Wild Card by Lora Leigh
“We’re not hiring, and Rory will be here when he gets here. That’s all I know. Now take care of it.” She moved to lie back down, determined to finish the final tuneup of the sedan that the mechanics had neglected to inform her was sitting out back. Mike Conrad wasn’t the only one waiting on his vehicle.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He shook his head fiercely as she moved to push herself back under the car. “I can’t handle this dude, Belle. He’s like the Grim Reaper’s cousin or something. He’s not part of my job description, ya know? You deal with him.”
Sabella pushed back the anger, drawn more from her own impatience than Toby’s attitude. The boy was normally pretty stable and dealt with aggravated customers with a flair she envied.
“Just tell him to come back in the morning. Rory will be here . . .” She hung her head as he began shaking his head violently. “Fine.”
She struggled to her feet, picking up the creeper and propping it against the side of the garage wall as she grabbed a stained towel and began trying to rub the oil from her hands. After a few seconds, she tossed the rag back to the bench and stalked through the four-car holding bay to the office beyond.
They couldn’t afford a new mechanic, no matter how much she needed one to keep the garage profitable. She was going to lose her ass here, and she knew it. If she didn’t manage to straighten up the mess she had allowed to develop in those first horrific three years after her husband’s death, she was going to lose the garage, and her home. The benefits she had received just weren’t enough to save it all.
She couldn’t lose the home she and Nathan had shared. She’d worked three years to rebuild it. She couldn’t lose it.
God, she couldn’t lose that last connection to him. It was all she had left.
“Tell Danny I want that car finished and out of here this afternoon,” she ordered Toby as they neared the office. “Tell him we can finish the Carltons’ truck later this evening, but Jennie needs her car to get to work and it took too long to get those parts as it is. I have everything ready, it just needs going over and testing.”
“On my way.” Toby nodded before turning and loping over to the far side of the garage.
“And don’t run,” she muttered, knowing he wouldn’t pay attention to that order if he did hear her. He was like a puppy. All gangly legs and nervous energy.
And she hadn’t even asked him the employee wannabe’s name. She shook her head, pushing her fingers through her hair before jerking the office door open and coming to a hard, cold stop.
Arrogance shimmered off him. Dark blue eyes seared into her brain, glowing from a face that was sun bronzed and savagely hard. Flat cheekbones, a nose that was just a little off center, lips that were sensual but just a tad thin. A dark, short black beard covered his face, closely cropped and giving him a dangerous appearance. Long black hair was pulled back from his face and secured at his nape.
A shiver raced over her skin, a primal warning of danger, as she stared at him. He was lean and tall, but she bet the muscles beneath that black leather jacket, T-shirt, jeans, and riding chaps were like steel. Heavy boots covered big feet, and he stood staring her from beneath thick, too thick, silky black lashes.
This man was a predator. It was her first thought. Long, lean, and dangerous, the kind of man Sabella had learned to steer well clear of after her husband’s death. Once bitten, twice shy. She had learned her lesson about that air of danger, and she had no desire to revisit it.
He leaned casually against the desk, his palms flat on the surface as he watched her with predatory intent. For a moment, just a moment, she went back in time, to that day she had first pulled into the lot, her car overheating, her nerves frazzled because she was late for a job interview. It was hot, she was sweating in the late-summer Texas sun, cursing her move from Georgia and the Texas heat that seemed to take forever to get used to.
And standing in just that position had been Nathan Malone, the owner, and later her husband. His eyes had raked over her slowly, a smile tilting his sexy lips as his eyes, Irish eyes, brilliant, seductive, stole her heart.
She felt her mouth go painfully dry. Her hands were shaking, her stomach cramping, as she stared back at the stranger. She didn’t know this man, she didn’t want to know this man, but for a moment, just a moment, she glimpsed the past with him. A bittersweet, painful knowledge of love and loss and everything fate had denied her.
“There are no openings. Please leave.”
Okay, so that was really rude, but she was really busy too. And she didn’t need the headache she knew would come with this man.
“Rory assured me there was an opening for a mechanic.”
Oh God, that voice.
His voice was deep, raspy, almost guttural. It raked over her nerve endings and sent an edge of dark response. Damn, damn, damn. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need her body awakening now after so many years in a deep freeze. She sure as hell didn’t need it awakening for a man more dangerous and likely a hell of a lot harder than any other man she had ever known.
His voice was cool and filled with purpose, but the undercurrents were dark, hungry. She had never heard that in her husband’s voice, had never seen it in his eyes.
She turned back slowly, forcing herself to stare at his chin, the short clipped beard and mustache blurring his features. Were those scars?
No, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t care.
“Rory isn’t here.” She had to force herself to speak, nearly wincing at the raw sound of her voice. “And he doesn’t run the place. I do. There are no openings.”
He shifted. As though fascinated, Sabella glanced down, seeing the powerful lean thighs covered in faded denim and leather, the hard abs beneath the thin cotton shirt he wore. Boots covered big feet, a sturdy base for at least six feet four inches of hard male.
