Music pounds through the garage and rattles the windows. A sheet of metal digs into my glove as I pound the dents out for the rear fender. The skeletal bones of my motorcycle sit in front of me. It’s a nice morning. A strip of sunlight blankets the driveway as I hammer the shit out of the scrap.

PANG! PANG! PANG!

It’s loud enough to hear through the classic rock blaring through my stereo, but I don’t care. It feels good to watch the bumps even out and bash something in. Another blow hits the sheet a little too hard, and I flip it around. Damn it. I give the distortion a few taps, evening it out again.

I know what’s got me worked up. The hot girl next door. Olivia Stewart. The city girl and her goddamn Toyota Scion.

The moment I saw her, I wanted to bend her over the car and claim those pouting lips. And unzip her tank top and feel her tits spilling into my hands. My pants tighten, my cock swelling at the thought of Olivia’s stubborn mouth wrapped around it.

She’s gorgeous, but not at all my type. Still, there’s something curious about a woman who drives four fucking hours in those fuck-me heels and outfit. When I saw her wheel out those two suitcases, I knew she’d be a pain in the ass. A high-maintenance drama queen. But even that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t jump at the chance to fuck her. My body rolls with heat at the thought of having her.

I lift my hammer again—PANG! Beating this thing to death won’t get her out of my head. The sound ricochets in my ear. It’s painful. The image of Olivia distorts. I raise my arm—and the music suddenly stops.

What the hell?

Behind me, Olivia stands next to the stereo, her finger pressing the off button. Her hair is mussed up from sleep, her cherry red lips fixed into a scowl. She’s wearing pink pajamas that don’t soften her pissed off expression. She takes a few steps toward me, her flip-flops smacking the cement, and I notice she doesn't have a bra. I can see her peaked nipples. My mouth goes dry.

“Good morning, San Francisco. Did you sleep well?” I bite my laughter as I watch her swallow, Don’t call me that!

She crosses her arms over her chest, unfortunately hiding the nice view of her tits. “I was until now. What are you doing?”

“I just like to bang on shit. Look at the garage, sweetheart. I’m building a motorcycle.”

“Do you really have to do that at nine in the morning?”

I smirk at her. “No, I don’t.”

Pink patches of fury rise to her cheeks. She looks like an angry goddess as her hands fall to her hips. She stands over me. I can practically see electricity shooting from her eyes. For some bizarre reason, I want to crush my lips against her mouth and steal that scowl. Fuck me, but I want her.

“Turn the music back on.”

City girl doesn’t move. Instead she stares me down. Hands on her hips like she’s my goddamn wife. Standing in the middle of my garage as though she owns it. “No.”

I must have heard wrong. “Did you seriously just say no to me? This is my property, sweetheart.”

“I booked a room here. I’m entitled to peace and quiet.”

“You’re entitled to what I allow you to do, seeing as it’s my house. If you don’t turn that sweet ass of yours around and press that button, I’ll make you trim my hedges.”

There. Let her work that one over in her head. It’s almost fun to watch her suppress another insult. Her lips go purple as she presses them together to keep from screaming at me.

Her pretty eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re baiting me.”

“Yes, I am. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“About as fun as a gun in my mouth.”

I can think of other things that’d be a lot more fun in your mouth. “By law, I’m allowed to start making noise at eight. I know you city folk like to party all night, but nine isn’t that early.”

“It is when you’re on vacation!”

There’s something about her that puts me on edge. Maybe it’s my dick straining against my jeans. It hasn’t been used in a while. A mantra runs through my head like a chant: Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her.

Maybe I should. There’s no denying I’m doing all this shit to piss her off, but that’s only because I hate people like her. City slickers. Smug assholes from San Francisco who come to this town in droves because it’s a beautiful spot close to Yosemite. They flood our campsites and trash the place. Then they wave handfuls of cash and expect us to clean up the mess. Sort of the same way she trashed her car and waved money in my face.

How often does a girl like that come through Fair Oaks?

