Playing Dirty

“What do you mean, it’s not fixed?” That handsome face schooled itself into a disapproving frown, and Beth arched an eyebrow.

Sexy or not, he’d best keep some respect in his tone when she broke the news to him.

“When’s the last time you had a maintenance check done on this car?” Pushing off from where she lounged, she beckoned for Ford to come look under the hood with her. He hesitated, and she didn’t miss the way those dark eyes meandered down her body, which was far more exposed than it had been earlier in the coveralls.

Interesting. Beth had always had a knack for reading people, probably since she preferred to hang back and study them rather than dive right in. That knack was telling her that Ford Lassiter was a man who kept everything in his world under rigid control.

She would have bet money—if she’d had any—that he wasn’t that deliberate in checking out a woman unless some part of him wanted the woman to know.

He hadn’t moved but was instead regarding her intently.

Well, well, well. The rich man wanted to go slumming, did he? Smirking, Beth crooked her finger again and deliberately swayed her hips as she bent over the open hood.

That leonine power, that tightly coiled control—he would be fun to tease. And, she noted when he finally deigned to saunter over, not bothering at all to bank the combination of curiosity and attraction in his eyes, she couldn’t deny that little click that she felt in her gut when their eyes met.

Chemistry. Couldn’t make it, couldn’t fake it. It was either present with another person or it wasn’t...and it seemed that she and Mr. Ford Lassiter had it on the most elemental of levels.

Beside her, he leaned a hip against the Turbo and regarded her with an amused smirk on his own face. Oh, yes, he felt it, too...and unless she missed her guess, he was entertained by the notion of being attracted to a woman like her.

Beth had made it a point to live her life without worrying about what others thought of her, but it still stung when someone, even a stranger, looked at her like she was one of those wild Marchande girls from the wrong side of town. Well, fuck that. She was going to make him want her so badly his head would spin...and then she’d send him packing.

“Can’t remember? Even with all those fancy letters after your name?” She tilted her head, looked up at him, waited while he thought back to her question.

“I don’t recall.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed about it, though she noted that his spine stiffened a bit in defense. “I’m a busy man.”

“Seems to me that a busy man like you would have people who could take care of little details like car maintenance for him.” Though Beth’s lips curved in a smile, inside she went from irritation to anger. “This fancy machine here? Most people in this neighborhood have to work for five years to earn that kind of money.”

She wouldn’t focus on what she and her sisters could do—could pay off—with that kind of cash. Replace the furnace that threatened to quit every winter. Patch the place in the roof that let the rain in. “Some of those people might think that you’d want to take care of something like that. Take some responsibility.”

“You’re right.” There, finally, was evidence that he was human—the tiniest flicker of guilt. It was enough to melt her anger away.

Likely he hadn’t ever thought about how long other people would have to work to pay for one of his toys...and why would he treat it as anything special when he probably had a garage full of others at home?

“Can I get that in writing? I think it’s probably not something you say very often.” Beth arched an eyebrow. Ford blinked at her, seemingly stunned, before bursting into laughter.

It was a rich laugh, not the carefully controlled chuckle she would have expected from him, and it cut her off at the knees. To her, nothing was sexier than a man who could laugh at himself.

“Don’t get used to it. It probably won’t happen again.” As if he realized that he’d let his control slip, Ford’s grin quickly morphed back into stern lines. “In all seriousness. Now that we’ve established I don’t take proper care of it, what is wrong with it? Do you not have a part that I need?”

Beth couldn’t hold back the snort of sarcasm that slipped from her throat. “Well, that’s a start, but no, I don’t typically carry parts for cars like these. Not much call for them around here.”

Doing her best not to roll her eyes—they were clearly from such different worlds—she rubbed her hand over her cheek. The return of his smirk told her she’d likely left a smear of engine grease behind on her clean skin, but she didn’t care. That was her. Take it or leave it.

“Your transmission is shot. That needs to be replaced. I can call in a favor and have the part couriered in for the morning, since I figure you’re probably willing to pay the rush fee. But replacing it is going to be a full-day job.” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth, looking like he was prepared to argue. To her way of thinking, there was nothing to argue about here. “But if you stay consistent with the way you treat this car, then I would suggest you let me fix everything else that’s wrong with it while you’ve already got it in the shop. Your fuel and cooling systems need work, you’ve got some corrosion...and you need a basic damn oil change.”

