Chapter Twenty – Dex

 

I pulled into the parking lot, the smell of tacos emanating from the passenger seat. I have no idea how I got roped into doing the lunch trip. She said she would if I paid, but obviously, she changed her mind.

Which was exactly how I’d ended up getting lost on my way to the taco place.

Not that I was going to tell her that

Fuck knows I’d kept enough from her.

Like how badly I’d wanted to slam her against the door and fuck her to death after she’d challenged me yesterday. It’d taken everything I had not to give in and do it. Not do the thing I wanted that I knew she didn’t.

She was saying it because of me. I wasn’t blind and I wasn’t stupid.

Sure, I’d felt the way she’d responded when I kissed her, but fucking her was a whole other ball game.

I could forget kissing her.

Maybe.

I definitely would not forget fucking her.

And if I did it, I wanted it to be more than just an itch I needed to scratch. I wanted to fuck her because I needed to—something more than a meaningless act.

Not that anything with her could ever be classified as meaningless.

Motherfucker, I wouldn’t forget a damn thing about the woman who was slowly worming her way under my skin.

Slowly.

Who was I kidding?

She was six-inches deep.

I opened the garage door.

A scream sounded.

I shouted.

Jamie staggered backward, her hand on her chest, until she was back against my half-repaired Dodge.

“Fuck me dead, Dex! Would you knock next time?” she shouted, rubbing her head. “You scared the hell out of me and I banged my head on the hood of that goddamn car!”

I burst out laughing, hesitating for only a second. “You want a bell on my neck, darlin’? Should I announce myself?”

She paused, screwdriver in hand. “Yes, actually. A bell would work fine, thank you.”

“I have lunch.” I held up the bag of tacos.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She walked into the staff room, and the sound of the tap running filled the air.

I joined her. “Well, we made a deal, and this is me trying to stick to it.”

“Food is the way to my heart,” she said, grabbing a towel to dry her hands. “And tacos are the fastest path.”

“As long as they’re a fast-track past your sarcasm, I’ll buy you tacos every day.”

She clutched her hand to her chest. “Excuse me. I need a moment to swoon.”

I laughed and laid them out on the table. “Swoon quickly, or they’ll get cold. They’re already halfway there.”

She moved quicker than I’d ever seen her. Throwing herself on the sofa next to me, she bounced and grabbed a wrapped taco.

I blinked at her. “This is scary.”

“What? Did my make-up run?”

“No. You willingly sitting next to me.” I paused. “And the fact you’re wearing the world’s largest hoodie.”

She looked down. “Oh. I’m preserving my dignity.”

“You’re preserving your dignity.” Why did I want to know more about that? And, more to the point, what was she preserving it from? “I’m not going to ask.”

I grabbed my own taco and unwrapped it before I did ask. I was curious. Was she not wearing anything under it? Was it like in those stupid movies where woman showed up in nothing but lingerie and a trench coat?

I glanced at her legs.

Nope. No sign of lingerie there.

Damn. There went those hopes.

She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand so she didn’t spit out her food. “Stop staring at my legs.”

“I can’t help it.”

She eyed me. “I couldn’t find any shorts this morning so I had to improvise.”

“Jesus, Jamie, if you tell me you’re not wearing anything under there…”

“Oh my God!” She laughed again. “I’m not naked underneath this sweater, Dex. Holy hell. I’m wearing a skirt instead of shorts and, well, the sweater is longer than the skirt.”

Slowly, I chewed what was in my mouth. “You got no pants at home?”

“None that make my legs look as good as shorts do.” She shrugged, grinned, and licked some taco sauce from the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s how you decide what to wear for work. I ask myself every morning if my ass looks good in my jeans.”

“It doesn’t. Not in those.”

I itched the side of my nose. “Your honesty is cutting.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve seen your ass look better in worse pants.”

“All I’m hearing is that you’ve been looking at my ass.” I smirked.

“Look, I like a good ass as much as the next girl. Your ass is the best part about you.”

She was totally honest as she said it, too.

I shook my head and got up to get a bottle of water from the fridge. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” She looked at me, blue eyes wide and innocent. “What am I doing?”

I tossed her a bottle and shut the door. “I don’t need to say it, because you know. You’re a shit ass liar, darlin’.”

Jamie’s mouth formed a tiny ‘o’. “I have no idea what you mean.”

I eyed her before sitting back down. “Mhmm.”

Her lips twitched, but she dipped her head and turned away before I could see how wide the smile got.

She was playing me.

And it was working, because I wanted to know more about that skirt.

Shit.

 

***

 

I put down the phone and walked back into the garage. After getting rid of one car, taking another, and two phone calls, I was out of tolerance for people. Which was exactly why I needed someone to do reception for me. I could do cars all day—people?

That was another story.

Jamie was sitting on the counter top at the side of the workshop. Her bare legs swung back and forth, and as I cast my gaze up and over them, there was one difference.

She’d taken off that damn sweater.

