Page 3 of The Mechanic's Virgin

I reach out slowly–soslowly–and take her by the back of the neck with my grease-stained hand. She inhales sharply as I pull her toward me. My cock is throbbing with desire. I’ve never wanted a woman more in my life.

I bring my mouth toward hers…

Closer…soclose…just a hair away…

And I feel a tremble ripple through her.

“No,” I whisper. “You’re not ready.”

She blinks like she’s shaking away a dream. “I–what?!”

It nearly causes me physical pain to pull away from her, but I do. Slowly. Inch by inch, until I’m looking her dead in the eyes. “You’re shaking, princess. You’re afraid of me.”

“No, I’m not–” she starts to protest, but I silence her with a look.

“It’s all right. You need time. You can have it. But not a lot.” She stares back at me, a blank expression on her face. Her chest rises and falls fast with her heavy breaths.

“I–I should go,” she finally whispers, reaching for her door. I stop her.

“Your number.”

“What?” she stammers.

I hand her my phone. “Put your number in my phone so I can call you to come pick up your car.”

“Right.” She almost smiles. “My car. Almost forgot.”

I watch her delicate fingers as she enters her number into my phone. It’s been years since I’ve had a girl do that. Normally, I don’t have time for the fairer sex. I’ve got a business to focus on, and all they bring is trouble.

But Grace is different. I can already see that.

She nearly drops my phone handing it back to me, but I take it from her and lean over her to open the door. Her skirt flies up when she slides out, revealing her peach of an ass, barely concealed behind a tiny pair of pink lace panties.

My cock jerks with desire. What I wouldn’t give to sink my teeth into that tender flesh.

And as I watch her walk up the path, the gates opening and closing behind her, I make a promise to myself.

That girl is mine.

Not for a one-night-stand. Not for a fun little weekend.

Forever.

2

GRACE

The door slamsshut behind me, but the pounding of my heart is twice as loud. I’m gulping down breaths like I just ran a marathon.

What in the world just happened?

Nash. That’s what happened.

Big, rough, callus-handed, greasy-fingered, foul-mouthed Nash. I can still feel the way he touched my neck, the way his gaze felt as it moved over my body. He tried to hide it, but I saw him checking me out. I’m notthatnaïve.

He’s so tall and so broad, with muscles that look like they were built in his garage. And God, that voice. Deep, rough, and dripping with testosterone. He sounded like he wanted to eat me right up.

No one’s ever looked at me the way he did. None of the boys from school, or any of the bodyguards my father hired. None of his business partner’s sons, or even my creepy algebra tutor, John, who used to “accidentally” brush my thigh under the table when we were studying.

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