to lean in and inhale deeply. And that would be weird, so you tried to ignore it as you leaned back against the Mustang’s door.
Of the four bays, three were occupied, one being your car. The other two cars were far newer models. A radio played in his office, the faint but unmistakable strains of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir floated toward you. You weren’t much of a Zeppelin fan, but you liked this particular track. “Is there something I should fill out, or an envelope to drop my keys into?”
“I can take them.”
“I don’t even know your name,” you told him, smiling as you tilted my head just a little.
“Sure you do. It’s on the sign.” He stepped closer. “Thorin. Durin. It’s my garage.”
Thorin. An unusual name, but it certainly suited him. With a smile, you held out your keyring. “Okay then. Now I feel better about handing my keys over to you, Thorin Durin.”
He held out a huge hand, palm up, and as you dropped your keys into it, you couldn’t help but notice the grease ground into the lines of his palm, how rough his hand looked. Working hands. Skilled hands. His fingers were long and thick and that was exactly the wrong thing to notice about this gorgeous man, because now you wanted to know what else was long and thick and as you looked up at him, you’d swear he could read your mind. His eyes darkened just enough that it sent a shiver along your spine. How many times were women told not to talk to strange men? And there you were, locked in a garage with one.
God help me.
But, you didn’t think you were in danger. At least, not much beyond your senses being totally rattled, any way. Mr. Thorin Durin didn’t give off a creeper vibe. Rather, if he gave off any air, it was one of a guy who didn’t quite seem to know just how hot he was, or what effect he had on women, and that didn’t seem at all possible to you. How could he not know? How was that even possible?
Because he most definitely had an effect on you. With each step he took closer, your heart beat that much faster. The air seemed charged. Your belly did strange little flips and all you could think about was pushing up on your toes and letting the tip of your tongue brush along the curve of his shoulder, up along his neck, to his ear to see what it might lead to.
Give me strength.
“Let me get you a towel,” he said, winking as he added, “You look as if you could use it.”
“Just a little.” Your hair dripped onto your chest, lay in loose, wet coils on your shoulders, spilled down your back, and the rain brought a drop in the temperature so you were also cold as well. Thank God your cleavage-inducing bra was padded or else he’d really be getting a show.
“Weatherman lied.” His voice carried across the garage as he went into the back office. “Said it was supposed to be clear and dry tonight.”
“And they go to school for that, you know.” you called back.
A low chuckle rolled her way, followed by, “Right? Like I can’t do the same job by poking my head out the window and looking up.”
He emerged from the office with two small hand towels and seemed almost embarrassed as he held one out. “It’s not much, but it’s clean and more importantly, it’s dry.”
“Thank you.” You took the rough yellow towel and draped it over your head to scrub your hair as best you could.
“Where are you from?” His voice broke through the noise of terrycloth against your hair and you peered out from under it to find him standing only a few feet from you, the second towel about his neck.
“New Jersey, actually. I’m new here.”
“A transplant, eh?”
You nodded. “I am, kind of. And don’t ask me why, because I can’t possibly explain it without sounding completely crazy.”
He caught the towel by both ends, and his gaze remained steadily locked on yours, but somehow that just made you even more aware of how your wet tee clung to you, how the swells of your breasts—damn you, cute balconette bra—were almost as visible as if you’d stood there in just that damn bra in front of him.
“Try me.”
“I’d never even heard of this town,” you dabbed at the rainwater trickling along your temple, shaking your head as it sounded nuts to you to admit this, “but I needed a change, so I basically closed my eyes, hit a bunch of random keys to enter into Google, and this town came up, so here I am.”
“And here you are.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve heard crazier things.”
“Really?” You looked around at the cars in his shop and just imagined their owners, wondering if they were all women, who stood in front of this gorgeous man, who positively radiated sin and sex and danger, and wrestled with their inner selves to keep their hands to themselves. Or maybe they didn’t wrestle anyone and just threw themselves at him. Stranger things happened. “I’ll bet you have.”
“We get a lot of people who are just passing through. You’re the first who’s moving here, though.” He slid the towel from his neck and wadded it up to toss onto the work bench along the wall across from the line of cars. The surface was fairly clean, considering it was a garage, and she gathered most of the tools had been stored away in the large fire engine red upright tool boxes. He pointed at his shirt and then at you. “You want something dry to put on?”
“Oh.” You fought the urge to fold your arms over your chest, since it would be pointless anyway. “No, thank you. You know what? I should probably just get a cab and find the nearest motel. You want to go home, I’m sure and I’m really just about done in, so—”
“Don’t worry about a cab. I’ll drop you off.”
The thought of being alone in the close quarters of a car—or truck—with him rattled your senses in a way they hadn’t been rattled in years and it was something you hadn’t realized you missed, either. At least, you didn’t until now. Now, your stomach did a queer little flip and your heartbeat sped up. Now you folded your arms because that little flip, coupled with how cold the air swirling about that garage was, meant your nipples were thisclose to betraying you.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t.” He turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a grin. “But there’s only one cab company in town and they’re a little… shady… I’d feel better if I gave you a ride.”
