Page 104 of Heresy

As if any of that matters.

“Then stop reading so much,” he says in correction.

Several seconds pass, the weight of his presence crashing down on me. It doesn’t make sense that someone as attractive as Shane should be so ugly beneath his skin.

Or maybe it does.

I recall something about Satan being the most beautiful of all God’s creations, and look how he turned out in the end.

Shane reaches a hand down to me, and I flinch away. He wears his patience well, not lunging forward to grab me or yelling that I’m not obeying. He simply holds his hand between us, humor evident in his expression.

“It won’t bite.”

Examining his hand, I find myself following the lines of dirt and grease again, looking closer to see the calluses he’s gained from being a mechanic, the constant use of tools branding him because of the very thing he loves.

Unable to stand the fascination I have with him, I look away.

“I’m not taking your hand.”

“That’s probably a good thing. It may not bite. But it does spank.”

Bastard. I refuse to dignify his remark with a response.

“Fine,” he says, pulling his hand away and stepping back. “Then stand on your own without my help. But you’re getting on your feet regardless.”

Maybe Shane’s right about one thing … I do hide. I’m certainly doing so now by shielding my face behind the length of my hair.

“Where are we going?”

Shane releases a frustrated breath. “If you refuse to talk to me about what’s inside your mind, then I’m going to show you what I know about it.”

I shake my head in refusal. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

A few uncomfortable seconds pass and then, “I can toss you over my shoulder again, if you want. Maybe you really liked it the first time, and that’s why you’re being a stubborn pain in the ass now.”

Pushing to my feet immediately, I inwardly scold myself for being so obedient. But the last place I want to end up is over his shoulder. His hand had gotten a little too comfy with the backs of my thighs the first time, and I’m not letting him touch me that way again.

Thankfully, he doesn’t tease me or make some underhanded comment about my sudden willingness to follow him.

Instead, Shane keeps his big mouth shut as we walk out of the auto shop then turn a corner into a back storage area that is closed in by a tall chain-link fence.

Grabbing a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocks the door, opens it wide then steps aside for me to walk in front of him.

After stealing a look at him, I scan the fenced-in area. It looks like a storage space for the cars they’re working on, all parked neatly in several rows like any other car lot.

Highly doubting anything is going to jump out at me, I walk ahead only to turn again when I hear wheels rolling over the concrete.

Shane had locked the smaller door back in place and is now moving a larger door aside. A gate of some sort, the small wheels at the bottom making it easy to push out of the way.

He tilts his head to the left, indicating I should follow him.

Not having any other choice, I let him lead me to a shiny black car with a white stripe running down the top center from trunk to hood.

It’s a beautiful car. I can’t deny that. Old too, but I know nothing about what year it may be. It’s definitely a gas guzzler, though. That much I can tell.

“Do you know what this is?”

I give him the obvious answer. “It’s a car.”

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