Flirting With Disaster

Flirting With Disaster by Sofia Harper

Smashwords Edition, License
Notes

© Sofia Harper 2015

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Table of Contents

Copyright

#TOC

Blurb

Chapter
One

Chapter
Two

Chapter
Three

Chapter
Four

Chapter
Five

Chapter
Six

Chapter
Seven

Chapter
Eight

Chapter
Nine

Chapter
Ten

Chapter
Eleven

Epilogue

BIO

Backlist

Flirting With Danger
Excerpt

BLURB

Falling in love could be the very definition
of a disaster.

Brooke Hall has a foul-mouth and a quick
temper, and she prefers a man who isn't afraid to get his hands
dirty. In other words, everything an uptight book nerd like Dane
Nichols isn't. He likes his women soft, mild-mannered, and
traditional. That doesn't stop him from wanting her even though
their verbal sparring is legendary in Tanner Creek. When an
opportunity that will benefit both of their fledgling businesses
comes along, they agree to join forces...albeit reluctantly.

It doesn't take long for Dane to see past
Brooke's prickly exterior. Her intelligence and fierce loyalty to
her friends and family makes him crave more than a hot, short
affair despite the occasional sense of deja vu. He's had more than
his fair share of tumultuous relationship where both parties were
too stubborn to be vulnerable and honest.

Dane's smile is as quick as his wit,
and Brooke can't seem to resist him...in or out of bed. When he
drops his guard and makes a play for her heart, Brooke has to let
go of the fear that all he wants to do is change her into his ideal
woman.

CHAPTER ONE

Brooke Hall strode out of her mechanic shop
into the balmy air, her dour mood lifting at the incredible
weather. She indulged in a rare moment of pure contentment, only to
see a Juan and Sons tow truck parked down the block. Juan and Sons
were her chief competitors. Not even the promise of a perfect,
Californian spring night could salvage her mood.

Her friend Naomi sighed beside her. “You're
not going to let this go, are you?”

Brooke gave her a long look. Naomi's son was
with his dad, so her friend had pampered herself by taking an hour
to curl her hair, putting on makeup that complimented her dark
skin, and had even pulled out high heels and a tight dress.

They were only headed to The Grog Monster,
but it was karaoke night—a reoccurring event that had become
insanely popular—and it had drawn in people from the other small
towns surrounding Tanner Creek. She adored her friend and Naomi
needed this night out.

Those reasons should have forced Brooke to
forget this momentary irritation, walk to her car, drive to the
outskirts of town and drink herself woozy at The Grog. But she'd
spent most of her Friday updating her quarterly report for Hall's
Mechanic and Body Shop.

She hadn't expected running a mechanic shop
and towing business to be all bunnies and sunshine, but seeing her
numbers slowly but surely creep to the red for three months had
tightened her stomach. She had two more years before she would
escape that five-year stretch during which most new businesses
failed.

Her financial woes weren't a surprise. Her
father ran a very successful brokerage firm—in a sense she was
heiress who had shucked it all to be a blue-collar entrepreneur.
But there was a big difference in knowing what to expect and
experiencing the reality of a small business owner. So, yeah, that
knowledge didn't stop her teeth from clenching while she worked in
Quickbooks that afternoon and now as she stood outside the shop.
And someone had called on her competitor to help with their car
troubles.

“
Five minutes,” Brooke
said. “I swear. I just want to find out why Juan Junior's here and
then we'll go.”

Naomi rolled her eyes, pulled her purse
strap higher on her shoulder, and then motioned for Brooke to lead
the way across the street. The lights from the other businesses
were enough to keep her from tripping over anything in the
street.

Once on the pavement, she put an extra sway
in her hips. Juan Jr. was too busy getting comfortable against the
grill of his tow truck and lighting up a cigarette to see her
coming. She scared up a seductive smile.

He must have heard the clack of her heels,
because his gaze fell on her hips and got stuck there before his
attention made it to her face.

He cursed softly, straightening. “I'm not
poaching.”

She kicked up the smile, stopping a foot in
front of him, totally invading his personal space. It was the best
way to get the truth out of him. As he was a self-proclaimed
ladies' man, she had to keep him off-kilter.

“
Didn't say you were,” she
cooed. “I thought we were peers. I'm just curious.”

She leaned to the side to check the row of
cars behind him. She recognized most of them since she'd fixed them
at one time or another. Her gaze stopped on the most likely
suspect—a Mercedes. She'd know that car if all she heard was its
engine. The owner of the vehicle reminded her of everything Brooke
had left behind when she'd settled into Tanner Creek: Men who
believed a women's role was only in the home, mothers who agreed,
and sometimes their daughters, too. Brooke wasn't that daughter
anymore.

She had found and fought for the courage to
be unconventional, because the truth was most women didn't love the
scent of engine oil. It was an acquired taste and so was she. It
had taken a long time to make peace with that part of herself. No
one would make her feel ashamed for it or apologetic for not being
feminine enough.

But the owner of that dark blue Mercedes
had—he continued to do it whenever they faced off. The bastard.