Oh, Mr. Durin, I’d feel better if I gave you a ride.
Your back stiffened. Where the hell had that come from? Not that mattered, because you meant every word of it. You pressed your lips together as he disappeared into the office once more. Get a grip, you told yourself in the sternest voice you could muster. Men like him are never interested in women like you. He is giving you a ride—er, a lift home, such as it is. That’s it.
But you couldn’t ignore it. The low pull of his voice, his gorgeous blue eyes, his absolutely perfect face and body ignited something in you. Something you’d thought was long dead and buried. And it left you feeling more than a little reckless.
He came back a few minutes later, a black Durin’s Garage tee shirt in one fist. “Here. Before you catch pneumonia. It’s all I’ve got, but it’s dry.”
You stared at it, then took it. “Thank you.”
Thorin stepped closer. “It’s a small. I’m out of mediums and I think the large will swim on you. But this should fit. You’re pretty tiny.”
Compared to him, you were minuscule. But that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. The fluttering in your stomach worsened as your gaze focused on his lips. Would his beard be soft or scratchy? Would it leave red marks on your skin—along your jaw, down your neck…
Along your inner thighs?
What the—?
You stiffened, unconsciously pressing said thighs together. Part of you wanted to just whisk the wet shirt over your head and see what he’d do.
But the other part was afraid he’d laugh or worse, turn away with disinterest. After all, men like him did not notice women like you unless it was when you were in high school or college and they needed help passing an exam or writing a paper. Then, and only then, did they know you existed.
That reckless feeling rippled thorough you again. This might be your only chance to ever do something like this. And what was that old saying?
Oh, right… you never regret the chances you take as much as you regret the ones you don’t take.
Thorin towered over you, all broad shoulders and wide chest. “You can go in the office and change if you want a little privacy.”
You swallowed hard and tried to ignore just how fast your heart beat right then, because it was enough to make you dizzy. Things like this did not happen to you. Men like him never noticed you at all. And yet, he gazed at you intently, your keys still dangling from his right hand. His huge right hand. He noticed you, all right. But, what he thought about you might have been a totally different story.
“I—I’m okay right here.” You don’t know where the words came from but they were out there now, just hanging in the small space between you. He was close enough for you to feel the heat wafting from his body. Close enough for you to smell his clean, almost woodsy cologne.
Close enough for you to see the silver threads wound through his beard as well. This was no boy before you, no kid. He was most definitely a man. And from the looks of him, a man who would know what he was doing.
“You’re staring at me.” His voice was a low, rumbling purr, almost like you’d imagine a tiger’s purr would sound like, if tigers purred. You wondered if they did for a moment, then mentally slapped your forehead for it. Tigers? Really? For fuck’s sake, who cared? You had far more important things to worry about at the moment.
“You must be used to that,” you said without thinking, because surely women stared at this man with the same look of longing a starving person would cast toward a thick ribeye.
“What makes you say that?”
“Have you seen yourself, Mr. Durin? Because if you have, you cannot seriously be asking me why.”
He folded his arms and a wry smile lifted his lips. That smile did the oddest thing to you. You prided yourself on remaining cool and in control and now, this gorgeous man had you holding his stare as you slowly tugged the wet tee shirt over your head, right there, in front of him.
When you emerged, a hint of triumph shot through you. HIs eyes had visibly darkened, the pupils wider now, a hint of sin and promise crept into that wry smile. You held his stare easily as you let the wet shirt hit the grease-and-oil stained cement floor with a soft splop.
Daring him to do the same hovered on the tip of your tongue because all you could think about was what lay beneath those Levi’s and that black tee shirt. And you would not mind seeing what lay beneath his clothes at all.
You couldn’t help it. You drank in the sight of his muscled arms, the way his biceps stretched the tee’s short sleeves, how muscle roped his forearms, which were shadowed with dark, downy-looking hair. You drank in the sight of his thick thighs hidden beneath perfectly faded denim. Dear Christ, he was just so overpoweringly male, and you were in the mother of all dry spells. How could you not be wondering what it would be like to just fuck him right then and there?
He just stared at you with those mesmerizing eyes.
You’d heard the term eye-fucked but never experienced it.
Until now.
Because that was exactly what he did to you. His gaze roamed over you slowly, and you just had that feeling he liked what he saw. He hadn’t even touched you and yet, the cotton lining of your thong was damp. Your nipples were tight little beads and you could tell yourself it was from the cold air in the garage all you wanted to, but it was a lie. It was because his gaze might as well have been an actual caress, one that touched all the sweet spots and lingered there until your body responded to it.
You had to look away before you melted right there, on the floor in front of him. Over his right shoulder, you spotted the cork-board on the wall, covered with news clippings and photographs. You were too far away to see much detail - two dark-haired men and one blond, standing in the same garage. Father and sons? Brothers?
He leaned toward you and your breath caught as he just brushed his lips along your jawline, fainter than a butterfly kiss, moving toward your ear, where he whispered, “I don’t usually do this, you know.”
You swallowed hard. His voice was like black velvet dragged over sin. His beard was both soft and scratchy and you didn’t give a damn what kind of mark it left on your skin because that caress alone sent fire streaking through you. Your eyes closed and somehow, you managed to whisper back, “Do what?”