I toss the hammer aside and stand. A thrill shoots into my chest as Olivia sucks in her bottom lip. Damn, she’s got perfect lips for a blowjob. Those pink patches still burn on the apples of her cheeks. Her slender neck is just begging for a soft bite. I look down, my cock pulsing at the sight of those peaked nipples and the thin fabric of her pajamas fluttering right over her heart. I could rip those off with one hand.

“My eyes are up here.”

Can’t blame a guy for looking. “Sorry.”

Her gaze narrows at my crapass apology.

“Come with me. I’ll make you breakfast.” Her hesitation sends a small twinge of pain to my chest. “I won’t stare at your tits. Promise.”

Olivia pushes my chest, and I’m surprised by her strength. It’s not enough to do anything to me, but still. “Thanks, but I’d rather spend the rest of my morning in peace. You know, without being insulted in every other sentence.”

“Oh, come on.”

“This is a really charming town. Very quaint. I’m starting to warm up to the place already. I got called a hooker by some man as I walked down the street.”

She looks furious as I burst into laughter. The sound is strange to hear. “That’s Pierce. He’s a bit—old-fashioned.”

“I prefer, sexist.”

“I apologize on Pierce’s behalf. He’s a crotchety old bastard, but he’s harmless.”

Olivia makes a noise like an angry cat, and suddenly I think of my mother. What she’d say if she saw me treating guests like this.

I deepen my voice, trying to be gentle for once. “Let me make you breakfast. I’ll be nice. I swear.”

The daggers in her eyes cut me deeply. “I don’t think so.”

* * *

I spend about fifteen minutes admiring the view of Olivia on her hands and knees through my kitchen window. She’s wearing another pair of those skinny jeans, which are already stained with grass. The weeding thing was kind of a joke, but she didn’t complain when I showed her where to find the gardening gloves. Just went right to it.

I’m starting to like this girl.

Too bad she seems to loathe me. I haven’t given her much reason not to. I can’t help it when getting under her skin is too damn fun. Another laugh rips through my throat as Olivia carries the bits of yanked weeds in her hands and hurls them over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. She’s got spirit. And a fine-ass body I’d love to tap.

I bang on the glass and give her a wave. She looks up, her hair falling around her face, and flips me the bird. Then I head to work. It’s a great day outside, and I find myself smiling in spite of myself. Smiling. The whole fucking town will give me a hard time if someone sees me, so I fix my expression into the permanent scowl everyone’s used to. It’s not easy feeling the warmth from the sun when so many leaves block out the light.

Hank gives me a double take when I stroll into the garage. “Are you…smiling? Man, that looks weird. Sorry, boss.”

I grunt something in response, glancing into the shop to see my guys already at work on my customers’ cars. I make out a champagne-colored Benz parked in the spot I reserve for my employees, and a tic of fury jumps in my jaw.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Hank winces as he looks in the direction of my finger. “Some guy just pulled up a few minutes ago looking for that woman who was in here yesterday.”

“Did you tell him he couldn’t park there?”

“All of us walk to work. Who cares if he parks there?”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Because there’s a perfectly good spot for customers, and that asshole decided to take one of mine.”

The fucker is inside my office. I can see his blond head peeking out from the blinds.

“He’s looking for that girl,” Hank says again. “I think he’s her husband, or something.”

Runaway bride? This should be interesting. “Fine. I’ll talk to him, but then he has to move his damn car.”

“He seemed pretty pissed off.” Grimacing, Hank adds, “I told him you knew where she was.”

Great. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“The guy wouldn’t leave. He knew she’d been here.”

“You should have told him to fuck off!”

“That’s bad for our reputation!”

Since when does that matter? “I’ll deal with him. Go do some work and for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut.”

My employees scatter like cockroaches as I stomp across the small parking lot toward my office. Whatever’s left of my good mood completely vanishes the moment I rip open the door. A strange man is sitting in my chair.

I can feel my hair burning.

The chair bounces back as he stands quicker than if there was a fire under his ass. He squeezes past my desk, grimacing.

