Page 12 of Vegas Baby

“You’re changing the tire. In a suit? It’s like 110 degrees outside. And the highway patrol recommends not changing a tire on a major highway,” she said, amusement threading her tone.

“We’re not on a major highway and I know how to change a tire. I’m not incompetent,” he snapped, insulted by her lack of faith in him. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hooked the collar on the headrest coat rack behind her seat. Back in the day, he and his friends used to steal rims for money, not something to be proud of but he couldn’t change his past nor would he explain himself to her.

“I never said you were. I was making an observation,” she said, lowering her glasses. “You’re going to ruin your suit.”

He shook his head. “Not if I take it off first.” Removing his tie, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt and stripped it off, hanging it next to his jacket. He’d worked on cars most of his life and in his free time, had rebuilt an engine. Not that he had any free time of late. The agency was making a name for itself, which made it imperative that he keep Veer. If word got out, it would show a sign of weakness and he’d striven for years never to be seen in an inferior light. Shoulders slumping, he opened the car door.

“You’re still wearing your pants,” she pointed out, peering at him over the rim of her sunglasses.

She wasn’t going to let this go. Stubborn to a fault. He stepped out, shutting the door once more. Two could play at that game. He leaned into the open window. “Not for long.”

Raina climbed out of the car and stopped in mid-stride. Swallowing heavily, she gripped the pencil in her hand. “You’re seriously changing your pants on the side of the road?

“This is an expensive suit and my dry cleaner will kill me if I get grease on it.” Clad in a pair of black boxer briefs which showcased his nice ass, Howler pulled on a pair of worn jeans from his suitcase. “What does it matter? There’s nobody here to see.”

I’m here. She tried not to gawk at the breadth of his shoulders exposed by the form fitting white ribbed tank. The tight fabric hugged his torso, reminding her of the morning she’d woken up next to him in bed. The humiliation rushed back, along with another emotion she dare not contemplate.

After buttoning his pants and slipping on his shoes, he reached into the trunk. “Looks like we lucked out. It’s a full spare, not one of those mini tires.”

Raina adjusted her sunglasses and watched while he hefted the heavy rubber tire from the trunk, the muscles of his arms and chest bunching at the weight. Those same arms had slipped around her waist in the hotel room, his body pushing hers into the mattress. She waved a hand before her face, flustered by the image for more reasons than mortification. He squatted down before the tire, the denim hugging his ass while he removed the hubcap.

Her pulse picked up at the sight and she almost wanted him to put his suit back on.

Almost.

Okay, she wasn’t dead. She could appreciate and acknowledge he had a nice body. A really nice body. Men admired women all the time without an issue. Why couldn’t women admire men on a base level? Because this wasn’t any man, but her husband, and she’d be asking for trouble if she let their relationship be anything but professional.

But it was tempting.

The car cast some shade on where he knelt, a relief to the oppressive heat. She retrieved two of the bottles of water from the case in the back seat, wishing she could immerse herself in the cool liquid. Three minutes in the sun and she was already delusional. Yeah, blame it on the sun. She set a water bottle next to the tire iron before taking a drink from her own.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a drink of water and resealing the lid. “I swear I just dried out walking outside in this heat.”

“Of course, if we’d called road side assistance, we could be sitting in the air-conditioned car.” She propped the suitcase on its side, and sat down on the hard plastic, needing to do something more productive than stare at him.

“For God knows how long. I’ve got this.” He fitted the tire iron over the lug nuts and began to loosen each one, muscles straining under the pressure. The tank clung to his pecs, the veins on his forearms popping.

She sipped at her water; her mouth unusually dry as she enjoyed the view. Good lord, what a pathetic fool she was, ogling him. Clearing her throat, she focused on the flat terrain beyond the road. “Luckily, I’ve never had a flat tire. And if I did, I wouldn’t be changing it on my own.” Maybe it was a guy thing. No, she knew women who would have changed it themselves. She wasn’t one of them. She didn’t like doing things she wasn’t good at.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Because I don’t,” she said, curious to the slight bite to his tone. Granted, she worked in a heavily dominated male profession and she found herself in the company of many attractive athletes on a daily basis. While not unusual for her to be asked out, Sam was the only athlete she’d ever agreed to go out with. She preferred a professional with a business plan to someone whose career could end with one vicious sack. Sam had both. While smart and quick-witted, he owed a huge part of his success to Howler because Sam wasn’t a pushover but, in many ways, he was too nice, not that anyone could be too nice. Howler possessed the cunning and the bravado to wade through the bullshit of the game. The perfect wingman and tough negotiator.

“Then who is Trent?” Howler pulled the tire off and rolled it to the side.

“He’s my friend, not my boyfriend. Do you have a girlfriend? Oh wait, that’s a stupid question. You don’t have girlfriends. You have dates,” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Not entirely true. Occasionally, I get married.” He flashed a sardonic grin and hefted the spare tire into place. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Dirt smeared across his smooth skin and he glanced down at his hands covered in grime, cursing. “Kind of puts a damper on the entire dating thing. Unless my wife is into threesomes, then I can arrange that.”

A flush unrelated to the heat raced up her neck and she adjusted her long skirt over her knees. Focus, Raina. “I’m sure you could and no, not happening, at least not with wife number one.”

He cocked one strong eyebrow, a growing tilt to his lips. “How do you know your wife number one?”

“Lucky guess. Unless you have something to confess? Any other wives I can swap stories with?”

Howler shook his head, his dark hair brushing his forehead before he pushed it back. “No, no other wives. Not even a fiancée hidden in the mix. I like my relationships like I like my steaks, rare.”

“Ha, ha, you’re so funny. But seriously, have you ever been in love with someone to the point where you thought she might be the one? You’re in your early thirties and have been around the proverbial block as they say.” He scowled and she pressed her lips together. From his expression, he didn’t like the question.

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