As her gaze moved back to his face, she watched as his eyes moved to the wide windows that looked out on the gas bays and parking lot. Several cars sat deserted beneath the hot, midday sun, awaiting attention. The gas pumps were empty, the blacktopped lot cracked and sporting several lumps of hearty grass. Yeah, so the place wasn’t looking so good, she thought, pushing back her frustration, her pain. But she was doing her best. And it looked a hell of a lot better than it had three years ago when she had dragged herself out of her grief enough to realize what she was losing.
“You’re doing a good job here, but if you want to survive, you need someone willing to do the job right, and to get the best out of the men working under you.” His gaze swung back to her, the blue of his eyes threatening to steal her breath again.
His voice was quiet, reasonable, but it sent a flare of fury racing through her system. How dare he be here, ruining the fragile balance she had found in her life with his blue eyes, his raspy voice. She lifted her chin defiantly, hating it, hating his eyes, and the weariness that seemed to fill them. And she refused to let herself care.
“I’m doing just fine, all by my lonesome, mister,” she assured him mockingly. She drew herself stiffly erect. “You’re a stranger here—”
“Ma’am, I’m stating a fact.”
Oh God . . . She wanted to scream at him, to beat at him for stealing her peace, for taking the fragile calm she had finally managed to build around herself with the unexplained response she could feel roiling inside her. “All I need is the job Rory promised.” He flashed a hard smile. “He is your partner, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “Look, mister—”
“Noah. Noah Blake.”
Noah. Irish. Go síoraí, I’ll love you forever. For a moment, the slightest wish whispered through her mind and she thought of Nathan.
He hadn’t loved her forever though. His need for danger, for the adrenaline rush and excitement, had carried him away from her, and he’d found death instead. Leaving her alone. Leaving her to survive without him for six heartbreaking years.
Now another Irish wildman was stepping into her life, trying to t
She opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared back at him as the old, driving fury consumed her once again. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly.
“I said no. Now leave. I have work to do and I just don’t have time for you.” She turned on her heel and stalked back into the garage, stemming the hollow pain that beat at her throat and moistened her eyes.
She was finally forgetting, she didn’t need to be reminded of Irish eyes, soul-stealing kisses, or promises broken.
Her husband was gone. He was dead, his body sealed in a government casket and lowered into a dark, open hole. She had watched them cover it, watched each shovelful of dirt as it sealed a reality she had fought to reject.
God, how she had loved him. His laughter, his voice, his big body and his temper.
She forced herself to breathe through the memories, to place one foot in front of the other and to walk away from her response to the man who uncovered those memories within her.
“Belle Malone.” A furious male voice sliced through her thoughts as she headed for the sedan she had been working on earlier, bringing her to a stop as she turned slowly toward the open garage doors and bit back a curse.
Ladies didn’t cuss, she reminded herself. No matter the provocation. And she was being provoked. God, why hadn’t she just stayed in bed this morning? Mike Conrad was a bull of a man. He’d been one of her husband’s friends, but now he was becoming a pain in her ass.
“Mike, we’re working on it.” She lifted her hand in greeting, praying he hadn’t been drinking. “I’ll have it ready in the morning.”
“That’s what that little bastard Rory has said for two weeks.” He stalked into the bay, ignoring the sign that warned customers to stay behind the dingy yellow line. “You said two weeks, no more.”
Sabella bit her tongue and reminded herself she couldn’t afford to piss him off too much. His bank held the note on the garage and on the house, and he had threatened more than once to make sure they foreclosed if she missed so much as the first payment.
Thinning blond hair was cut short, almost buzzed. Weak brown eyes were watering and bloodshot from liquor and his bloated, reddened face was twisted in rage. Great. She needed this like she needed the behemoth standing in her office right now.
“I still have today, Mike.” She pulled on patience she didn’t have. She couldn’t afford to piss him off; he could make paying off that loan incredibly difficult. Besides, he had been Nathan’s friend.
Kinda.
“Like hell.” His voice was surly, his broad, pitted face flushed ruddy red, as he neared her and the smell of liquor hit her in the face. “You finish that truck now, bitch, or you can kiss this business goodbye, you hear me? Wouldn’t Nathan be damned proud of your sassy little ass then? This garage was his pride and joy.”
Mike had definitely been drinking and his mood was as foul as any she had ever seen.
“Nathan is gone, Mike,” she reminded him, fighting for the calm she swore she wouldn’t lose. Mike had always seemed to blame her for Nathan’s death, for some reason. “How he would feel is beside the point.”
She drew herself stiffly erect, knowing her diminutive five-five frame had nothing on his six feet. He was stocky, his paunch had grown over the years, but the man Nathan had once called a friend had let the bottle and his own failures destroy him faster than her own pain had nearly destroyed the garage.
“Nathan should have kicked your ass out and put his place in dependable hands before he screwed up and got his ass blown away.” The cruel words struck at her heart, no matter how she fought to ignore them. “He should have known better than to trust a flaky little blonde to hold on to anything.”
Dammit to hell. She hated the thought of having Toby call the sheriff. There would be questions and paperwork and she didn’t have time for this crap.
