Chapter 3

Gemma

When I saw him getting out of his sleek silver Mercedes, I thought I was dreaming. He was tall, with broad rippling shoulders, and his dark hair was longish, just about grazing his shoulders. He was smiling and had said something polite, while taking a few long steps in my direction. I was still slightly dazed, reeling from all my tumultuous thoughts.

I was slightly shocked to see a stranger stepping out of a Mercedes, and more shocked because this stranger looked like he could grace a magazine cover.

His face was chiseled — an angular jaw, a sharp pointy nose, ridged brows and a long slanting forehead. His eyes matched his hair, a shining obsidian black. He had day-old stubble and deep dimples marked both his cheeks. He was in jeans and a plaid shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. But he wasn’t fooling me, those were definitely not his work clothes.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked, walking up to my car. I followed his every movement with my eyes. The way his long athletic legs moved, the muscles on his shoulders, how large his hands were. He placed one on the trunk of my car.

“I can manage, thanks,” I said, forcing myself to snap out of the embarrassingly lustful thoughts I was having of him. This was no time to gawk at a stranger. I was still late for work.

The man didn’t make a move, despite what I had just said.

“Are you sure? Is it your tire?” he asked.

I dropped my hands from my hips. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s my tire, and I’ll change it,” I snapped, surprising even myself with the tone of my voice.

His dark glittering eyes focused on me, on my body. It was like he was assessing me with a keen trained gaze, trying to figure out my shape under my clothes. That smile lingered on his face, and the dimples remained. Despite the mature look on his face and the dusting of gray around his temples, those dimples added a boyish charm to his appearance. I had to shake my head to get the thoughts out of my head.

“Is the spare in your trunk? Pop it open; I’ll haul it out for you,” he said.

I shook my head vigorously. “I can do it myself, thanks. You can leave now, I can manage.” My words came out in a jumble as he disoriented me further. As if the messed-up thoughts in my head hadn’t been enough. He remained where he was, with his hand on the trunk and I walked over to it. We were very close now and he stood his ground, not moving an inch. I couldn’t reach the clasp on my trunk because of him.

“I’m just trying to help. It’ll only take a couple of minutes if you just let me,” he said, a little authoritatively now. He seemed like a man who was used to getting his way.

“I know how much time it’ll take; I’ve done this before,” I snapped at him again. From the looks of him, I’d probably changed more tires than he had.

“But I’m here now, and I can do it for you,” he insisted and I got a whiff of his cologne as he remained standing in front of me. A strong musky masculine smell, like cedar. A scent that suited him. Up close, I could see his rugged bronze skin, the way his shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest. I didn’t even want to allow my brain to think about whether he had a six-pack hiding under that shirt.

He must have seen my cheeks flush because his smile widened.

“I’m not trying to be pushy, but I think you should just let me do it,” he said, finally moving his hand from the trunk.

“Why should I just let you do it? I’m telling you I’ve done this before and I can do it again,” I said, crossing my arms over my breasts. His gaze dropped briefly to them, and then he looked up at my face again. His smile hadn’t faltered for a second.

“You seem like a girl who is very hard to please,” he said then, in a slow drawl. I noticed the way his eyes glimmered. What was he trying to imply?

I shot him a fiery look and sensed my nostrils flaring. The mix of emotions from being so painfully attracted to his body, while at the same time trying to prove my point had taken complete control over me.

“Maybe you’re just used to girls who are pleased with one grand masculine gesture. Changing my tire isn’t exactly impressive,” I said, meeting his eyes with assertiveness. His brows arched, and his lips stretched farther. For some reason, he was enjoying this. Enjoying wasting my time.

“It’s cute that you think I’m trying to impress you,” he said, in a deep calm voice. It was like he only spoke in that even smooth decibel. It was hard to imagine this man angry or short tempered. But I knew better than to judge someone at face value.

“Why are you insisting on changing my tire then?” I asked.

His dark wavy hair shook as he laughed loudly, the sound ringing in my ears like a merry song. It was infectious and even though I had no reason to, I nearly laughed myself.

“Because I’m trying to be helpful. Jesus! What’s happened to chivalry?” he asked, shaking his head as his laughter began to die down. When I didn’t reply, he took a step away from the trunk and extended his hand toward it.

