Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3) Page 8

  Besides, it was a good way to get Ross off her mind. Get herself back to reality.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”

  IT WAS NEARING five p.m. when Ross knocked on Holly’s open office door. She looked up from her computer. He’d hoped for a smile, but he didn’t get one. “Yes?” she asked.

  “It’s almost five. Thought I’d go down and get to work on your Jeep.”

  “Oh. Right. How long will it take, do you think?”

  “About twenty minutes or so with the right tools. Which I have.” He’d tossed his toolbox in the truck this morning, knowing he’d need different sized wrenches and screwdrivers for the job.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yep.”

  “And they wanted to charge me three hundred bucks?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wow.” She shook her head. “You never told me how much the starter was. I’d like to pay you for it.”

  “Receipt’s in the truck. Can I get your keys?”

  She reached into her purse and dug out her keys. He walked over to take them from her, but she stood and came around the desk, head down so that they nearly collided. He could have avoided it, but he didn’t. Instead, he put his hands on her arms to steady her as she took a quick step back and stumbled.

  Her head tilted so she could look up at him. He didn’t let her go. His chest tightened. Her eyes were extraordinary. Blue-gray with little flecks of black. And the look she gave him didn’t say get away.

  Still, he eased his grip on her arms. “Careful.”

  “I, uh, yes,” she replied. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

  “I’m not. Sorry that is.”

  She blinked as if she didn’t quite know what to say. He dropped his hands from her arms. Curled his fingers into the hand holding the keys and took them from her. His skin was electric where it brushed hers. Her breath hitched in. He thought she bit the inside of her lip based on the little dimple that appeared.

  Heat curled into him, spreading through his body. His groin started to ache with need. Too much more and he’d be dipping his head to hers, tasting her sweet lips. He took a step back before he could do anything so foolish.

  Foolish for right now, not forever. Foolish for where they were. Another time, another circumstance, and he’d definitely make the move.

  “I’ll just, uh, go down and change your starter.”

  “Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll owe you one.”

  “One what?” he asked, trying to interject humor into the moment.

  “I don’t know. A favor that only takes twenty minutes?”

  Ross wanted to groan. He could immediately think of something that could take twenty minutes. Her mouth on his cock, for instance. Instead, he kept a straight face. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  He didn’t make it sound dirty, but he saw the instant her mind went there. The color spreading over her cheeks made it very apparent what she’d been thinking. “Okay, um, good,” she said. “Just let me know.”

  “I definitely will.” He grinned.

  She waved her hand vaguely behind her. “I have to finish this report.”

  He took a couple of steps backward, toward the door, flipping her keys around his finger. “I’ll meet you outside. Or I’ll bring your keys back in if you aren’t finished by then.”

  She stepped behind her desk as if needing it to shield her. “Thanks again.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” he told her, infusing the words with as much heat as he could. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her to dig herself out from under the weight of her embarrassment.

  WHAT WAS the matter with her? Holly put her hands on her cheeks, feeling the heat glowing there. Was she really that awkward that she couldn’t help but think dirty thoughts whenever Ross said something to her about favors and owing him?

  Or was it just that he was too damned sexy and her mind was going to go there no matter what? Holly flopped into her chair and stabbed at her keyboard. Seriously, it had only been a matter of days since she’d looked at pictures of him surrounded by women making googly eyes and said no way in hell would she behave like that. Yet here she was, blushing and stammering and enjoying it entirely too much when he touched her.

  She should have stepped away immediately when she’d nearly collided with him. But he’d put his hands on her to steady her, gazed into her eyes, and she’d been mesmerized. She’d even thought, for one brief second, that he might kiss her.

  Holly closed her eyes. Because, dammit, she’d wanted him to do it. If he’d kissed her, she would have melted into him like she had no bones. Like she needed him to hold her up.

  Argh!

  Good thing Mel had called and convinced her to go to the Boot tonight. She really, really, needed to get dressed up and go have some fun. Too many hours at the distillery lately while she worked on the flavored product lines and tried to convince her uncle—who then had to convince the Blackthornes—why they needed to branch out and offer those beverages.

  Holly finished up the document she was working on, closed it out, and gathered her things. It was ten after five and she needed to get downstairs and pray her Jeep was fixed, then head home and dig into her closet for the perfect outfit. She was already feeling excited about the outing, which told her that she desperately needed it. If she was lucky, maybe she’d meet some nice guy who’d ask her out and then she could put the idea of Ross Blackthorne and his sexy smile behind her for good.

  He might be nice, but he was from a different world. A world he’d go back to just as soon as he got the chance.

  Holly emerged into the bright sunlight of the employee parking lot. She could hear people laughing in front of the welcome center, which meant the last tour group was leaving the distillery. They ran tours all day from open to close, and they held tastings as well. Since the distillery had reopened under the Blackthorne name, the tours were jammed on most days—they’d even built a new welcome center to house the tourists as they arrived.

  Holly’s gaze went to her Jeep, and to the man bent over the engine. He’d removed his button-down shirt and only wore a white T-shirt now. A shirt that clung to muscles she’d only seen on the internet. But Ross Blackthorne really did have a defined back and shoulders, and his skin glistened with sweat. No wonder since the temperature today was in the nineties. The spot where she’d parked was shaded now, but it was still hot.

