Flirting With Disaster (3 page)

The bell dinged as someone pushed open the
door. He glanced up, his heart jumped into his throat, and then it
stayed there.

Dammit.

He should have known the meeting wouldn't be
simple. He should have also known that Naomi would construe his
silence as agreement that Brooke should be a part of the
session.

Naomi and Brooke were friends. Likely best
friends. He'd seen them together and often, along with Peyton
Tanner—the mayor's daughter. Naomi would do what was best for her
friend. Dane was stuck with her loyalty. Dammit.

Since Brooke hadn't seen him yet, he
straightened and braced himself for another round of bickering.

She suddenly stopped, her head whipping
toward him. She sucked in a slow breath, something she always did
whenever they looked at each other. He knew that shocked feeling,
as though the sight of him stunned her breathless. That was a small
recognition he didn't want to acknowledge, and he'd tried for a
year to ignore it.

Her gaze narrowed. “What are you doing
here?”

She'd tied the sleeves of her coveralls
around her waist. The white tank top beneath it hugged her full,
round breasts. His gaze zeroed on her nipples pressing against the
soft material. Every damn time he tripped up on her simple, yet
telling, physiological reaction to him. Maybe Brooke was always
cold. Maybe anger naturally turned her on. But, fuck, he was a man.
He had to have some sort of fondness for nipples that always beaded
in his presence.

His dick hardened at the erotic sight, and
an invisible hand squeezed his throat. She was the last woman on
earth he should be sporting a wood for.

He shifted and hoped the damn thing would
die down. Didn't help. Her dark brown skin and light brown eyes
complimented the simple femininity of her soft features. Even
knowing that her lush lips would soon form into an insult, the
attraction burning in his chest refused to ebb.

His mind blanked and only a single word
mattered. “Brooke.”

She stepped forward, her eyes still narrowed
on him. “Naomi,” she said darkly. “I'm going to choke her.”

“
She's being economical.
Surprising for someone who works for a politician.” He put up his
hand to stem whatever biting remark she had in her arsenal, and
then he gestured to the chair across from him. “We might as well
talk since she plans to kill two birds with one stone.”

She glanced at the papers on the table and
then at him before settling across from him. “Something about the
library.”

“
What?”

“
You proposed something
that has to do with the library. She countered with the calendar
again. Am I close?”

“
Pretty much.” He nodded
toward the stack of papers on the table. “Getting authors to wave a
fee is a huge deal when they drop in for a reading or book signing.
Sometimes that price is too much for a library, likely way too much
for ours. If I approach authors as a bookseller, they might be more
than happy to do an event at no cost. The library gets to count
visiting guests as patrons. I sell the books the author moves.” He
paused. “What are you doing here?”

“
Not a bad set up.” She
sounded impressed while ignoring his question. “What else would you
want a kick back for? Not sure, but you might be able to get access
to withdrawn titles to sell in the used section of your
store.”

“
Maybe. I'd have to look at
the fine print,” he said, surprised at the speed her mind
worked.

He didn't doubt her intelligence, but there
was knowing one’s field, and then there was knowing someone else's.
In the back of his mind he noted they hadn't argued once yet during
the conversation. How long could they sustain this begrudging
peace? He often wondered that and then reminded himself her soft,
curly hair hid horns.

“
What are you getting out
of this?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder to the door,
sighed, then looked at him again. “With enough time and the right
parts, I can make any car run. The only reason she mentioned this
calendar is because I was bitching about my numbers on Friday. She
gets shark-like when she's in a helpful mood.” Brooke crossed her
arms and settled back into her chair like him. She assessed him for
another moment before adding, “Fixing up classics is part car porn
and part advertisement. Although I should be angry at her, I can't
be. Life kicked her in the gonads when her husband left her, and
she's learned to kick back.”

He couldn't help but smile at that. “Classic
cars are porn for you?”

She smiled back. “It's the simplicity. When
you pop a hood now there's all kinds of stuff underneath it.” She
moved her hands as though that could better describe her meaning.
“There was a time all you had was an engine and the road. Makes my
heart pitter-patter. I care about how shitty classic cars are for
the environment until I hear a 1962 Mustang's engine rev. For a
moment, I forget, and there's just me and that growl.”

Dane's shoulders
tightened,
and he tried not to be aroused
by her description. One, it was weird. Two, it was weird, but her
voice had gone husky and her gaze had softened. He balled his fists
to keep from reaching across the table and dragging her to his
mouth. It took another second for him to suck in a steadying breath
and another just to speak. She'd watched him the whole time with a
confused but curious expression.

He cleared his throat. “And you're hoping if
you fix up all these imaginary cars business will bustle. Not just
from people in this town, but all over.”

“
Of course.”

She was honest to a fault. He couldn't help
but doubt, for a second, he had reacted in a way that gave her
every right to dress him down.

He shook his head. “My car won't be
enough.”

“
I have a contact...” She
shifted and just looked shifty as hell while she did it. “But I'd
rather get majority of the cars from Tanner Creek. This town is
small. You trusting me with your car will make one hell of a
difference.”

“
Why?”

“
Everyone knows we hate
each other,” she said.

His chin lifted up, because what he felt for
her only created self-loathing. She reminded him of his ex—the kind
of ex that can change a world view and fuck you up a little in the
process. His dick should be flaccid at the similarities, and no
amount of naked flesh should change it. But, nope, because the
world was an unfair jackass.

“
I wouldn't say hate,” he
said.

“
Semantics.”

Her gaze strayed down to Miss Christopher.
The older woman's eyes were wide and her mouth partially open.
Though she sat near the cash register, clutching a coffee cup,
there was no doubt she paid attention to their every word.

