Page 5 of Ruthless Wars

“No, I said this tire. You can’t change this tire. And if you don’t want me to leer,” he drops his gaze, gesturing at my outfit, “maybe go for a little more demure and a little less evil temptress. I am human, after all.”

Pouting, I cross my arms, realizing too late I should have led with a squint.

“And that suggestive mouth isn’t helping.”

I scoff. “This isn’t seduction. I’m just trying to save my blazer from the irreparable harm of axle grease.”

“Oh.” He steps back to his car and returns with a lightweight windbreaker. “Here.”

He holds up the oversized jacket, letting me slip my arms in. If the massive sleeves dripping off me weren’t making me feel like a three-year-old, this guy zipping me up does.

“There,” he says, pleased and smiling down with golden flecks glinting in his eyes.

The sweetness almost makes me want to kiss him. But I don’t.

“Thanks,” I say, battling my rising heat with the distraction of tugging up the sleeves.

“Let me.” His big hands roll the sleeves gently up one arm, and then the other. “Better?”

“Better,” I say softly, smiling appreciatively as I admire his work, feeling the softness of the large sleeves as they slide back down. My smile widens when I see he’s zipped me up clear to my neck.

“Okay. Back to what I was saying,” he says. “I’m not being sexist when I say I know, without a doubt, you can’t change this tire.”

I cross my arms, amused at both his knowing tone and the way the too-long sleeves flop around. Cocking my head, I wait for him to explain.

“You’re driving a McLaren Spider.”

“I know that.”

“McLaren Spiders are ultra-compact and built for speed.”

“I know that too. But I’ve changed tires on sportsc—”

He presses a finger to my lips, lifting a knowing brow and scorching me with his body. “And they don’t have a spare.”

When he releases my mouth, I meekly say, “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Which leaves you with two options, temptress. Well, three. First, you can call a tow truck and pray to God Almighty that it doesn’t ding and scratch the crap out of your precious car.”

“Hmm. What’s option number two?”

“You could let me take you wherever you’re going and learn all about you, including everything from childhood aspirations to favorite foods. But I can’t let you in my car unless I know your full name and phone number. As a safety precaution, of course. And don’t try pulling a fast one. Whatever name you give me needs to be backed up by ID.”

“Really?”

“Better safe than sorry.” His innocent shrug is met with my devilishly coy grin.

“And three?”

With a sigh, he again heads back to his car, popping the trunk before reaching in and then softly slamming it shut. He waves a tall can at me. “Instant flat fixer. Terrible stuff. I don’t recommend it, but this and a few plugs will get you where you’re going, assuming you’re not crossing several states to flee the law or anything. But the tire will be forever lost if we use this stuff on it.”

I look at the car, then back at the gorgeous knight in shining armor so intent on helping me, and struggle over my decision.

“What do you say, emptress? How about you let me give you a lift?”

Chapter Three

Margot

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