“You’re up, Erin,” Rico calls across the garage to me. I look up from the invoices I’m entering to see a long, low, shiny black dream of a sports car pulling up to one of the bays. Ooh. I wonder who that is?

It’s a busy day at Revved — which is to say, a typical day. Known as the best garage in the state (and beyond), Revved has a constant stream of customers bringing in their cars and bikes for quality repairs and custom detailing.

Right at the moment, Jake Denton is talking to a customer who’s picking up his bike. Nicky Santos is in Bay 1 with some fancy sports car completely torn apart. And Rico Adamo, who owns Revved along with his twin brother Dante, is under the hood of a Range Rover.

All the other guys who work here are busy too, getting something from our adjacent parts store (which Dante runs), or writing up intake reports. Hence Rico tagging me to handle the new customer.

The windows are tinted, and I get a little thrill as I draw near. Everyone who’s anyone comes here, so we’ve had our share of celebrities and politicians and other heavy hitters. I reach the car just as the driver’s side opens and a man steps out.

My heart skips a beat as a strong profile comes into view. I’ve seen this man before … just once. On a memorable night when my best friend Cait and I snuck into his nightclub with fake IDs. And in the weeks since then, not a day has passed that Constantine “Kosta” Adamo hasn’t been in my thoughts. Or my dreams. Often, to my torment, he’s in both.

He doesn’t look as good as I remember — he looks better. Thick, dark hair with a sexy stubble on his chin, straight nose, strong jaw, a sensual mouth that makes mine water.

I drink him in with my eyes, the professional words of greeting I had prepared nowhere to be found. He turns, sees me, and goes still. His eyes are an amazing golden brown, like fine whiskey.

Our surroundings disappear. It’s just the two of us, staring at each other as if the fate of the world depended on it. Civilizations might crumble if we dare to look away.

Then he smiles. It’s a small, secret smile, as if the universe has just given him an unexpected gift. It makes shivers go dancing up my spine.

“Hey,” he says.

Like any smitten woman, I take stock of my appearance. Working in a garage is not exactly glamorous, so I’m in black jeans, black comfort shoes (embarrassing), and my Revved smock top. This would normally be embarrassing, wearing a smock top in front of a hot guy, but the Revved ones are actually pretty cute. We get our choice of colors, from red to coral to rose to pale pink. They’ve got darts so they fit nicely. And they’re a cotton blend, not polyester, so all in all they could be worse.

“Hey.” My hand comes up and I wiggle my fingers at him. “Hi.” Have I mentioned that I’m an enormous dork?

Kosta’s smile gets bigger. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says. As if we’re old friends. When the truth is, I went upstairs with him to his private office after approximately two point five seconds of acquaintance — shortly before being escorted home by my homicide-detective-father’s fellow cops.

I wasn’t there long enough for anything to happen between us, and there’s a constant tug of war between the parts of me that are relieved, and the parts that think it’s a damn shame. But now, being in his presence again, my mind may be torn but my body knows exactly what it wants. No man has ever made me vibrate, right down to my cells, the way he does.

He arches a brow, and I realize he’s been waiting for me to answer while I’ve been staring at him. Erin fail! I start to babble. “Nope, that’s true. You sure haven’t. Whatever you’ve seen, it hasn’t been me.”

His smile morphs into a grin, and I want to die. Hot men who can have any woman they want don’t waste time with dorks. Just kill me now, universe, before I can humiliate myself any further.

“Cugino.” Rico’s coming toward us. I glance toward the garage and see that everyone is watching me and Kosta. The universe must have heard my plea, because I am absolutely going to die now.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and practically run back into the garage and behind the counter. Maybe I can find a large plastic bag to wear over my head. The customers will just have to deal with it.

All my efforts to keep my feelings about Kosta hidden have been obliterated. Our little exchange just now was pretty much the equivalent of me waving a huge sign that says, “Ask me about my insane fixation on Constantine Adamo!”

By the end of the day, the entire Adamo clan will know. Which means the whole damn state will know, because the Adamos are legion. You can’t turn around here without bumping into one. Their long-ago patriarch must have had at least twenty sons, each of whom apparently had a dozen or so extremely virile male offspring of his own. I’m not even kidding.

Right now, I just want to disappear. Grabbing a stack of work orders, I start feverishly entering them into the computer. No matter what, I will not look up. Kosta does not exist for me.

