I’ve checked every battery cable and re-tightened every bolt. I’m done with this job except I can’t resist checking everything one more time. Compelled to take the wrench to every bolt and make sure they’re tight as a virgin and no accidents could possibly occur. I’m always diligent with my work but not usually this obsessed. I tug on the tool so that my forearm tautens and flexes, trying not to think about why I’m making this special effort. A sigh escapes my lips that comes out as something between a grunt and a growl. It’s hot under the engine and I’m sweaty and elbows-deep filthy. One last tighten, just to be sure.

Done.

Right then, I hear the clack of heels coming closer across the tarmac. My head instinctively turns and my eyes strain to the side to reach out from under the car over top of me. I watch mesmerized as two delectable feet step daintily towards me. I know those boots. The same scarlet red cowboy boots Caila Ferris was wearing two days ago when she came in with her father to drop off the car.

“Thing won’t move,” Mr Ferris, informed me, dumping the keys into my palm. Not exactly a technical analysis of the problem but it’s what I’m used to.

And then the passenger door opened and a pair of legs swiveled out from the Lincoln’s leather seat and she rose up like a mermaid from the ocean or some shit. I had to grit my jaw to stop it from dropping to the ground.

“When I put my foot down I expect her to respond immediately,” her father is blasting into my stunned reverie. I can think of how I’d like her to respond immediately and I’m not talking about the car.

I was almost blown away. She was so perfect. The hot curves of her little body were one thing. But her face was so pretty with large hazel-green eyes and strands of hair falling in waves over her shoulders to curl enticingly on her… I had to definitely not allow my gaze to alight on those perfect round globes for more than a second. Not with her father standing there, as protective as an armed guard. Just as he should be. I’d be the same in his place. If she were mine I’d never leave her side for a second.

Nor did I want Caila to think I was some rough monkey that objectifies women, like most of us manual laborer types. We do have a tendency to mentally use a beautiful women we want but can never have. I have to admit I’m mentally using Caila Ferris all day long as I lie on my back underneath the engine.

If she were sitting in the car right now, she’d be spread right over my face. My denim gets tight just envisioning that crazy fantasy of having the town princess. Her old man is the unrecognized head honcho simply because of his net worth.

I’ve never been ashamed of who I am now, or what I do. But that day I first saw her, I was suddenly, painfully, conscious of how sweaty I was, my hair sticking to my forehead. The sleeves of my tee shirt rolled up high on my shoulders so my tatted biceps were free of the constricting material.

As Caila Ferris walked around the side of the Linc to stand beside her father, I watched her long legs parting and closing, parting and closing. She stopped and her eyes traveled across my chest, to my arms and her eyes widened in what must have been disgust. I’m sure she was revolted by the filthy streaks of oil and my huge gnarled hands gripping the tool I’d been working with before they rolled in.

Now those red boots are approaching again and my cock starts to unfurl even though I can only see the Cuban heels and lower half of the shaft which has intricate stitching. My own shaft widens as the image of the rest of Caila’s gorgeous body fills my head. It comes to me, the reason why I’ve been checking and re-checking every bolt on the fuel pump. Even though I had no idea it would be Caila coming to pick up the car today.

Those boots stop beside the car, straddling right over my legs sticking out from underneath. My heart rate picks up and I could easily lie there all day just enjoying the scene in my mind. Those shapely thighs apart and me between them.

Christ, yesterday she was wearing tight jeans tucked into the boots but today, what with a pre-storm heatwave suddenly upon us, she’s stripped down. And those bare legs are right over me driving me half insane.

Get it together. I huff to myself. You’ve seen a woman’s legs before. Geez I’m acting like a jock teen.

Truth is, it’s been way too long since I’ve been close to any woman’s bare legs. And I can’t recall ever seeing legs like Caila’s. Long, powerful – maybe she’s a cheerleader or something athletic like that. But so soft. From the safety of my space under the car, which is suddenly even more stifling than before, reminding me of the worst prison cell, I can tell her skin is satin soft. I don't know whether she’s wearing a mini skirt or a pair of shorts, my angle of view doesn't extend quite that high. But it is enough to ascertain that whatever she’s wearing, it’s riding high and the thought of that is making me crazy.

Geezus, if I roll out from under now, I’ll have to slide right under her open slit. My dick is so hard, I’m likely to start huffing with unrestrained lust. Crazy because Caila is not only way out of my league, she’s also way too young.

“Anyone down there?” she chirps in her softly confident voice.

“Ya, nearly done,” I grit out from under the engine.

I’m frozen there on my back half rigid. How do I play this? If I roll out head first, my face will appear under the alluring apex of her inner thighs. I’ll have to look straight up the length of those legs towards her sweetness, that point I need to avoid imagining at all costs. Geezus- too late for that now. But if I roll out awkwardly, feet first, the first thing her eyes are going to hit is the massive bulge in my dirt-smeared jeans.

Okay – just go for it fast – hope she doesn't notice. Which I don’t know how that could happen as I’m packing wood like a chucker.

“Are you done yet?”

Christ! She crouches down, not all ladylike and prim but with her knees splayed apart like a real country girl. One foot either side of my knees, her inner thighs are exposed all the way to the crease. Thank god I’m on my back because she’s enough to buckle me at the knees.

I exhale another gruff that comes out almost feral so she frowns with a look of wry confusion. I attack a last bolt, pretending it needed tightening and that’s what was holding me up.

“Good, because I have to be somewhere and I need the car. It sure looks to me like you’re hiding out under there. Is your wife on the prowl, the monster-in-law?”

She stands up again and my brain goes into overdrive but I take the chance. Heeling the ground to roll the creeper with me flattened on it, I go flying out between her legs, desperately averting my eyes from those thighs.

“I’m not married,” I husk as I jam my heel to halt the roller.

I flex my abs to bring me up to sitting, but I still can’t stand. My folded legs are hiding my arousal.

“So is it all fixed? I’m good to go?” she purrs.

My eyes trail up the length of her, taking a lot more time than necessary. I drink up her long thighs, the small denim shorts, the tight white tee stretching over those perfect mounds. She is pure perfection I could lick and lap every last morsel of.

Yeah she’s good to go. But I wish she’d stay a while. Just so that I can look at her. Inhale the faint whisper of aroma rising from her skin and soft hair. She’s noticed me giving her the once over and she’s grinning faintly at my discomfort.

“You’re all good,” I grunt.

I don’t tell her I spent a bunch of extra time triple checking everything. Just for her sake. Just because I wanted to be certain no harm would ever come to her on my watch.

“Good,” she says, pressing her lips. “My father said you had all the details for the invoice. I don’t owe you?”

“No, you don’t owe me,” I mutter, like a zombie. I’m trying so desperately not to let my wood shove up against my denim any harder than it already is.

I only wish I could think of a way to make her owe me.

With that Caila folds those long legs into the driver’s seat. She’s so petite that she has to pull the chair forward after I’d pushed it all the way back to accommodate my six feet four. She lifts her eyelashes like a pair of fluttering moths, until her eyes turn up to face me with a sparkle that has my heart drop to my gut.

“See you around then,” she murmurs, then adds; “I hope,” before putting the car into drive.