Page 66 of The Millionaire's Mechanic

Panting and covered in sweat, George let her head fall back on the surface of Rainer’s desk. Her hands were limp, legs dangling over the side.

The unplanned bout of desk sex had started after dinner when Rainer had gotten a call from one of his subordinates. The issue had been a minor one, but it had allowed Georgia to watch Rainer in work mode.

Curling up in one of the chairs opposite the desk, Georgia drank in the sight of him. It slowly dawned on her that he was a little pissed over whatever the call was about. Unlike so many employers who would rant and rave, Rainer kept his cool. But he wasfirm.

When his speech grew downright clipped, her female parts clenched.

Shit. It’s true.Power was an aphrodisiac. Except it wasn’t his position as the boss that was getting her wet, more like the take-charge, no-nonsense attitude that had gotten him there.

Deciding that being a female stereotype was something she could live with as long as it was Rainer, she waited until he was off the phone, his work problem solved. Then she jumped him.

What followed ticked off some major boxes on their sexual to-do list.

“It’s not the geode coffee table, but this is good, too,” he murmured afterward, sweaty and incredibly pleased with himself. He slid his hands down the inside of her legs, stroking the silk of her inner thighs.

Too sexually sated to move, Georgia watched the lights of the city beyond the windows when Rainer went to the bathroom to clean up.

He returned a minute later with a wet washcloth. Humming a nonsensical version of ‘Camp down races’ he made her giggle as he cleaned her up. She was starting to regain her strength when he disappeared a second time, presumably to toss the washcloth in the laundry chute downstairs.

She had just discovered the chute day before—and it was already her favorite feature of the apartment. Georgia had been excited for her dad to have one, too, but it turned out to be a feature exclusive to the penthouse suites. Rainer told her the entire apartment had the option to use the same laundry service at a discount—and he’d signed Ephraim up.

That sort of high handedness would have annoyed her in another person, but she really liked that Rainer took care of Ephraim. And if Ephraim believed that the service was included as an amenity all the better…

Mostly recovered, Georgia was starting to worry about the paperwork beneath her. She forced herself to sit up, knocking a manila folder onto the floor in the process. Wincing, she hopped off the desk and bent to pick up the spilled documents—freezing when she saw the picture underneath the stapled message.

The woman in the photograph was drop-dead gorgeous, an amazon goddess with the most perfect afro she had ever seen.

Dressed in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, the woman was standing on a busy street, talking to a man in aviator glasses who was almost as imposing and perfect as she was. This paragon had his hand on her lower back. The black-and-white shot was a still from a surveillance camera, but it was in high definition and close enough that she could see every perfect detail of the woman’s face.

Georgia didn’t need to read the note attached to the picture to know this was the mysterious Elaine, the woman who had hurt Rainer.

Her beauty is a weapon,she reminded herself, her stomach flip-flopping and tying itself into knots. But it was impossible not to compare herself to the stunning woman in the picture. Unable to stop, she flipped through the rest of the folder, which included more pictures of varying quality as well as reports on when and where the woman had been sighted.

There were other photographs as well—all men who were bruised and battered, including one who had to be dead.

Her blood iced over.

“The dead guy is a murderer.” Rainer’s voice came from just beside her. “He was part of a white supremacist gang that’s left a trail of bodies behind them. Rumor had it he was responsible for ninety percent.”

Startled, she glanced at him. He held out his hands. Smoothing down her dress, she closed the folder, avoiding his eyes as she handed it back to him.

“No, Georgia.” She looked up to find him still holding his hand out to her.

“Oh.” Taking it, she let him guide her to the couch against the wall.

“I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” he explained, tapping the folder in his lap. When he wrapped his arms around her, something in her broke. Suddenly, she was clinging to him.

“She could have killed you.”

He leaned back on the couch, taking her with him. “Had I been what these men were—criminals and degenerates—then yes, I might have ended up dead.”

“Are all her other victims bad guys?” she asked, gesturing to the folder.

“Most, yes. Although, I have a few reports of people like me who had information she needed. None of those people were seriously injured. In most instances, she managed to get what she needed without incident. I have a feeling she rarely has to resort to drugging anyone. But I had excellent securitybeforeI landed on her radar, corporate espionage being a real concern for someone in my line of work.”

He opened the folder, then angled the picture at the top of the pile in her direction.

“Most of those came from this man,” he said, tapping the woman’s impressive companion. “He was a DEA agent who came to see me when he was tracking her. He even arrested her briefly, but he was forced to let her go for lack of evidence.”

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