“Erin.”

My head jerks up. Dammit — he’s standing right in front of me! “Crap,” I say. “I mean no.” I feel my face heating and I’d like to close my eyes but that would mean not looking at his exquisite maleness. “I mean, can I help you?”

His grin flashes again. Any second now, he’s going to realize how demented I am and hightail it out of here. Which would absolutely, positively be for the best … no matter what my body wants.

At close range, I’m forcefully reminded that Kosta is nowhere near my age. He’s got little bits of silver threading through his rich, dark hair, and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. But it’s not just that.

It’s the knowledge in those eyes, the confidence, the self-assurance that edges right up to arrogance. Kosta Adamo is no callow college boy; he’s all man. And I’m afraid that just by existing, he may have permanently destroyed my ability to appreciate guys my own age.

“You ran away,” he says.

“I what?” I swear, usually my vocabulary is not so limited. “No, I didn’t.” I totally did.

His eyes narrow. Damn, he’s even hotter when he’s annoyed. “Yeah, you did,” he says. “Two minutes ago, not to mention two weeks ago. You playin’ games with me?”

“No,” I blurt. “No games.” I almost give him the Scout’s honor sign, which would condemn me to irredeemable dorkdom forever. “I’m a no-games kind of girl.” I am totally a stupefied-by-desire kind of girl, but I don’t mention that. Not that it isn’t obvious anyway.

Kosta holds out a business card and I stare at it as if it might explode. When I don’t move, he reaches out, takes my hand, and lays the card in it. Sensation ignites along my nerve endings, racing up my arm and down my torso to erogenous zones I didn’t even know existed. Kosta’s thumb glides along the inside of my wrist, and my nipples stiffen to hard peaks.

Very gently, he folds my fingers down over the card. Then he lets me go, turns, and walks away without a backward look. I stand there, my whole body tingling, until I realize I’ve got an audience again.

Rico has his eye on me. I can’t read his expression so I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and I decide I don’t want to know. Tucking the card away in a pocket of my smock top, I get back to work.

When it’s time for my break, Kosta’s car is still here. He’s probably over in Revved Café, where I usually work. Yes, a garage with a café. Originally it was a separate business adjacent to the Revved property, but when it came up for sale, Rico and Dante bought it because so many of their customers hang out there. Their younger brother Victor, who’s a genius in the kitchen, runs the café for them.

Anyway, we all cross-train so we can help out in any part of the business, so today I’m the garage, but no one would think it was weird if I took my break in the café. In fact, it would be weird if I didn’t. If Kosta happens to be there, I’ll just … ignore him.

Satisfied with my plan, I clock out. It’s a warm summer morning, with only a scattering of fluffy white clouds overhead. I hurry to the café, which is on the street next to the entrance to the garage and parts store. Though I want to, badly, I don’t let myself hit the bathroom first for any touch-ups to my hair or makeup. It would be wrong to get prettied up for a guy I shouldn’t even be thinking about.

As soon as I push through the doors, I see him. He’s in a circular corner booth with two men. One’s his younger brother Carmine, who works as a bartender at the club. I don’t recognize the other guy, but he looks like an Adamo.

I keep staring at him, as if there were a magnetic connection between us. Which apparently he feels too, because he turns his head and his gaze locks on mine. Tearing my eyes away, I make my way to the counter and slide onto a seat there.

Cait’s working today, but our friend Gina, who’s also on, gets to me first with my standard iced tea. “Breakfast, lunch, or dinner?” she says. The café serves everything all day long, which is handy. I don’t ask to see a menu because of course I have it memorized, like all the waitstaff.

“Western scramble with a side of salsa and a small orange juice.” My eyes, with a will of their own, dart sideways in Kosta’s direction.

He’s watching me, that secret little smile on his face. This time it gets my back up, like he’s amused at how gaga I am over him. I bet he thinks he can just crook his finger and I’ll fall into his arms, like every other woman probably does.

Well, he’s got another think coming. I may be a dork, and I may have a serious thing for him, but I do have some self-respect. Glowering at the counter, I take a sip of the orange juice Gina’s brought me.

I can feel his eyes on me, and make a heroic effort to keep mine straight ahead, but with every second that passes, my resolution weakens. Only Cait’s arrival saves me from making an even bigger fool of myself. She leans on the counter and says in a quiet voice, “So what’s up with mister tall, dark and sexy?”