“But he didn’t, Mike. And this flaky blonde is working as fast as she can.” She was aware of the mechanics gathering behind her and wanted to groan in frustration. She didn’t need this. “I’ll have your truck first thing in the morning. I have tonight, according to the contract. I’ll be on time.” She couldn’t afford not to be.
His bloodshot brown eyes raked over her insultingly. “He married him a piece of flashy pussy, I have to give him that.”
Sabella’s eyes narrowed as she tensed and ground her teeth to hold back a retort. This was going to be bad enough once gossip circulated. She didn’t need to make it worse, she reminded herself.
“Mr. Conrad, Ms. Malone said in the morning.” Toby stepped to her side, his voice vibrating with anger at the insult. “It will be ready.”
Mike’s gaze whipped to the boy as his lips titled in a snide little smile.
“You fuckin’ her too, kid? Piece of prime pussy like that needs a—” He never finished what he had to say, and not because Toby jumped for him.
Before the younger man could cover the three feet of distance a shadowed blur moved past them. Mike Conrad was jerked off his feet and literally thrown from the garage.
Sabella stared in shock at the stranger, Noah, seeing the fury pulsing in his face as he picked Mike up from the blacktop only to toss him against the convertible BMW he had driven into the lot.
One big hand latched around Mike’s bulging neck and, icy cold, murderously, Noah Blake began to squeeze.
“Stop.” Sabella forced herself to move, to run to the pair, her hands locking around Noah’s wrist as she stared into those cold, merciless eyes in horror. “You’ll kill him. He’s just drunk. Damn you, I said stop!”
Rage glittered in the dark blue depths, the promise of death shadowing and darkening the unusual color as his fingers tightened further, his lips twisting into a snarling grimace.
“Have you lost your mind?” She jerked at his wrist, screaming at him, desperate now as she heard Mike strangling behind her.
Sabella glared up at the stranger, seeing the predatory promise of death in his eyes as he stared down at Mike Conrad.
“Touch her again.” His voice was a gravelly sound of rage as he stared into Mike’s eyes. “And I’ll kill you.”
She felt his wrist relax as she saw the rage darken the brilliance of his gaze as it locked with hers. A muscle pounded heavily at his jaw as his lips flattened, his eyes flicking over her shoulder as Mike groaned heavily. The sound of Mike collapsing in the car was easily heard in the silence of the parking lot.
“Rory said the apartment over the garage was available.” His voice was guttural, low. “I’ll store my gear and finish this bastard’s truck myself or I can kill him now. Your choice.”
And he meant it.
Sabella shook her head in confusion as the BMW started up behind her, the tires screaming on its exit from the lot.
“Why?” she finally whispered, her voice hoarse as she tried to make sense of it all. Why this, why now? Why had fate thrown someone in her path guaranteed to destroy her, just when she was finally rebuilding her life?
“Choose.”
She released his wrist, realizing she was still gripping it with a strength she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Finger by finger, she forced herself to let him go. She couldn’t answer him, she couldn’t choose, but when she got her hands on Rory she was going to kill him.
Ignoring the shocked and surprised faces around her, she turned and moved slowly back to the garage. She had a job to do, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, let this interfere.
She didn’t need this.
She sat back down on the creeper and let it roll her back beneath the car she had been working on. A few more little tweaks and it should be finished. Just a little bit more.
She picked up the wrench on the cement floor beside her and went to work. If tears rolled from the corners of her eyes and into her hair, then she ignored them. If
Today, there was work to be done. When everyone else was gone, she’d pay Noah Blake for the day and send him on his way. It would hurt. She needed the money and the bank payment was due next week. If she had to, if there was no other choice, then she would sell some more of the jewelry her mother had left her to cover the rest of the payment.
One thing was for sure. Noah was going to have to go. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t handle her instant response to him, and she couldn’t handle the conflicting emotions that raged through her at the sight of him. There was something familiar and yet something too dangerous about him for her to get a handle on. Something about him that had made her feel again. Something more than the regret she had resigned herself to three years before. She had finished grieving three years ago; sometimes, now, she just regretted.
She didn’t notice the sob that tore from her chest at the thought, but the man standing by the car heard it. Heard it, and hated it.
Noah could still feel the rage coursing through him, burning through his mind like a haze of red. The sight of Mike, the sound of him, the vicious words that had poured from his lips when he spoke to Sabella. Noah had lost his mind. Even now, he wanted the other man dead. A lifetime of history, of friendship, was over that quickly. As far Noah was concerned, Mike was living on borrowed time.
He glanced down at the ground, and the sight of Sabella’s legs bent, feet braced on the floor, knees raised against the fender of the car, sent another sort of fury surging through him.
She had no business under there. No matter how damned sexy she looked with her jeans stained with oil and a smear of it on her chin and her cheek.
She was killing herself. Noah hadn’t missed the dark circles under her eyes, the weight she had lost, the haunted depths of her misty gray eyes. This wasn’t the woman he had left behind. There was no makeup on her surprisingly youthful face, her once honey-streaked light blond hair was a mix of burnished golds and dark blond now. He hadn’t even known she colored it. How had he not known that his wife dyed her hair?