  Ross looked up as she approached. His grin speared right into her, all the way down to her feminine center.

  Hello, handsome!

  “Just in time,” he said. “You can start it up, see if I did it right.”

  She had no doubt he’d done it right. Or that he could do a lot of things right. Things she most definitely had no intention of pursuing.

  Holly got inside and turned the key. The Jeep cranked to life, rumbling familiarly. Relief swept through her at the sound. She’d only been without her car for a day, but she’d felt stuck not being able to go where she wanted when she wanted. Sure, she could have taken an Uber—but it wasn’t quite the same.

  “Thank you,” she said as he dropped a wrench into his toolbox and straightened. His white T-shirt had a couple of grease stains on it. It was also mostly wet and clung to his body like a second skin.

  “No problem. Happy to do it.”

  “I, uh…” She had to drag her gaze from the way the T-shirt clung to his abs. And then she couldn’t do a single thing but stare as he picked up the hem of his shirt and dragged it up his body. He wiped his face with the hem.

  But instead of dropping it, he pulled the shirt off entirely—exposing a broad chest, tight muscles, and abs that looked like you could break a board across them.

  Oh holy hell, he was beautiful…

  Chapter Eight

  ROSS WIPED the shirt across his face and then tossed it through the open window of his truck that sat parked beside her Jeep. “You okay?” he asked.

  Holly swallowed. Her throat was as dry
as a desert. “Of course. I’m just so happy that you fixed it. How much do I owe you?”

  She turned to her purse, needing something to do to take her mind off the inevitable path it was starting to skip down—Ross Blackthorne removing his jeans, sliding them down his hips…

  What kind of underwear would a hot racecar driver wear? Boxers? Briefs? Boxer briefs? She hoped for the last option—there was something seriously yummy about a man in tight little shorts that showed every bulge.

  “You don’t owe me for the labor. And I thought I had the receipt but I must have left it at home. I’ll let you know.”

  Holly dug out some bills because she was on autopilot as she tried to reset her brain. She turned and thrust them toward Ross. He dropped his gaze to her hand. Slowly slid it back up to her eyes. He saw too deeply into her, she was sure, and she looked away. Cleared her throat. “Here’s fifty bucks. I’ll pay you the rest when you let me know the total.”

  “Not taking your money, Holly. Keep it.”

  She swung her gaze back to his. “What? But you said…”

  “I know what I said. Not taking it though.”

  She wadded up the money. Clenched it in her fist as confusion rolled through her. “Not taking it now, or ever?”

  His dark eyes glittered with heat. “What do you think?”

  It hit her then. “I think you don’t intend to take the money at all. You didn’t leave the receipt at home. You know exactly how much the starter cost you, but you aren’t going to tell me.”

  He smiled. “Bingo.”

  Holly gripped the steering wheel with one hand, held her closed fist in her lap. She couldn’t drive away because the hood was still propped open. And her door was open too because she’d only jumped inside to start it up. Ross stood in the opening, so close she could smell him. He smelled like oil and sweat and whisky—and it was somehow the most delicious combination she’d ever smelled in her life. It made her tingle inside.

  “That wasn’t the deal,” she said, trying to sound angry instead of aroused.

  He shrugged. Put his hand on the support post. Lifted a leg and propped his foot on the running board. “I know. Consider it a thanks for teaching me how to run the distillery.”

  “I get paid for that. Every day.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not part of your job description. You only got stuck with me because I wrecked a car and my dad is having a senior life crisis or something. So let me do the things I can do and then I’ll feel like we’re at least somewhat even.”

  She scowled. “I can afford to pay for the starter. If I gave the impression I couldn’t, then I’m sorry. I’m not broke and I don’t need your money, Mr. Blackthorne.”

  “Hey, hey, hey. What’s with the mister?” He reached out and put a finger under her chin. Tipped her head in his direction. “Are you going to be pissed at me if I don’t take your money? I didn’t do it because I think you can’t afford it—I did it because I wanted to. Just like letting those kids sit in my car. I want to and it makes me feel good that I made them happy. I want to make you happy, too.”

  Holly bit her lip and looked down. Away from his naked chest and the seriousness in those dark eyes. Away from the fullness of his mouth and the way she was really starting to ache to taste him. He wanted to make her happy? Oh, she could think of a few ways right now.

  “I just don’t want to give you the impression I’m a charity case.”

  “I don’t have that impression at all. Look, if it makes you feel better, donate the money to the employee birthday fund or something. I don’t feel right taking it.”

  She didn’t like that he wouldn’t let her pay him, but she also understood. And this was a compromise she could live with. She stuffed the money into her purse. “Okay, I will.”

  He sighed. “Okay, good.”

  He knotted her up inside. Twisted her into a pretzel. “I really do appreciate you fixing it for me. It’s a weight off my mind for sure. If you hadn’t—well, who knows where it might have stranded me?”

  “Now you don’t have to find out. That starter should last you a few years.” He didn’t move away from her door. His eyes were still hot on hers. “You promised to come to my garage, you know.”

