Page 7 of Turn Up The Heat

She looked angelic, except for the fact that she seemed righteously pissed.

“Thank God at leastonething in my day is working out! This is a garage, right?” Her green eyes flooded with relief as she scanned the drafty space, taking in the oil-stained floors and the scattered tools.

He straightened up and gave her a quick once-over. His gut tightened as he registered her expensive clothes, right down to the understated yet elegant classic Tiffany pendant around her neck. Her boots alone probably cost more than he made in a solid week’s worth of work, even though the three-inch heels were caked with mud. Shane knew her snobby type like he knew his own reflection, and the pang he’d felt when she crossed the threshold was gone just like that.

“Wow, you’re perceptive,” Shane quipped, eyes hardening over her. Okay, so it came out more rudely than he intended, but girls like her didn’t usually care what people like Shane thought, anyway.

The way her spine straightened told him she might not care what he thought, but she’d heard the attitude in his words, loud and clear. “Look, I just walked two miles in the freezing cold to get here, and my feet are killing me. If you can’t help me figure out what’s wrong with my car, that’s fine. Just point me in the direction of the nearest phone and I’ll be on my way.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. No way was Shane letting some stranger call him out like that. He didn’t carehowfreaking sexy she was when she put a hand on her curvy little hip and arched her brow.

He stayed on the Creeper, staring her down. “Oh, I can figure out what’s wrong with your car, I guarantee it. But if it’ll make you feel better to call someone else, be my guest. Phone’s in the back.” He jutted his chin toward the office, watching her mutter to herself.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a broken down car and a stupid cell phone that might as well be a paperweight. Hasn’t anyone ever heard of cell towers out here?”

She drew in a deep breath as if she was reaching for her patience, and the swell of her chest underneath her thin, red sweater made Shane suddenly forget the chill of the wind she’d brought with her.

“Okay,” she tried again. “My car died by the side of the road, and I don’t have a clue what’s wrong with it. Is there somebody here who can maybe take a look and help me make arrangements to have it fixed?” Her jaw was set in fiery determination that contradicted the graceful lines of her face.

Shane shrugged. “Unless you want me, you’re out of luck, Princess. Grady’s is the only game in town, and as far as mechanics go, I’m it for the rest of the day,” he offered with a grin.

She opened her bow-shaped mouth to answer him, and for a second he thought she was going to turn on her heel and huff her way back out into the cold. But then she set her lips back into a stubborn line and settled for giving him a humorless smile.

“Great. Are you available to come look at it?”

Something about her dared Shane to do a little boundary-testing, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. He worked up the most bored voice he could manage. “Let me check my schedule,” he said, without moving.

She waited about ten seconds before crossing her arms over her chest. “If you’d prefer, I can just call someone from the city to have it towed back there. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

Shane froze. “Wait.” No matter how minor her car trouble turned out to be, they needed the business. Plus, although he’d messed with her a little bit just to get on her nerves, he didn’t feel right turning her away just because she was a sassy little rich girl. Stranded was stranded, no matter how you cut it, and he knew those places in the city all too well. They’d rip her off six ways to Sunday, and just because she had the money to spare didn’t make it right.

He pushed up from the floor, shaking his head. “Sorry, I was just giving you a hard time, that’s all. I can come take a look at it. Those jack-wagons in the city will charge you by the mile for the tow alone, and you don’t wanna know how much, either.”

She shifted her weight, and if Shane didn’t know any better, he’d think that was relief on her pretty face. “It’s a couple miles up the road,” she said.

“Got a truck around back that’ll make quick work of that.” Shane wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, noticing that it didn’t really do anything to improve their appearance. “Shane Griffin.” God, her hand was so slender and delicate compared to the meat hook he’d just thrust out.

“Bellamy Blake.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Your name isBellamy?”

She stiffened. “It’s French.”

Translation: high-brow and verrrrry expensive.

Further translation: this was going to come back to bite him on the ass.

“Right. Well, the truck’s this way.” Shane gestured to the side lot where his beat up F-150 sat, ready to go. Another gust of wind rattled the windows in their frames, and man, it was really getting nasty out.

“Okay,” Bellamy murmured without enthusiasm as she sauntered to the door and went to push it open. He barely had his jacket all the way on when another burst of wind slammed into the building, even stronger than the last.

The clean-linen smell of Bellamy’s shampoo filled his nose from her sudden closeness, and before he could register what the hell was happening, she had tumbled into his arms.

3

Bellamy was caught completely off guard by the gust of wind rudely blasting its way into the garage. The steel door in front of her swung on its hinges so hard that she was forced to either move out of its path or let it body check her for her trouble.

Wellthatwas a no-brainer. She jumped back, only to be met by an immovable object that turned out to be Shane’s chest.

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