Page 7 of The Woman in the Garage

Until the door swung open to reveal the new owner.

A woman.

But, fuck, not just any woman.

The most gorgeous one I’d seen in a long fucking time.

She was all soft curves in a bright floral dress that was almost hilariously out of place in a garage.

Her golden blonde hair was left loose around her delicate, round face.

She’d been leaning over on the desk, staring hopelessly at the piles of paperwork, but her posture stiffened as she turned to find me standing there, her pretty light brown eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, hi,” she said, shaking off her clearly frazzled mood to offer me a megawatt smile. “Sorry, did we have an appointment? I’ve gotten a little turned around today. Trying to figure out the, uh, books. If you can call them that. My uncle kept most of his records in old paper ream boxes. In absolutely no order whatsoever.

“I mean, would it kill him to learn how to spreadsheet? Granted, I don’t know how to spreadsheet either, but I didn’t own a business that required them. I guess I need to learn how to spreadsheet, huh? Sorry,didwe have an appointment?” she asked, getting to her feet, making her skirt dance around her legs.

Suddenly, I was having all sorts of images flash across my mind. Like slamming the door, pressing her back against the wall, dropping down on my knees, and getting lost between her thick thighs, like suffocating myself with those perfect fucking tits of hers, like yanking down her panties and surging inside of her.

“No. Well, in a way. I have a standing appointment with Phil,” I explained, willing my cock to behave as she just stood there with all that pretty.

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry to tell you, but my Uncle Phil—“

“Is dead. Yeah, the shop manager said that. Just like that, in fact,” I told her, watching her roll her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her plump lips.

“I’ve come to find that David can be a bit…”

“Rude?” I supplied.

“I was going to say ‘blunt,’” she said. “Which can be a bit refreshing. Sometimes. But, yes, my uncle passed away.”

“And you inherited the garage?” I asked, waving a hand out.

“The garage, the house, a storage unit I’m starting to fear may be filled with more old files and keys that don’t appear to actually open anything.” Reaching into the desk drawer, she produced a ring of keys that would make any janitor jealous. “I mean… what is this? This is thethirdring I have found just like this.”

“He was a bit of a packrat, huh?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know what I found he had a collection of under his bed,” she said, nose wrinkling up. “Anyway, sorry,” she said, exhaling hard.

“No need to apologize.”

“What are we supposed to be having a meeting about, Mr.…”

“Grassi,” I supplied, watching to see if the name meant anything to her. “Santo Grassi.”

“Mr. Grassi,” she repeated.

“Santo,” I corrected, but only because I wanted to hear her sweet voice say my name. And not because it would help me imagine her moaning it while I was balls-deep ins—

Jesus Christ.

What was wrong with me?

“Santo,” she repeated. “I’m Dasha,” she said, holding her hand out for me to shake.

I didn’t need to know she smelled like fucking honeysuckle. Or that she had the softest skin I’d ever felt as I slid my hand into hers.

More fodder for those sexual fantasies, no doubt.

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