  Her blood felt thick in her veins. “I know.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “I-I can’t. I’m going out with friends tonight.”

  He dropped his foot to the ground. Took his hand off the support. “Okay. Maybe sometime this weekend then.”

  She swallowed, suddenly wishing she hadn’t agreed to go to the Boot at all. Because she could think of nothing better than going wherever Ross Blackthorne wanted to take her. But it was too late. He was already disengaging. “Um, sure. Sounds good.”

  “I’ll text you.”

  He bent to pick up his toolbox, hefted it into his truck, then came over and put her hood down. She pulled her door closed and buckled her seatbelt. He walked over and put his hand on her windowsill. Sweat glistened on his chest. She imagined him stepping into the shower, water sluicing over his body, down that hard chest, over his abs, his groin…

  “Uh, Holly?”

  “What? Yes? You said something?”

  He snorted. “I asked where you were going tonight.”

  “Oh, um, Mel likes to go to a place called Boot and Scoot. It’s a honky-tonk bar. Country music, dancing. Known locally as the Boot.”

  She was babbling.

  “Mel, huh? Thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Mel is a she, and she’s my best friend.” Holly paused. “Why are you asking?”

  “Just wondering who or what is more appealing than me.”

  She gaped at him for a second. This was firmer ground. Ground she could stand on.

  “Attention shoppers,” she said in her best parody of an announcer voice. “Ego alert on aisle seven.”

  Ross laughed. He spread his hands and his muscles flexed—which meant he probably did it on purpose. She wasn’t putting anything past him at the moment.

  “How can you say no to a sweaty, sticky dude who smells like grease? You have no taste, Holly Brooks.”

  “I have plenty of taste. And you have plenty of ego.”

  He grinned. “Then we balance each other out, don’t we?” He backed away from her, turned and opened the driver’s door on his truck. “Have fun tonight. And don’t accept any drinks from strangers.”

  “I wouldn’t even think of it.”

  “Good.” He got in and started his truck. A slight breeze rolled through the parking lot, ruffling his hair through the open window as he turned to look at her. “See you later, Holly.”

  “See you,” she said.

  His face disappeared behind the dark tint as he powered the window up. Holly put her Jeep in gear and drove toward the highway. Ross was right behind her. He stayed there until she made the turn for home, and then he was gone.

  It shouldn’t disappoint her that she was going out with Mel instead of spending time with Ross Blackthorne. But it did.

  ROSS SWUNG by the team garage on the way home. He wasn’t sure they’d still be there with the race in Chicago this weekend and qualifying starting tomorrow, but as luck would have it they were getting ready to pull out. His car sat inside the hauler. The hauler was closed, but Ross knew what he’d see if he opened the door. The black exterior panels were all shiny and sleek, and the Blackthorne barrel and thistle logo was emblazoned on the roof, broadcasting to millions of viewers that it was a whisky worth choosing.

  The engine would be tuned to perfection, the suspension would be stiff and the tires sticky. He could almost taste the asphalt in his mouth, feel the road beneath him as the car burned up the pavement. The steering wheel would vibrate with power beneath his hands, and his spotter would be talking in his ear as he navigated the pack.

  Except it wouldn’t because he wasn’t going.

  A current of resentment flooded him. Sometimes he hated that Blackthorne logo and the control it ex
erted over his life. Not the logo precisely, but what it stood for.

  Pride. Tradition. Legacy.

  Sacrifice.

  Bitterness twisted in his gut as he pictured his father back in Boston, meddling in his life without knowing or caring what it cost him. But then Ross thought of Holly Brooks and how hard she worked to make everything run smoothly at the distillery. Of how hard she’d worked to teach him how to be an executive vice president of his own family’s company.

  Was that guilt following on the heels of his anger?

  Yeah, it was. Because it wasn’t Holly’s fault he was pissed at his father. It wasn’t her fault that being a Blackthorne affected his life in ways he couldn’t control and she’d ended up saddled with him.

  Ross kept hoping Brock would call and tell him that he’d talked Graham Blackthorne into letting Ross drive again, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Dad was angry and hurt and lashing out like a wounded lion. Rather than admit what was going on between him and Mom, rather than do something to fix it, he’d rather sit on high in Boston and make Ross’s life hell.

  But is it hell? Really?

  The look on Holly’s face as he’d taken his off shirt flashed through his mind. If they’d been alone somewhere…

  Ross shoved a hand through his hair. Hell, he did not need to be thinking about that.

  So okay, maybe his life wasn’t precisely hell right now. But working at the distillery definitely wasn’t what he wanted to be doing.

  Several of his team members realized he was in the garage. They came over and started talking excitedly about the car and what they were going to do in Chicago this weekend. But nobody brought up the possibility of him driving. They knew he wasn’t going to. It made his chest tight with anger and frustration, but there was nothing he could do.

  Martin Temple emerged from his office and everyone scattered. He was a wiry, gray-haired son of a bitch who took no shit from anyone. He was also the best damned performance guy in the business. He could eke out another few horsepower from any engine, given enough time.