Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(10)

Still, I hoped she would be okay. She didn’t strike me as helpless, exactly—she was obviously intelligent and probably always landed on her feet, but I definitely got the sense that she lacked some basic street smarts. The fact that she spoke perfect French wasn’t really going to help her in her post-debutante life. But I didn’t blame her for wanting to escape her family, especially if they really expected her to marry someone for his money. It sounded like a soap opera to me.

Then again, I thought as I tossed my dirty clothes in a laundry basket, I didn’t know that many super rich people. Maybe that was normal in their world. I mean, her middle name was Peacock, for Christ’s sake. I’d seen it on her license and nearly laughed out loud, but I hadn’t wanted to make her feel any worse. Hopefully, I could get her car fixed up and send her on her way without too much hassle.

Problem was, it wasn’t just a blown tire. The fluid I’d seen leaking onto the sidewalk earlier told me the MG’s hard brake line had probably rusted through. And getting parts for a 1971 MG wasn’t going to be quick or cheap. But I’d do the best I could for her.

I jumped into the shower and rinsed off the day’s grime and grit, wondering if she’d made it to the diner and who’s ear she was talking off there. It made me smile.

The girl had gumption, as my mother would say.

I admired what she was doing. It took guts to leave behind what you knew and start over somewhere else. I liked that she wanted to start her own business and was willing to work for it. And damn, she was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. I mean, she was a little bit crazy, and she talked way too much, but those big green eyes? Those full lips? That curvy little body? I kept thinking about what she felt like in my arms . . . and wishing it could have happened some other time, some other way.

A way that involved being naked in the dark, where I’d shock her sweet little rich girl sensibilities with my filthy mouth, my rough hands, and my big, hard—

I stopped myself before my thoughts went any further, turning off the shower before my hand wandered to my dick.

There was no point in fantasizing about it. Blair Peacock Beaufort did not look like the type of woman who’d be interested in one night of hot, dirty sex with her mechanic. Or with anyone, for that matter. She was undoubtedly pure vanilla between the sheets. She’d probably insist on wearing the white gloves to bed. Maybe even the tiara.

Then again, that might be kind of fun.





I woke up with a start—I’d heard something.

I lifted my head off the pillow in the dark and stayed completely still, my ears pricked up. At first, I heard nothing but crickets. I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand—it was just after midnight.

Then, through my bedroom window screen, I heard the sound again—it sounded like someone was opening and closing car doors in the lot. A drunk looking for spare change? Teenagers causing trouble in the dark? A thief attempting to make off with a client’s vehicle?

Not on my fucking watch.

Jumping out of bed, I threw on a pair of jeans and some boots, moving quickly and quietly down the stairs and out the door. Pausing only to lock the door behind me, I jogged around to the back of the building to approach the lot from the alley.

I scanned the shadowy lot from the back, seeing no one. Hearing nothing. But my skin was blanketed with gooseflesh in the heat—something wasn’t right. I could sense it.

Slowly, I walked toward the front of the lot, which was dimly lit by streetlamps. Movement caught my eye, and I turned my head sharply to the right.

A flash of white inside the MG.

My shoulders and neck lost their tension. What the fuck was she doing, trying to sleep in her car?

Running a hand through my hair, still damp from the shower, I wondered what to do. I didn’t want to scare her, but I couldn’t let her stay out here in the parking lot. As I approached the driver’s side window, I saw her trying to unzip her dress in the back. But she wasn’t having much luck, either because she couldn’t reach the zipper or the front seat of the MG was too small, and suddenly she dropped her forehead to the steering wheel and began banging it in frustration.

That’s when I tapped on the window.

She screamed, of course. I held up my hands and backed away from the glass. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

She put a hand on her heart and closed her eyes, breathing hard. Then she opened the car door and got out, looking embarrassed and guilty and maybe a little bit scandalized at the sight of me without a shirt on. I noticed she’d removed the tiara and let her hair down. It hung in long, messy waves past her shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I know I shouldn’t be here.” She eyeballed my bare chest, then quickly looked away.

“Why are you here? I thought you were going to find somewhere to stay.”

“Well, after I got something to eat at the diner, I tried calling both inns in town, but they were booked.” She looked me in the eye. “Truth be told, I can’t really afford their prices anyway. So I just came back.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Well, I can’t let you sleep in your car.”

“But I have nowhere else to go. Can’t you just pretend you don’t know I’m here?” she pleaded.