So, she kept the smile in place when she met
Juan Junior's gaze again. He was a cutie in his early twenties, and
she could see why he had a harem of women panting over him. Bronzed
skin, dark hair and eyes—eye candy. He just wasn't her type with
his womanizing ways and mild-mannered approach to dealing with her
bluntness.

“
So tell me.” She kept her
voice sweet and warm. “Who called you? And don't say you can't for
whatever reason. You're not a lawyer, so there's no attorney-client
privilege.” To soften her harsh assessment, she brushed her hand
down his arm.

He blew out a plume of smoke, interest lit
in his gaze for a split second before he jolted as though he
realized the obvious ploy had tripped him up. “No.”

She dropped her hand. “Fine.”

Her reputation for being prickly and blunt
usually ruined her womanly-wiles routine, anyway. She felt more
than heard Naomi finally catching up. Brooke said, “Don't flirt
with my friend. I'll tell her about your ex.”

He took in Naomi and then shook his head.
“You'll give my customer shit. No.”

And that's when she knew for sure who had
called him. Juan Jr. cursed again, because he knew he'd been
caught. More than once he'd gotten stuck in the crossfire.

She put up her hand to stop
any other excuses he had prepared. “Where is
he
?”

Naomi grasped her elbow. “There's nothing
you can do. He can choose whoever he wants to fix his car.”

Brooke huffed. “Stop being reasonable.”

Juan Jr. ran a hand through his dark, silky
locks. “I know you and you're going to give him shit.”

“
I—” She broke off her
words because
he
came up the street.

If Brooke went by appearance alone, Dane was
exactly her type. She exhaled slowly to get her heart rate back
down. Looking at him longer than two seconds always did that to
her—sweaty palms, racing heart, inability to think straight. He had
caramel-toned skin, full lips, hazel eyes and cheekbones that put
him squarely in the drool-worthy category.

He walked like he owned the sidewalk beneath
his loafers. He perfected preppy, but had enough edge to let her
know he was probably trouble on a woman's common sense, especially
if she ever let him into her bed.

He wore a light jacket to combat the cool
night, but jacket was an understatement. What he had was a dark,
lush gray coat. The zippers were horizontal on the right side of
his chest. The collar was popped with the edge kissing his
masculine jaw line. He'd pushed the sleeves up so the soft material
rested on the middle of his muscled forearms. He'd paired it with a
white dress shirt underneath and crisp looking denims. His style
spoke of money but in whispers.

His phone demanded all his focus until he
walked into the plume of smoke Juan Jr. blew in that direction.
Dane scowled and then he saw her.

The second part of their ritual had
begun—the first being seeing him and her heart doing somersaults.
Dane's inspection started at her heels. His slow intent perusal
moved up to her hips. He licked his lips, and her heart skipped.
Maybe he spent a second longer on her breasts than all the rest of
her until finally he met her gaze.

She was never sure if it was loathing or
lust that flashed in his eyes whenever he looked at her, and she'd
never ask for clarification.

“
Brooke,” he said, his
voice low and smooth.

And now their ritual was complete. So if
that moment of silence when he first looked at her, or vice versa,
made her heart pound, the flat tone he used to say her name doused
any lust or longing. He never greeted her, just uttered her name as
though that said more than enough. For such an infuriating man, he
was handsome. There was no justice in the world.

“
What's wrong with your
car?” she asked without preamble.

Dane walked forward until he stood within
reaching distance of her. His face was blank of any emotion, but
his eyes...

Lust or loathing?

Didn't matter if she wore a dress that
plunged low or grease-stained coveralls, an inscrutable heat always
simmered in his gaze when he looked at her.

“
You'll never know since I
won't let you touch my car.” His voice was modulated and
deep.

She fought the shiver that wanted to slide
down her spine. He was a dick who could be flirtatious, handsome,
nice and a few other adjectives that made her stomach flip when she
let herself think about him. Didn't change the important fact that
he was still a dick.

Then again, what could have been a simple
miscommunication on both their parts had turned into a verbal
battle, because they were both extremely stubborn.

Brooke turned to her friend. “And that's why
I don't like him. Nope, not reasonable, but neither is taking one
look at a woman and deciding she can't fix a car.”

Dane scoffed. “That's not why I decided you
couldn't fix my car, but it's a moot point. You won't touch mine.
Harp, nag all you want.”

“
Nag?” she whipped back at
him.

His expression turned haughty. “Does that
offend you?”

As mad as Brooke was, she
still wanted to ruffle his appearance a bit to make him more human.
It's partly why she went out of her way to piss him off. The other
part had everything to do with him saying misogynistic shit
like
harp
and
nag
,
because—of course—women never had legitimate complaints.

“
Offend?” she asked. “No.
Annoys me more than anything, because I expected better insults
from you.”

His gaze lit from the fight, and that, too,
could probably be a part of their ritual. He enjoyed their
bickering as much as she did. Was that sick and twisted? Probably.
She'd feel apologetic about it around the same time hell froze
over.