“I see.” Ford gazed at her steadily, his expression unwavering. Beth stared right back, startled when he was the one to break away, huffing out a sound of exasperation and waving his hands in the air. “What are you listening to?”

“Sitar music.” She loved this playlist as much as she’d loved the heavy metal one she’d been playing earlier. Music was so deeply ingrained in who she was, she felt it was a shame not to appreciate as much of it as she could.

“Right.” This, finally, this was what seemed to throw him off his game—the music blasting from her phone.

Beth felt her breath catching as he reached out and sifted his fingers through the end of her braid. Her breasts pushed forward as she exhaled, and Ford looked her over again with that hungry stare—not lecherous, just an acknowledgment of that strange little click between them.

Beth didn’t believe in love at first sight...but oh, she sure believed in lust.

“Sitar music. Heavy metal. Purple in your hair, and the scents of vanilla and engine grease on your skin.” He sounded bemused. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very unique woman?”

“All the time.” She was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but the way this strange man was looking at her made her very, very hot. Riding on instinct, she reached for the cherry-red can of Coke that still dangled from his fingers and lifted it to her lips. “But you’ve only scratched the surface. There’s a lot more to me than the color of my hair.”

“I can imagine.” He watched her with painstaking attention to detail as she lifted the can to her lips and sipped. The rush of sugar burst over her tongue, and she imagined she got just the slightest taste of him, as well.

“Are you always this forward?” He tracked her tongue as she ran it over her lips.

“Afraid of catching girl cooties?” Beth handed the can back and arched an eyebrow. “And yes, I often am. I’m usually pretty clear on what I want.”

Stepping away from where they were still curled together beneath the hood of the Turbo, she laced her hands together and dipped her head. “But sometimes I like to be told what to do, too.”

Her heart pounded as she made the admission. Had she judged wrong? She couldn’t have. She liked to go after what she wanted, true enough, and she felt no shame in wanting what she did. But she usually felt the subtle little click that she had with Ford when the dynamics between them were just right—as in, the other person wanted to be in control, and Beth wanted to relinquish it.

“I...” Ford took a step back, not the reaction that Beth was expecting. He looked her over again, and her skin felt on fire everywhere his gaze touched.

No, she wasn’t wrong. She felt it in her gut. But he didn’t seem to be all that pleased by the notion.

“I’ll tell you what to do, then.” The struggle to regain control was evident in his voice. One blink of her eyes, and the stern businessman mask was back in place, shuttering the hint of passion that she’d glimpsed below. “Order the part. Fix the car. And call me when it’s ready for pickup.”

Beth felt the same slight chill that she had when she’d noted that he seemed uncomfortable with whatever this was sparking between them—felt it and resented it.

She wasn’t asking for a ring—she was just embracing her needs and desires, like she and her sisters had always done.

“You didn’t ask how much the parts and work are going to be.” Beth’s temper rose, so she unlatched and slammed the hood of the Turbo closed, hard enough that most people would have turned to check that she hadn’t taken a golf club to the metal.

He didn’t turn, didn’t look back—not at the vehicle and not at her.

“Like you’ve pointed out already... I can afford it.”

Well, then. Clearly he wanted to highlight the differences between them. Beth cocked her head and watched as he headed out of her driveway and back in the direction of the café, probably off to research his accommodation options, which she could have told him were few. She suspected he wasn’t going far.

His gait was easy, the stride of a man who knew that he had the world at his feet. As if pulled by her gaze, he finally cast one look back in her direction.

The intensity of the connection when their eyes met nearly brought Beth to her knees. Yes, that attraction was there, burning brighter than any she’d ever felt.

So why was he turning away from it? From her?

She could dwell on it, could go cry into a bottle of wine with her sisters over the rejection, but she’d never seen the point. Sex was supposed to be easy, fun. And to her it always would be.

If Ford Lassiter was uncomfortable with being attracted to her, well, that was his problem. Beth was just fine with who she was. Still, it was a damn shame he was a stick-in-the-mud, she thought as her lips curved.

A man who looked that good in clothes? He would surely look even better out of them.