Page 8 of Driven By Desire
“You were the reason I was even in that damn hospital.” Incensed, Krish let go of Pooja’s hand to stab a finger at her. “I never asked you to play Florence Nightingale. By the way, compassionate people don’t jab others in their wounds.”
“I was making a point!” Hissing now, Max took a step closer putting them practically toe to toe.
“The same one you were considering earlier with the tool at your feet? Have you ever tried conversation? That’s what most people use to make a point.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat had Krish suddenly recalling his surroundings. It took him a second to realize the entire garage had gone silent and was watching the confrontation with bated breath. The collective gaze held a healthy mixture of censure and surprise. He was pretty sure the censure was meant only for him.
“I suppose that means the two of you already know each other?” Her father’s quiet question had Max jolting and taking a step back.
“Barely.” Unaware that the shaky hand she drew across her face left a streak of grease across her cheekbone, she turned away from them and walked back to her tool box. All around them, murmurs picked up again and tools clanged as the other employees got back to work.
Packing her tools away carefully, she kept her head bent over her task to hide her furious, unshed tears.
“I’m sorry.” The quiet apology caused the first tear to slip through the frame of her eyelashes. Brushing it away angrily, she clicked her tool box shut and stood to face the men.
“I don’t care.”
“Okay. That’s enough.” Her father’s voice sliced through the tension that swirled around them as their gazes caught and held. “We’re going to go home, sit down and talk about this calmly. Whatever this is.” With that, he held his hand out for Pooja and said, “Come with me, sweetheart. I have caramel custard for dessert.”
CHAPTER 4
Krish didn’t have an option but to follow the older man since he’d all but kidnapped his sister. Ignoring the stiff figure next to him, he reached the cottage and waited impatiently for her to enter first. Putting his hand out in time to stop the door from slamming shut and clipping him in the face, he tightened his tenuous hold on his temper. By the time he entered the drawing room, his sister was slurping up dessert and chatting animatedly with Mr. Sheridan while Max stalked off through a door to what he presumed was a bedroom.
Interrupting the intense conversation on the merits of chocolate over butterscotch, Krish said, “Sir, I’m sorry but this is not helping. This deal is obviously not going to happen.”
“Why is that so obvious?”
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Krish muttered, “She’s a child.”
“Hardly.” Amusement permeating his voice, her father said, “She’s 24 and age doesn’t preclude talent.”
“It does preclude experience.”
“I have plenty of experience.” She’d changed into skinny jeans that clung to her like it was cutting off the circulation in her legs and a red, overlarge sweatshirt that slipped off one shoulder. Shoving the sleeves back in a gesture ripe with temper, she strode in and took the seat across from him. “I have lived and breathed cars, vintage in particular, since I was ten years old. I don’t claim to know everything but what I don’t know I can find out.”
“Did you know you have grease on your face?” It was a cheap shot but it helped him feel better about his ridiculous reaction to the sight of that smooth, bare shoulder.
To her credit, she didn’t react beyond a slight flush that crept up her cheeks. “I’m a mechanic. On any given day, I’m more likely to be covered in grease than in perfume.”
“Would either of you like to tell me what the source of all this animosity is?”
When there was only silence, he wiggled his eyebrows at Pooja making her laugh. “Okay then. How did you hear of us, Mr. Mehra?”
Flushing slightly under that steady gaze, Krish replied, “A friend of mine, a vintage car enthusiast, referred me. He’d read about Sheridan’s and their various high profile projects in an automobile magazine. I believe you were the cover story.”
“Wewere.” The other man corrected. “You should read the article someday. It will allay all your fears. I’ve spent more than thirty years in this field and I certainly have the experience to go with the gray hair. In those thirty years, I’ve acquired a certain reputation when it comes to cars. It’s that reputation that brought you to my doorstep today.”
After a moment’s silence, he leaned forward and looked directly at Krish. “I would stake my reputation on the fact that when it comes to restoring your MG, you couldn’t do better than my daughter. She has talent, skill and the experience to do not just a competent job but a stellar one. I don’t speak as her father but as her mentor.”
“That is the last I have to say on the topic. You’re welcome to make your decision, one way or the other. As you so kindly pointed out, it is your money.”
Before Krish could say anything, he stood up. “I’m going to get you both some caramel custard. Play nice while I’m gone.”
In the silence that fell, he wondered how long it would be before he could politely excuse himself. He knew his reaction might look irrational to them but there was no way he was entrusting his father’s pride and joy to a juvenile, irresponsible tomboy who thought climbing trees was a talent! The car meant too much to him to even contemplate trusting someone like her with it. Squashing the memory of her kindness at the hospital, kindness didn’t fix cars, he fixed his gaze on the door leading to the kitchen willing her father to come back quickly.
“I like your hair.” Pooja’s soft comment had his head whipping around. It was rare for his sister to start a conversation nowadays. Usually she communicated via grunts and glares.
“Thank you.” Smiling, Max leaned forward, “Yours is lovely too.”