He’s old money. I can’t really pinpoint it on any one thing. Maybe it’s his air of scumbag entitlement combined with his Calvin Klein polo and khaki shorts. He smiles, and I’m momentarily blinded by the whiteness of his teeth. Veneers.

Good God.

“Hi, I’m Mark Cranbury.”

Stupid fucking name.

He extends a hand, several thick gold rings on his fingers. Class of 2005. Must be a high school ring. I didn’t even know they made high school rings.

Ignoring the hand, I shut the door behind me. “That’s my seat.”

Mark takes his hand back, a goofy smile playing on his lips. “Oh, apologies. I was waiting for a while, and the other seat…” he gives the plastic chair a disdainful look.

“Something wrong?”

A furtive look. “No, no! Nothing wrong.”

Fuck Frozen. I’m not letting this go. It might be a dumb thing to be angry about, but I don’t care. He’s under my skin. “Then why did you take my chair?”

“I have a really bad back and I need proper ergonomics whenever I sit.” He stops suddenly and smiles to himself. “Never mind. You don’t even know what that is.”

I’ve dealt with people like him. Hell, I run into Cranburys every year when the snow starts falling and the ski resorts open. The rich elite who treat service people like trash, or worse, like we’re empty-headed morons. Fuck them for thinking I’m dumb because I didn’t shell out tens of thousands for a fancy piece of paper on the wall.

“You think because I’m blue collar, I don’t know what ergonomics is?”

Flustered, he rakes his hands through his thin hair. I can’t help but notice the lack of a wedding band. So they’re not married. Good.

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant. Who the hell do you think you are?”

His eyes roll back to his head before falling to the side. “Whatever, man. It’s been a long drive and I’ve been waiting here for half an hour in the heat with no air-conditioning and nothing to drink in this cramped little place.”

Wow. Does he not realize that I don’t give a fuck? “Shut the hell up and get out of my office.”

“Listen, buddy. I don’t know where the hell you come off talking to me like that—”

I lean forward an inch, and that’s enough to make quiet. “Slow down and try again. The name is sir or Mr. Carter, not buddy.”

A sneer replaces the brief show of fear. “I’m looking for a woman, Mr. Carter. My fiancé. She stopped by here yesterday to get her car repaired. Her name is Olivia Stewart.”

There’s no good reason why I shouldn’t help this guy, except for the feeling gripping my stomach. Telling me not to do what I ought to. He’s her fiancé, but she clearly doesn’t want to be found.

I look at him dead center. “Don’t know an Olivia.”

A furrow appears in his brow. “That Toyota in your garage is hers. You know, the blue one.”

The blue one. Is he fucking joking? “Thanks for pointing that out. I never would’ve figured out which one was the Toyota.”

“There’s no need to be rude, man. I was just trying to jog your memory. She was here yesterday.”

“Wow, really? Must have slipped my mind.” My face tightens with a smirk as panic starts to crack through Mark’s cool composure.

His indignant voice breaks the brief silence. “Your coworker admitted that she was here yesterday.”

I’m just a dumb mechanic, remember? “Hmm. I guess he remembers her and I don’t.”

An ugly red flush crawls up his neck. “Don’t play me for a fool, Carter—”

“—Mister Carter.”

A dangerous glint appears in his eyes. “Mister Carter, then. Are you aware of who I am? You did hear my last name correctly, right? I’m a Cranbury.”

I know who he is. His daddy is a real estate mogul. You can hardly go anywhere in America without bumping into a Cranbury property. They’ve got a hotel chain that puts Hilton to shame, fleets of private jets, and I’m sure they’ve got powerful friends. There’s nothing in the world that money can’t buy, and these people have plenty of it.

I’m sure he could make my life a living hell.

“I’m sorry, did you just call yourself a cranberry?”

It’s worth it just to see his nostrils flare out into little wings. Mark takes a furious step forward, his chest bumping against my ribs. If he thinks he can intimidate me, but one swat of my hand would send him soaring across the room. He doesn’t seem to realize that I’ve got at least eighty pounds on him.

