In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(2)
In a word: art.
It made the work he’d done restoring his vintage 1952 Harley-Davidson FL look like amateur hour.
And just when he thought he couldn’t be any more blown away, the sound of grinding metal slowly died down and a young woman emerged from behind the bike with a grinder in one hand and a metal clamp in the other.
He nearly swallowed his own tongue.
This couldn’t be…
But obviously it was. Because the instant the woman caught sight of them she squealed, clicked off the music pouring out of the speakers of an old-fashioned boom box, and dropped both tools on the bike lift before jumping into Bill’s arms, hugging him tight and kissing his cheek with a resounding smack that sounded particularly loud in the sudden silence of the shop.
This was Rebecca “Rebel” Reichert, Wild Bill’s little sister.
Little being the operative word. If she stood two inches over five feet Frank would eat his biker boots for dinner.
He didn’t quite know what he’d expected of a woman who ran her own custom chopper shop, but it wasn’t long, blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, intense brown eyes surrounded by lush, dark lashes, and a pretty, girl-next-door face that just happened to be his own personal weakness when it came to women.
Something about that wholesome, all-American thing always managed to bring him to his knees.
Well, hell.
Bill finally lowered her to the ground, and she came to stand in front of Frank, small, grease-covered hands on slim, jean-clad hips. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to stand up straighter.
It was probably because she had the same unyielding look in her eye that his hard-ass drill sergeant always had back when he’d been in Basic.
“So.” She tilted her head until her ponytail hung down over her shoulder in a smooth, golden rope. “You must be the indomitable Frank Knight. Billy has told me so very little about you.”
And that voice…
It was soft and husky. The type that belonged solely in the bedroom.
“Everyone calls me Boss,” he managed to grumble.
“I think I’ll stick to Frank,” she said with a wink. And for some reason, his eyelid twitched. “After all, there can be only one boss around here, and I’m it. Now, I hear you want to get into the business of building bikes?”
“I’m considering it.” He couldn’t help but notice the way her nose tilted up at the end or the way her small breasts pressed against the soft fabric of the paint-stained, long-sleeved T-shirt she wore.
Kee-rist, man, get a grip.
“Well, then.” She nodded, pushing past him as she made her way toward the front door, “let’s go take a look at that bike you brought with you and see if you have any talent at all.”
For a split second, he let his eyes travel down to the gentle sway of her hips before forcing himself to focus on a point over her head as he followed her back through the various machinery. Bill was right behind him, which helped to keep his eyes away from the prize…so to speak. Because the last thing he wanted was to get caught ogling the guy’s kid sister.
Talk about a no-no of epic proportions. Especially if he didn’t fancy the idea of finding one of Bill’s size-eleven biker boots shoved up his ass.
Once they reached the first set of glass doors, she pulled a thick pair of pink coveralls off a hook on the wall. Balancing first on one foot then the other, she stepped into the coveralls and zipped them up before snagging a bright purple stocking cap from a second hook and pulling it over her head.
She looked ridiculous. And feminine. And so damned cute.
He gritted his teeth and reminded himself of three things. One, she was way too young for him. Two, if things worked out, then despite what she thought now, he was going to be her boss. And three, he’d made a promise not to—
“How much money are you thinking of investing?” she interrupted his thoughts as she pushed through the double doors and into the vestibule.
As much as it takes…“We’ll talk more about that later.” He held his breath, waiting to see how she’d respond to both his authoritative tone and his answer. It was a test of sorts, to determine if they had any hope of working together.
She regarded him for a long second, her brown eyes seeming to peer into his head. Then she shrugged, “Suit yourself.”
When she opened the outer door, he once again had to dip his chin against the icy wind. The three of them slogged through the snow to the small, enclosed cargo trailer hitched to the back of his Hummer, and he fished in his pocket for the keys with fingers already numb from the cold. Once he opened the trailer’s back door, she didn’t wait for an invitation to jump inside.
He and Bill were left to follow her up and watch as she walked around his restored bike before squatting near the exhaust.
“You do all the work yourself?” she asked.
The bike he’d been so proud of thirty minutes before seemed shoddy and unimaginative by comparison.
“Yes,” he admitted, amazed he actually felt nervous. Like maybe she wouldn’t want to work with him.
“Your welding is complete crap,” she said, running a finger along a weld he’d thought was actually pretty damned good. “But it’s obvious you’re a decent mechanic, and that’s really what I need right now, more decent mechanics. Plus,” she stood and winked, “it might be nice to have a big, strong dreamboat like you around the place day-in and day-out. Something fun to look at when my muse abandons me.”