And the skirt was as short as it looked. At least, the way it rode up her thighs made it look like that way.

Shit.

I cleared my throat.

She glanced up from her phone. “Yes? Do you need me?”

Oh, shit.

“No. I was just…” I coughed.

She half-smiled.

“You weren’t kidding about that skirt.” My eyes wandered to her legs once more.

“My eyes are up here, Romeo.”

“I know, but your legs are down here, darlin’.”

She sighed and jumped off the counter. She tugged down the skirt, but it really didn’t do much. “I wear shorts this short literally every day.”

I hovered there a little longer before I brought my gaze back up to meet hers. “And I look at your legs literally every day. Not this obviously, but it still happens.”

Jamie rolled her eyes and put her phone down. “We just managed a whole conversation without arguing.”

“Mhmm.” I turned away from her and discreetly adjusted my pants.

We might have managed it without arguing, but we didn’t manage it without me thinking about how pointless the presence of that skirt was.

How easy it’d be to hike it up over her hips…

“I saw that!” Jamie called.

“Dunno what you’re talking about!” I shouted right back.

“An earthquake is more discreet than your ability to adjust your pants, Dexter Ryne.”

I groaned and turned around. “What do you expect me to do? I tell you yesterday I’d love to fuck you, and now you show up to work looking like that.”

She held out her hands, the picture of innocence. “My shorts are all wet.”

“If I had less restraint, your panties would be wet.”

Pointedly, Jamie looked at my cock. “Oh, yes. Look at that restraint.”

“It’s inside my pants and not you. That is restraint.”

She looked back up with a withering look. “Whose fault is that?” She raised her eyebrows quickly before turning and going to the six-foot-tall toolbox.

I watched as she opened a drawer and pulled out a wrench.

And it hit me.

I leaned against my Dodge and folded my arms, studying her for a moment. Her white tank top hugged her entire body perfectly, and the frayed hem of the skirt barely crept two inches beneath her ass.

“Wet shorts, huh?” I asked.

“Yep.” She got down on her knees, flashing the bright-red panties she was wearing.

Motherfucker.

“Nothing to do with the conversation we had yesterday, then?”

“The one where you said you wanted to fuck me then left?” She glanced over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “That one?”

“That one,” I confirmed.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Wet shorts. I told you.”

“You’re the worst liar in the history of liars.” I pushed off the wall and dropped my arms. “I’ve seen you wear at least five different pairs of shorts since you started working here. There’s no way they’re all wet.”

“You took notice of my shorts?”

“Yeah. I stare at your legs a whole lot.” I stopped next to her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up to standing.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I forgot to do laundry.”

“You did it yesterday while I was there.”

“I didn’t pull it out the washer.” Her cheeks flooded bright pink.

“You’re adorable when you lie. Or, rather, when you try to.” I pulled her closer to me. “I think you wore that skirt on purpose, because otherwise, you wouldn’t have just flashed me your underwear.”

Jamie wrangled her wrist from my hand and walked backward, only just avoiding tripping over a wire on the floor. “I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you wore it because you’re trying to prove a point, except I don’t know what that point is.” I met her step-for-step, almost stalking her until she almost had her back against the tall toolbox.

Her tongue darted out over her lips. “You’re losing me, Dex.”

I closed the distance until she was flat against the front of the box.

“Watch it. I have a weapon.” She held up the wrench.

With a smirk, I closed my hand around it and pulled it from her grip. It clattered to the floor, bouncing a few times before settling against a stack of tires.

“I don’t have a weapon,” she said, looking at her empty hand. “This is workplace harassment.”

“Your skirt is workplace harassment. Admit you wore it on purpose and I might—might—leave you alone.”

She swallowed, tilting her head up. “Fine. I admit it. I own about twenty pairs of denim shorts. I wore it on purpose.”

“Because you’re annoyed that you offered yourself to me on a silver platter and I threw you off the table?”

She met my eyes, and with more than a hint of amusement in them, said, “No. I thought it would be fun to see how you coped knowing you can look, but you decided not to touch.”

I gripped the top of the toolbox and dipped my head. “I reserve the right to change my mind at any point.”

Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips once more. “I don’t think you do.”

“What would you do if I touched you right now?”

“Right now? Push you away.”

“Really? If I tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your neck? What if I ran my fingertips up your thigh and gripped your ass? Would you push me away then?”

“I mean…” She paused. “I guess.” She paused again. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound so certain there, darlin’.”

“I’m not,” she breathed.

I took my chance.

I dipped my head, cupped the back of her neck, and I fucking kissed her.

She grabbed my shirt, pulling me close into her, and flicked her tongue against my lower lip. A bolt of desire shot through me at that tiny movement, and I flattened my body against hers, pushing her right against the toolbox.

She squeaked. “Ouch. Drawers!”

I laughed, pulling her away from it, and swept her around the side of it instead. The metal clanged as her back went into it, and she bit her lip to stop herself grinning as I boxed her against it.

“Still unsure?” I asked.

She nodded.

So I kissed her again.