“It’s Cran-bury, not Cran-berry!”

“Sure. Cranberry. Whatever.”

“You think this is funny?” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth.

Yeah. Kind of.

“She’s my fiancée! You have no idea what I could do to you! I’ll ask you one more time: Where is she?”

My heart pounds like a drum, every instinct inside me screaming to grab this asshole by his belt and hurl him out. Even though he’s done nothing wrong except park in my goddamn spot and sit in my chair. Bad vibes. That’s all I’m getting from this prick.

“You know where she is, Cranberry.”

Smirking, I walk past him and shove open the door, walking into the sunlight. He’s not far behind, screaming.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I turn around. Mark’s whole face is red with apoplectic rage, every movement livid with fear.

“You know what it means.”

Let him think I fucked his fiancée.

“You piece of shit! You bastard! How dare—why are you laughing?”

I laugh even harder when his delicate hands curl.

Just try me.

“I’m laughing because I don’t respect you. You come in here like a tone-deaf asshole demanding to know where your fiancée is, and you expect me to tell you. Now you’re raising your fists at me. Are you fucking kidding?”

He unflexes his spider-like hands. There are deep marks where his rings cut into his palm. “She’s my fiancée!”

“Yeah. You’ve said that about fifty times.”

“You don’t even know why I’m looking for her!”

“I can take a pretty good guess.” I turn my back on him, walking toward the garage as my employees anxiously watch us.

Olivia’s engine needs to be ripped out. I want to be elbow deep in metal and grease, tearing shit apart. Right now, I can’t think of anything more appealing, aside from smashing my fist against Mark’s face.

The man keeps screaming at my back, every syllable grating on my ears. “What do you want? Money? I’ll pay you!”

I whirl around, and a drop of amusement gets swallowed by the flames in my chest as he jumps back a mile.

“Fuck you and your money!”

Judging by the way he flinches, I might as well have told God to fuck off.

“I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. Now get the hell off my property before I throw you out.”

The blues of his eyes flare out like a flash of lightning. “I will not forget this.”

All right, bro.

I give him a sarcastic wave and a smile as he stalks back to his Benz.

* * *

“Ouch!”

Olivia sticks her thumb in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She’s standing on the porch in the backyard, frowning at the grill in front of her. There’s a plate of uncooked, seasoned steaks beside her, corn, and a glass of red wine rimmed with her lipstick.

My chest tightens and releases, remembering how many times I used to see her cooking behind that grill, an ice-cold beer in her hand.

Olivia’s sharp yell punctures the bittersweet bubble. “Jesus!”

Orange light flashes over her face as flames suddenly jump up high, illuminating her skin. A laugh escapes from my throat as she grabs one of the tools and beats at the fire.

I can’t take this anymore.

The wooden gate swings inward as I push it open, and she looks up at the creaking noise, a slight frown settling over her delicate features as she recognizes me. She’s wearing her dark hair up in a loose bun, and my gaze wanders along her jaw to the silver earrings dangling from her ears. High, arching eyebrows give her a haughty look that would be unappealing on any other woman. On her, it’s downright sexy. She’s goddamn beautiful, even when her lips are pursed in a little frown. I imagine myself creeping up behind and wrapping an arm around her waist as my mouth finds her neck.

Fuck, even the way she sucks on that thumb is sinful.

I keep watching it slide in and out almost as though in slow motion. It’s mesmerizing. The longer I stare, the more aware I am of the dry patch in my mouth that refuses to moisten. Heat swirls in a lazy circle into my chest, growing and expanding. My cock pulses as I walk closer, taking in her appearance: the daisy dukes and a creamy orange t-shirt. I want to slip my hands up those white thighs and grope her firm ass. I part my lips as she raises one of those haughty eyebrows even higher and looks at me. I want to tell her to get the fuck inside and take off her clothes.

“What are you doing to my barbecue?”

“Cooking.” She scowls.

“Not like that, you’re not. Move aside. Let me show you how the pros do it.”

“I can do it myself!”

