Page 16 of Falling for the Mechanic
I stop thinking. I stop resisting. The constant, low-grade hum of frustration that is my default setting just…quiets.
For the first time in years, my mind is silent, every ounce of my focus narrowed to this single, searing point of contact.
Never mind the pounding headache or the deep, familiar soreness of my back muscles from a night sleeping on my couch. All of my pains are gone, burned away by a fire she lit with a single look. They’re replaced with this overwhelming need to memorize every dip and curve of this woman’s mouth, to learn the rhythm of her breath as if it’s my own.
She’s the first to pull away, her cheeks flushed a beautiful, rosy pink that makes my chest ache. “I…I’ve got morning breath. Sorry, but I should—”
My mouth is on hers again before she can mutter another apology, cutting off her retreat. I’ve already grown tired of hearing her say the word.Sorry.She’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not for this. Not for dismantling my defenses with a sigh, for making me smile against my will, for being the first person to look at me and see something worth seeing in a long, long time.
Chelsea melts against me despite her words, a soft, yielding warmth that undoes me completely. A quiet sigh escapes her, the last hint of protest, and once she realizes I don’t give a damn about anything but the feel of her in my arms, she’s all in. Her arms slide around my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at my nape, sealing us together.
And just like that, the last of our resistance crumbles to dust. I’m not just kissing her. I’m caving. I’m free-falling with no intention of stopping the fall.
I kiss her until my lips are numb and my lungs burn for air. I kiss her until the world outside ceases to exist. My hands frame her face with a gentleness I didn’t know I possessed, holding her like she’s something precious, something fragile. The truth is, she feels like she is.
I want more.
I want to lift her onto this counter and learn the taste of her skin. I want to carry her back to my bed and spend the day forgetting my own name on her lips.
But I can’t, can I?She’s not mine, nowhere close. She isn’t even a part of Willowbrook Ridge. Once I let her go, it’s for good.
The reality of it is a cold splash of water. She’s hungover, vulnerable, and trusting me in a way no one has in years. Taking advantage of that, even if she’s willing, would make me the bastard this town already thinks I am. It’s out of the question.
The conflict must show on my face because when I finally, reluctantly, break the kiss, her eyes are wide and dazed, her lips kiss-swollen and perfect. My own breath is ragged, echoing in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.
I need a distraction. Something to break this spell before I do something more than kiss her. My brain, still fogged with her, scrambles for the most mundane, stupid thing it can find.
“Are you hungry?” My voice is rough, scraped raw from the intensity of the kiss. It’s the best thing I can ask for to form a distraction. “I cooked.”
For a moment, she just blinks at me, the haze of desire slowly clearing. Ever so slowly, her words come out one at a time. “I am starving.”
Can’t trick myself into thinking something else, but she makes it impossible. The way she says it, all breathless, makes it feel like a confession that has nothing to do with food.
“Right,” I grunt, the word coming out sharper than I intended.
I force myself to put distance between us, turning so I can retreat toward the stove. The space where her body was against mine feels instantly cold. The eggs are probably rubber, and the bacon is burnt to a crisp.
I can’t care. I focus on the task of plating food, anything to steady myself back to reality.
We eat in silence, both lost in our thoughts. Neither of us knows how to wrap our minds around what just happened.
In between bites, her attention goes to her phone, the screen lighting up with a persistence that feels like an intrusion. Soon, she’s telling me her brother is going to come pick her up. The announcement lands like a lead weight in my gut.
“He insists since I won’t pick up his calls to prove I’m alive.” She lets out a soft, self-conscious laugh, asking me for my address. I give her all the information she needs, the numbersand street name feeling like a betrayal on my tongue. I’m already dreading letting her go, already feeling the silence of this house closing in again once she’s gone.
“Are you returning to your parents?” Recalling every bitter word from last night, I’d hate for her to get upset again. The protective urge is sudden and fierce, a need to shield her from the people who put that wounded look in her eyes.
She blows out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh, heavy with old resentments. “Not a chance. If I do, I’ll just be the one blamed for ruining everything, and I don’t deserve that.” The conviction in her voice is new, a hard-won strength. Shaking her head, her body sinks further into her seat as if the fight has drained out of her, leaving only resolve. “He’ll let me crash at his place until my tires are replaced. After that, I’m writing this visit off as a nightmare.”
“That bad?” I grimace, trying to write it off like a joke, but the question is sincere. The thought of being relegated to a bad dream, of being something she wants to forget, twists something inside me.
Poking at her food, she shrugs, but her eyes lift to meet mine. There’s a new warmth in them, a softness that wasn’t there before. “Not all of it.” Her gaze flicks to my mouth for a heartbeat, and the air between us thickens. “There were some good parts.”
A twitch of her mouth, a small, private smile just for me, eases the weight on my shoulders.
I nod, my own voice gruffer than usual. “I’ll make room in the shop schedule. Get you out fast, if you want.” The offer comes with ease. I’m learning that even at the cost of what I want, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep that smile on her lips.
She hesitates, her fork stilling over her plate. For a second, she looks conflicted. “You can take your time. There’s no rush.”