She said, “Before the end of today, everyone
will know we had a meeting to talk about this. I still want to
choke Naomi, but I can't fault her for being sharp.”

He blinked and took in the coffee shop
again. It wasn't filled to the brim, but it was filled with the
right people if you wanted gossip to spread around fast. The midday
sun filtered in and brightened the shiny equipment behind the
counter. Hell, that light shone on all the curious faces pretending
they weren't eating up every word exchanged.

Dane was backed into a corner. He had to
take the truce or people would think he couldn't put aside his own
reservations for the community. “You're right. She's damn good. Is
she even going to show up?”

“
What time is
it?”

He told her and she nodded. “She'll come in
the next twenty minutes, with apologies about being late. She’ll
say she should have texted us both about the change in plans.
She'll smile and be sweet. If you are watching for it, there will
be a gleam in her gaze. I blame Peyton.”

He laughed at the proud but sour note in her
voice. “Peyton has nothing to do with this.”

“
She has everything to do
with this,” Brooke insisted. “She knocked over the first domino.
For months, she's told Naomi the mayor will take notice if she
takes more initiative. Now here we are talking about a charity
event.”

Getting the two people in
town who argued for shits and giggles to agree? On
anything
? Yeah. That was
something Naomi should put on her resume. Better still if she could
get both his project for the library and the charity event off the
ground successfully.

He glanced at Brooke. He didn't doubt she
still hated him for that perceived slight over a year ago, but
she'd work with him. How could he refuse without shooting himself
in the foot? He couldn't.

Not once had they fought.

She was smart, engaging, funny and even
while covered in grease and wearing the most shapeless outfit, she
made his blood travel south. This conversation had to be a fluke,
Dane reassured himself.

He offered his hand. Brooke's brows rose at
the gesture. He waited, and finally she sighed, reaching across the
invisible divide. They didn't have the details ironed out, but it
didn't matter. They were going to be partners for however long it
took. They'd have to be civil, which was not quite the same as
nice. They'd likely have more conversations where he would forget
that she should be the last woman he'd let get under his skin.

Yet her hand felt so delicate and small in
his. His sex stirred again. Ah. And there was the unruly attraction
he felt whenever near her. Hell, whenever he looked at her. He
recognized all the earmarks for disaster, and refused to fall face
first into it.

She exhaled again, her face flushed with
color. “To being civil with each other?”

He ran his thumb over her wrist and paused
it atop her racing pulse. Dane couldn't help but be aroused by that
simple fact that she suffered from the same attraction that plagued
him. Their chemistry despite their war of words pissed her off and
that's usually why she went prickly with him.

He didn't know why, told himself he didn't
care to know either, but her skin was soft and warm against
his.

Being civil was the least of his
problems.

He chuckled. “Civil. Or something like
that.”

CHAPTER THREE

Car ten was in no better shape than all the
rest they had looked at since that morning. It was now at the tail
end of the afternoon. Dane made a sound of frustration and stuffed
his hands into his pockets.

Brooke didn't even bother to glare at him as
they waded through the waist-high grass. The front of the Falcone
property probably resembled some lawn geek’s idea of heaven. The
three acres in the back were a different story. Apparently, they
cared about the way the world saw them. Yet the Falcones were
willing to face embarrassment for a good cause. He liked the older
couple for that alone.

The same couldn't be said about their
mechanic. Her contempt for them was evident.

Brooke circled the car, her hand running
over the rusted black paint. “1971 Dodge Challenger convertible.
I'll save you the really over-the-top details. I can’t believe they
just let this jewel rot in their backyard.” She scoffed.

Once she stood next to him again, she took
out her notepad, jotting down whatever she might need for the
detailing. He couldn't see what she did when she looked at an old
car. None of that mattered, because this one might be shit under
the hood too. Dane sighed.

She muttered, “If all you were going to do
was breathe down my neck and make frustrated noises you could have
stayed home.”

Home. Yeah. Sounded damn good after eight
hours of this shit. “You know I can't.”

Brooke stuck the notepad into her back
pocket. Instead of her usual uniform, she wore a tight black shirt
and jeans. It was fucking torture to look at her soft, rounded
curves and know he'd never get to touch them.

“
Why can't you go home?”
she asked with genuine curiosity.

He just stared at her for a moment until the
question could sink in. Had had to get his head out of his pants.
“Let's see. Naomi, who I'm starting to think is either the second
coming or the devil in disguise, came into the coffee shop thirty
minutes late, all smiles, and convinced us it was the best thing if
we're seen as a team in public.”

Brooke snorted. “She was wearing a blue
dress.”

“
You're a Mosley
fan?”

“
I had a phase.” She rolled
her shoulders. “But back to my point. That meeting was a week ago.
Since then, I’ve come up with two theories for why you keep coming
with me.”

Her brain moved a mile a minute, and most of
the time so did her mouth when she talked shit to him. Curious, he
asked, “And they are?”

“
You didn't think I could
be polite.” She shook her head and lifted the hood of the
car.

“
You have the tendency to
tell people to fuck off in a nice way.” He picked off a piece of
grass and twisted it in knots. “I wasn't worried about
that.”

“
Only people who deserve
it.”

He tossed the blade, and stuffed his hands
back into his pockets. “And since our first and very memorable
meeting, what have I done to deserve it?”

And then Brooke did the one thing that had
put him on edge and turned his fairly affable mood into shit. Every
single time. For all ten cars. She leaned against the frame and
bent over into the car. The blood in his head whooshed out. He
balled his hands, unable to look anywhere else but at that perfect
and lush heart shape.

At this point he could almost be
philosophical about the conflicting need he felt when it came to
her. He needed her to not speak—not another word, ever. And he
needed her to bend over and make soft little sounds of approval,
not just when she stood in front of a car.