Chapter Two
Dillon Duke
The scent of motoroil fills my nostrils as I work under the rusty car trying to loosen a stubborn bolt. I like fixing cars, but I’d much rather build them. My custom clients are itching for me to get back to doing what I do best. I’ll be glad when we start work on the next phase of Duke’s Garage that gets me my own space for custom work.
In the meantime, the people of Tempest need someone to fix their rides. Since the mayor started running any profitable business out of town a few years ago, people have had to tow their rigs to the next town over. I’m building trust getting the garage back to serving the town. Soon, I’ll need staff. Creating jobs is important in the plan my brothers and I have for fixing all the shit that’s wrong with Tempest.
Downtown is our first priority right now, and since I’m neither the face of our business, my brother Max, or the construction guru, my brother William, I stay on the sidelines where I’m happiest. Fixing shit is my strength.
Though I may have met my match with the rust bucket I’m working on now.
The sound of high heels clicking against the concrete floor interrupts my focus. Who the hell would come to my garage wearing heels?
“Hello?” a feminine voice calls out, her tone dripping with...entitlement. I’m expecting a rich bitch as I slide out from underneath the car. I’m not disappointed. But fuck me, look at those legs.
Standing up and wiping my hands on a rag, I’m met with the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Her long, tousled honey-brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. She’s wearing a loose-fitting dress that looks more like a long shirt with macrame lace at the bottom. The women I dated in LA called that kind of style boho or something. It makes her look soft and sweet, like she just came in off the prairie. Her long legs seem to go on for miles.
“Dillon Duke,” I introduce myself.
“Cressida Hamilton,” she says.
Fuck. She’s the mayor’s daughter. Not good.
“Miss Hamilton,” I say. “What brings you to my garage?”
“Please, call me Cressida,” she replies, batting her eyelashes at me. She even thrusts her tits out.
Ah. One of those. Not fresh off the prairie after all. She’s well aware of how she affects men.
Unfortunately for me, she is exactly my type. Fortunately for her, I’m not going to act on it.
I fold my arms across my chest, watching her with a wary gaze. “How can I help you, Ms. Hamilton?”
She pouts, clearly annoyed by my refusal to call her by her first name. Good. That’s fine. I like the shape of her mouth in that pout. I’d like to make a mess of that pretty pink lip gloss.
She does the hair twirling bit. Again, cute. “Daddy’s car is making a strange noise. He sent me to have you take a look at it.”
I snort. As if the mayor would send his precious daughter to a place owned by a Duke. He fucking hates us. She’s lying, though I’m not sure why.
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
Her cheeks flush at being caught in the lie. She recovers quickly, sauntering toward me with a sway of her hips. I feel a spark of arousal at her boldness, though I don’t let it show on my face. I remain impassive as she stops inches from me, tilting her head to look up into my eyes.