She huffs as I step onto the porch and approach her, but doesn’t protest when I grab the spatula. Our fingers graze when I take it, and her cheeks color with the slightest blush.

She wants me.

The realization of it hits me like a sledgehammer in the chest. She parts her lips, the glow in her face brightening the longer she meets my gaze.

Kiss me, she seems to say. Fucking kiss me.

Then she breaks eye contact, letting out a shaky sigh. “What am I doing wrong?”

Chuckling, I glance at the grill. “First of all, you’ve got this way too fucking high. Do you want to char the steaks to death? No, you don’t. Lower the temperature a little and then close the hood to let it heat up. But first you should clear off all the grease.”

“All right. Fine.”

She reaches for the tools, and then a stab of pity hits me. I haven’t told her about her jackass fiancé.

“Drink your glass of wine and relax. I’ll cook us lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. There’s no way I’m letting you ruin sixty dollars worth of steak.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “I know how to grill a filet mignon.”

I point the spatula at her. “Sit your ass down and drink.”

“You know what? You’re not the boss of me. I’ve spent all afternoon picking those damn weeds—”

“Yeah, I saw you throw them in the neighbor’s garden. Naughty.”

Busted.

“Fine. I’m a jerk. But you’re a jerk for making a paying customer do this.”

“Why don’t you just admit that you like getting down and dirty?”

Her eyes roll up and then fall to the side as she takes a deep drink from her glass. “Is everything about sex to you?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. It seems like it’s everything to you, since you’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

“Good God. Maybe I should just answer work emails.”

The grill hisses with wonderful steak steam as I drop the first one onto the grates.

“Wait,” I tell her, sighing. “Mark showed up at the garage looking for you.”

A red flush crawls up her chest, her eyes going wide with fear. Nausea grips my stomach at the sight of it.

Her hand flies to her neck. “Mark is here?”

“Yeah. Your fiancé a piece of work.”

“He’s not my fiancé anymore,” she continues in the same high-pitched tone. “We’re done. Why the hell did he come here?”

Suddenly, I’m curious about what he did to earn the wrath of a beautiful woman like her. None of your goddamn business, Gage.

“I may have lost my temper with him.”

“What?” she says, her voice almost shrill.

“I fucked with his head a little and implied that we…”

Her eyes round with understanding. “Oh my God! Are you insane?”

“He was being a total asshole.”

“So that gives you the right to tell him that? He could get me fired!”

Oh, shit. “Shit. Really?”

“Yes, really,” she says in a miserable tone. “Damn it, Gage!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to get him to fuck off.”

“I didn’t ask you to swoop in my life and save me from my stupid ex. I’m perfectly capable of handling him.”

Yeah, well. “When he comes into my auto shop, screaming his head off, it becomes my business.”

The grip around her wine glass turns white. “I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to show up after what he did.”

I close the lid on the grill after pushing the corn to the back, and then I glance at her. Her lips are pale, almost shaking with fury, and her eyes glaze with hurt. I don’t even know this woman, but I want to find that prick and rip him in half for that look on her face.

“What happened?”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“It was before we were going to drive here for the wedding, I came home early from work. I wasn’t supposed to be home. There were—clothes on the stairs. I heard a woman’s voice, a giggle, and I just remember my whole body going cold. I knew what he’d done—what they were doing upstairs. But I still followed the trail of clothing anyway. Then…”

And then she saw her fiancé balls deep in another woman. She doesn’t have to say anything else. The truth is all over her face. What a fucking moron. A fresh wave of hatred for Mark rises inside me.

“Fuck him. Imagine being called Mrs. Cranberry for the rest of your life.”

Her lips curve into a small smile, the first one she’s given me. “It—it wasn’t working for a long time, but I never thought he’d do something like this. I don’t know what to do. He’s going to find where I’m staying.” She closes her eyes, suppressing a shudder. “He’ll demand we go to the wedding together.”

“I’ve got the perfect solution for that.”

Curious, she looks at me. “What?”

“Tell him you’re going with me.”

* * *

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