He swept his lips along your neck now. Your head lolled to the left. You bit down on your bottom lip as he slid an arm about your waist. As that arm tightened. As he pulled you flush against his big, solid body.
“Take on a customer after we’ve closed.” His breath was so warm against your skin, as much of a caress as his words were. You let your hands come to rest on his hips, the denim warm from his body heat. God help you, it was all you could do to keep from twisting your fingers into the bottom of his damp tee shirt with the intent of whisking it from his back.
“I don’t usually do this, either.”
“What’s that, love?”
Love? Oh, have mercy. His cologne teased your nose, mingled with the garage scents of oil and sweat and grime, and without thinking, you nuzzled him. His breath hitched. Both hands curved on your hips.
You turned your head to answer, only his mouth found yours instead, his lips warm and soft, his tongue thick and slow and teasing as he thrust it between your lips. You opened your mouth wider, let your tongue caress his. He kissed you slowly, deeply, his beard scraping along your sensitive skin in a unique caress of its own, until your head spun. He kissed you as if he already knew exactly how you liked to be kissed—soft and teasing, drawing your tongue back into the wet heat of his mouth. Oh, you did indeed like to be kissed this way, it sent the most delicious warm pleasure spiraling through you, made you forget your wet hair and your sodden clothes. It made you forget everything except wanting to feel more of it.
Now, you leaned into him, your fingers folding into the damp cotton stretched so nicely across his chest. Heat wafted from him, and the tee shirt was thin enough that all you felt was thick, firm muscle through it.
The arms about your waist tightened. He lifted you and the next thing you felt was the cold steel of the Mustang’s hood bleeding through your damp jeans. It didn’t stay cold for long and neither, for that matter, did you.
He slid a hand up along your waist, his fingers just brushing the outer curve of your left breast and just that slight touch was enough to make you suck in sharp breath, enough to make you arch your back, and he got the message, for a second later, his huge hand cupped your breast, his thumb found your nipple despite the padding in your bra, and very slowly slid about it. Fire darted through you, hot enough that you couldn’t hold back your mewl of satisfaction.
Your fingers tightened of their own in his shirt, and you tugged it free from the waist of his jeans. You slid your hand beneath it, skimmed it along hot, smooth skin layered with solid muscle. You squeezed it. No give at all. None. He was rock.
He angled his hips between your knees. Without thinking, you pressed your thighs against him, pulled him hard against you and you moaned in unison at the feel of his erection grinding up into you. You ached at the pressure, ached with wanting to tug on his black leather belt to unbuckle it and pop the fly on those Levi’s to see what he kept hidden, to see if he was every bit as perfectly proportioned as he felt. You waited with bated breath for him to unhook the fool bra and let it fall to the floor to join your tee.
Your fingers brushed warm leather, only to have him catch you by the wrist. “Wait,” he growled, gently pulling your hand away from him, “not here.”
Disappointed crashed over you as if the ceiling itself had fallen in. You were breathless and achy with desire, and he wanted to stop? “Why?”
He offered up a smile that was almost shy and he was more than a little out of breath as he murmured, “I don’t usually do this.”
“Take on a customer after you’ve closed?”
His eyes sparkled and a low chuckle rolled toward you. “Well, yes, but that’s not really what I meant, either. I meant this.” His hands came to rest on your thighs, and he squeezed them gently as he added, “I don’t normally fool around with my customers in the shop.”
“But outside the shop is okay?”
To your surprise, he actually laughed—a loud, husky laugh that was almost as arousing as his deep voice was. “I prefer it, yes.”
Then, to your surprise, he slid an arm about your shoulders and pulled you against him. “Tell you what, I’ll get to your car first thing in the morning and tomorrow night, I’ll take you out. Have dinner. See a movie. I don’t care. We’ll just go do something.”
“Thorin, I don’t even know where I’ll be tomorrow night. I’ll be living in a motel until I find a place. And I still have to find the motel.”
“I know where you’ll be.” He pulled away far enough to smile down at you. “You’re coming home with me tonight.”
“Um. Come again?” You winced. Poor choice of words, at least as far as you were concerned.
He didn’t seem notice, as he offered a boyish grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “We’ll stop on the way and grab something to eat and then maybe we can watch a movie and hold hands or something.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack, love.” His eyes grew as serious as his voice as he said, “I have to prove to you I don’t go around seducing women on the hoods of their cars, don’t I?”
You didn’t really know how to answer that, so you eased down from the fender and crouched to swipe your ruined tee shirt from the garage floor. As you stood, it was to find him gazing at you with serious blue eyes now. “You can trust me, you know.”
You held that gaze easily and somehow, you just knew you absolutely could trust him. You couldn’t explain it. You just felt it. Even so, that didn’t stop you from quirking one brow. “Can I?”
He bent and brushed your lips with his. “Absolutely and I will prove it to you. You’ll see.”
“I’ll see what?”
“You aren’t here by accident, you know. This was meant to be,” he murmured. Then, he drew in a deep breath and added, “You’re my soul mate. I’ve been waiting for you.”