“Go ahead, feel free to change your own tire. I won’t stand in the way.” He looked at me with amusement in his eyes. Like he wasn’t buying that I could do it myself.

I shrugged, in a show of passive aggressiveness, and popped open the trunk. The spare tire was at the bottom and I pulled at it, aware that my butt was sticking up in the air as I bent into the trunk. I could sense that his eyes were on me, on my butt, and that he was smiling. What was he still doing here? Why wasn’t he just driving away?

I tugged and pulled at the tire, but I could only manage to lift it up a few inches. I’d forgotten how heavy these things were, and besides, I was self-conscious. I was worried about my sweater and top riding up, my jeans sliding down, this gorgeous man seeing my thong. I wasn’t comfortable; I couldn’t get down and dirty with this thing.

“Do you mind just leaving?” I said in an unfriendly voice, whipping around to look at him.

He was standing with that same dimpled smile on his face, enjoying himself.

“Why? What’s the problem?” he asked innocently, about to break into another laugh.

“I just need some privacy,” I said, glaring at him.

“To change your tire?” he asked, with mock-shock. The more my nostrils flared and my cheeks burned, the more fun he was having.

“You can go. I don’t need your help. I’ll be able to work better without the distraction,” I said in irritation. His unearthly handsome face was a distraction; that was the truth.

“I didn’t realize I was distracting you. I haven’t even flexed my muscles yet,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

I sighed deeply and met his eyes with a fiery narrowed gaze. “You are distracting me by talking.”

“Fine, I won’t say a word. You won’t hear a peep from me,” he said with a chuckle.

“And also by looking at me,” I added.

He let out a short laugh. “I can’t help myself,” he replied, running his eyes meaningfully all over my body, before resting them on my face again, “but if you insist, I’ll turn away.” With that, he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

I gulped. What the hell was happening? What was this guy playing at? I turned back to the trunk and started tugging at the tire again. This time, I managed to lift it out, and just as I took a step in the other direction, it slipped out of my hands, rolling and bouncing on the ground. He turned around just in time and grabbed it with both hands.

“You were planning on carrying it with those dainty arms all the way to the front of the car?” he asked, smiling up at me. He had a smug look on his face. I was embarrassed and pissed off.

“You know, you could just roll it like this to the front, yeah?” he added and demonstrated it to me, rolling the tire out to the front wheel.

“I knew that; I was just lifting it out. I can do the rest,” I said and the guy let the tire fall from his hands. He straightened his back and turned to look at me. The smile on his face had dropped a little; he looked slightly confused.

“I don’t get what the problem is; it’s not like I’m harming you in any way,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. Like he was worried for my welfare.

I crossed my brows, challenging him with my eyes again. Who did he think he was? A rich handsome tourist who could just come over here and start changing everyone’s tires and stealing hearts?

“Why do you want to change it?” I asked, realizing that this was getting silly now.

“Because it would already be done, if we weren’t standing here bickering over who gets to do it,” he said, with a gentle head shake that told me he thought my behavior was childish. His shoulders looked wide and strong. He could probably change my tires without even using both his hands. He had an athlete’s body and a supermodel’s face. The car he was driving gave away his financial status. It was hard for me to not judge him. It was difficult for me to not be suspicious of why he had stopped at the side of the road to help someone driving a car like mine.

He was looking back at me with a certain softness in his eyes. Like he wasn’t telling me something, a secret reason why he wanted to change my tire. And he was also right about the other thing; if I had let him do it in the first place, we could have been over and done with this already.

The time! What was the time? I looked at my watch and pressed my eyes shut and cursed silently in my head.

“What’s the matter?” he asked and my eyes flew open to look at him.

“I’m like forty minutes late for work now,” I said in a miserable voice that made him raise his eyebrows.

“Okay, get in my car. I’ll drive you to work and you can call a tow service to come pick your car up later,” he said, and without waiting for a response from me, he was already walking away to his car.

I didn’t want to have to admit to him that I couldn’t afford a tow service. If he was offering me a ride to work, I had no choice but to take it. I could always come back later and change the tire without him; without his hawk eyes watching my every move.

So, I followed him, into his sleek silver Mercedes that was filled with the scent of the same intoxicating cologne.